Souls in the Balance

In studying Pastoral Theology, many things are coming together and while reading for class over the weekend and this week, my brain was coming up with a plan for Adult Outreach. My boss was supportive of the idea and asked me to pitch it to a group within the parish where we work.

So I did, KNOWING it wouldn't be well received. Why?  Because we as Catholics suck at evangelization. We only want to do what's comfortable, bring people to us and keep all we do within the Church walls. If we have groups that find a couple new members over the course of the year, we think we are "successful" in evangelization.

Um...no. We're doing dismally. 

How do we know?  Because most Catholics aren't coming to Mass, even those on the parish registry.  They may be bringing their kids to a church event, but they're dumping them off and picking them up, never leaving the car. If they are required to get out of the car, they moan and grumble and are very put-upon and make sure the staff at that parish knows about it. When asked if they'll be at next Sunday's Mass because of a special event afterward, they hem and haw and say, "We'll be out of town" which often means, "We think hockey/baseball/football/dance/etc  is more important than God but know that's not an acceptable answer so we'll just fudge the answer."

And then down the road they become frustrated because their children grow up and leave the Faith, and they become angry at the Church because they "paid all this money to send them to Catholic School/ Religious education classes".  Yet they refuse their own responsibility, because, quite literally, in too many cases, NO ONE told them they HAD a responsibility to raise their OWN children in the Faith. They are honestly confused.

Even the families that are the most involved at many parishes don't see Mass attendance as important or necessary.  They are not evangelized. They have been told that "doing" is better than "being" and they have eaten up the gospel of lateral theology with aplomb...but they are spiritually starving.  No wonder our schools and parishes are dying.

We need to get to work, people.

There's still an even BIGGER problem, though: 

Among us, in our neighborhoods, in our jobs, everywhere...there are Catholics who aren't practicing ANY religion at all. Nothing. They would go to Mass if someone would invite them, but they feel disconnected (which they are) and out of fear or some other reason, they won't return on their own. I believe the statistics show that 40% of these disconnected Catholics are just waiting for a personal invitation.

So we are working on developing plans to reach these people, these very unknown people who want to be known...and we are deprived for not knowing them.

Well, of course, my plan was not well received, and it was discouraging to say the least. People, instead of looking for what is good and building that up, have a tendency to tear down everything they themselves wouldn't want to do, and have an even further tendency to look to every reason NOT to do something.  In essence, when we pitch an idea to reach out to the disconnected and bring them back, they say, "Why do we want to do THAT?"

Uh...because the Church, is One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic - and that makes it missionary in nature. If what we do in our parishes to be formed doesn't carry beyond the walls, we have FAILED in our Mission. And my friends....we are sadly, sadly failing in our mission.

We can't blame the Bishops. We can't blame the Priests.  Can they share in the blame?  Sure, but not without we the laity pointing the majority of fingers at ourselves.  This is a very educated age. There are a LOT of knowledgeable Catholics who are all too satisfied to just "be formed" and embrace Bible studies and the like, which is wonderful. But...they need to look beyond. What is the point of knowing every detail about the Bible and attending every study....but never sharing that knowledge with others?

The fact is this:  our Faith isn't truly possessed until it is given away. Our knowledge is for naught if it is not given away. Our Catholicism isn't really possessed if it only remains in the walls of our parish or home.  If it isn't lived in the public square, it isn't Catholic.

The more I study, the more I see in the real life of Catholics from every walk of life and every level of faith, the more I see this. The more I realize that WE are failing, and that WE, the laity are at fault for not doing our jobs.

It starts with me. It starts with you.

Don't be afraid to be Catholic. Be afraid NOT to be...because that's where souls hang in the balance.

That is our Lenten thought for the day. Christ did not die a horrible death on the Cross so that we could be comfortable. Who, around you, is hanging in the balance? Go get them!

Spiritual Battle

I just finished watching "The Exorcism of Emily Rose".

This movie wasn't what I expected. I've had my own history involving the occult, involving evil. I have written of my own outright faceoff with Satan himself, although I've kept many of these battles to myself.

I have often though that if I revealed them, others would think me crazy. I did once tell me story to a Theology on Tap group, and had the distinct sense that the priest present thought I was nuts. Around that same time, I told that story to a priest at my parish, and his response was, "I believe that YOU believe it was real..."

I couldn't convince him that the reality of evil wasn't fiction or my subjective experience, but REAL, although what I experienced was beyond the norm, only because I willingly and willfully placed myself in that spot.

That conversation with that priest however, has made me more reluctant to speak to others of what I lived. The story is met with incredulity, and here I am, unscathed...who am I to speak of such evil, yet not have the scars to prove it?

Scars aren't always physical. And I wonder from time to time...are they really scars, or does the invitation that took place then go on now as oppression?

I sometimes wake up at night, terrified, my hair on end, having no memory of a dream, only a recognition of the need to flee or to fight an enemy I usually can't see..but at times....I have seen.

My imagination can't conjure such images, and I've never seen them in movies, for neither can the worst of the horror writers describe what was come at me in the darkness and solitude of night. Nor can anyone prove or disprove some of the marks they have left upon me.

Do not take this to mean that I believe myself possessed...I don't. I am certain that I am NOT possessed, although I do believe it possible that I am oppressed by the Enemy...through my own invitation.

That is a different matter. We all open that door, and to different results. Only God knows why and when and what.

Prison

This movie, though, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, did not make me mostly see my own experience, but something larger. I already believe in this evil; I wasn't shocked by her life, suffering, and death. I wasn't shocked by her choice. I wasn't shocked by Father's choice. For once you see...you can't unsee. You have to make a decision, and when it goes that far, that decision leaves no room to waver.

The world saw it as a decision for death. In reality, it was a decision for life and eternity.

I watched the scenes in prison where the Attorney, Ms. Bruner met with Fr. Moore as he laid in his prison cell, hands behind his head. He was already resigned to his fate and in so doing, was very direct with his potential attorney.

It brought to my mind an image of Fr. MacRae, lying in his own cell, clad in orange instead of clerics, revealing his own mistrust and disdain of the very same legal system.

I looked at the cement stone walls of his cell, comparing them with those of Emily Rose in her dorm, and the walls I remember when I fought my own first recognizable battle with Satan.

In Emily Rose, I saw Fr. MacRae himself, and every priest he represents, those crucified without proper trial, those attacked by the enemy without jury, imprisoned...but no justice.

Suffering for Christ means there will never be any retribution, for those who accept that cross take that retribution to themselves and live it in every bloody step, every choking breath, every faltering heartbeat.

It hit me then: Fr. MacRae is not imprisoned because of any political climate, but because of the sprititual one. We as the Catholic Church in America, are under serious spiritual attack, and our attitude of secularism has massively undermined our defense.

Because of the 1% (less, actually) of offending priests, 100% are judged as being untrustworthy. Because the secular and even "Catholic" press spends so much time attacking the priesthood, very few "Catholics" know who to believe in this world of increasing incredulity. Because so few actually faithful Catholics are praying, the attack is that much greater, and because so many Catholic are killing their unborn children through contraception and abortion...there are fewer souls to pray.

We ARE the remnant. Look around you. How many who attend your parish are actually INVOLVED in some way, and by that, I don't mean "doing stuff."

I mean...interiorly. How many people around you who CLAIM to be Catholic are even living the basic tenants? Do they attend Mass every Sunday, or do they consider it to be "optional"? How long has it been since they've been to Confession? YEARS? Do they receive the Sacrament of Holy Communion once or twice per year meeting that tenant...but failing to actually consider whether they SHOULD given that it's been YEARS since their last Confession and by the way they live their lives they make it very clear that they should NOT be receiving?

How many professed Catholics actually live what they say the believe, how many can actually articulate the faith they claim to follow and uphold?

Not many, I'm afraid. Poll an average parish. The average person claiming to be Catholic in an anti-Catholic culture such as ours could NEVER be convicted of the crime of meeting even the minimal tenants of our belief, and they would CERTAINLY never step up and be willing to DIE for those beliefs.

Are You Willing to Die for Your Faith?

Most of us (my readers), most of you, would say YES! but your actions would betray you. Mine do every day. I'm asked to make a choice and I do so for comfort and convenience, not for obedience and faithfulness.

If any of us say otherwise, we are lying.

We need Grace in order to make our intentions real. On our own, we are nothing but betrayers.

It Becomes Obvious

...then, that there are those who are truly giving of themselves, whether they ever wanted to be so or not. I look at Emily Rose, and I look at Fr. MacRae, and I see the same prison walls, I see the cinderblock dorm walls, and I realize the battle is the same although it takes place in different venues.

Our country is under attack, our Church is under attack, and most of us claiming the title of "Catholic" are asleep at the switch. We don't care, we don't notice, and most of us don't have even the remotest idea of what is going on in the Church today.

How can we pray for and defend Fr. MacRae if we don't even know we are called to be Holy?

How can we know that Fr. MacRae and those like him are not alone in their false imprisonment if we don't even realize our OWN imprisonment to sin?

How can we be credible witnesses to the power of the Enemy if we can't be bothered to even TRY to live in a state of Grace?

Our Battle is Spiritual before it is Civil; and in our current culture it is lost before it can even be tried before a jury.

Much has to be done. We need to wake up, enter the battle, recognize the Enemy and know that our greatest warriors, our priests, have been hobbled and with our outright permission and support.

The 3:00 Hour

In the Exorcism of Emily Rose, Father Moore speaks of the 3:00 hour as being the "witching" hour, the hour that mocks Our Lord who died on the Cross, and the power of prayer of the faithful in honor of His life and death, the Hour of Mercy in that same hour.

I was made aware of my own failings in prayer as I often wake up at that time. Even I, who have sat across from the Adversary, have chosen to fall asleep rather than to pray!

As Catholics, our battle is not political, but spiritual, but too many have forgotten the spiritual side. We have been lost to popular culture, we have become ashamed of our beliefs, and in so doing, have left them open to superstition and ridicule.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

The victims, the current manifestation of Christ in His Passion, can be found in our own neighborhood prisons; Priests wrongfully accused and convicted on heresay alone, abandoned by their own brothers, by their own Fathers, the Bishops.

Let us help those who are rotting away in the American prison system know that they are not unforgotten carcasses of a fallen Catholic world, but truly the spark that ignites the real life of the Faithful.

As Catholics, we know the value of sacrifice, and we know that sacrifice means something beyond what we can see. Let us in turn see the reality of those who suffer for us in ways that we cannot. Let us help those who suffer for Truth know that they are not alone in their suffering, so that they will both have the strength to persevere and to CHOOSE to offer their suffering in union with Our Lord who offered all...for we who deserve less than nothing.

The Battle we face is not political, but spiritual, and it's happening where most of the world is unwilling to see...are WE willing to look? Are we willing to partake? If we partake of the Sacrament, we agree to spend ourselves beyond the surface, seeking the darkness where the real redemptive suffering takes place.

Emily Rose knew this, and Fr. MacRae awaits solidarity for he lives it now.....

Are you willing to enter this battle or will you turn away and reject the face of Our Lord imprisoned?

*

Indignity of Prison

Fr. MacRae has a new post today discussing the reality of his life in prison. The images he describes are quite vivid to me, having walked through a few prisons as a student, having made arrests in my career, in transporting prisoners to local jails, etc.

For awhile, I considered a career as a Corrections Officer, but found it really didn't appeal to me; I never pursued it, and I'm glad for that.

Even though I've read accounts of prisoners about prison life, and I know what it's like, at least to some degree, to stand on the other side, one of the striking things about Fr. MacRae's post is the incredible depersonalization that takes place on both sides...because it must.

Most people walking around today have never had that sense of guard-prisoner, which changes the dynamic of any kind of interpersonal relationship. From the side I was on, I realized that x person was now under my authority, and a great deal of ethics had to come along with that. Yet, one can sense a subtle change, and although I didn't recognize it at the time, there was a certain amount of depersonalization that took place. As I did not work in a prison though, I truly only have the slightest grasp of this reality, and can, at best, only muse about it.

Fr. MacRae describes this well, though, from the viewpoint of being a prisoner, so far removed from the respect he deserves with his clerical status which is NOT recognized in prison. Unwittingly, even in his own words, he depersonalizes the guards, for in being treated like one of the cattle, how could he see the guards that escorted him in chains as anything other than impersonal "handlers", for truly, that is what they were?

I do not quote his post on this page as I think it best for you to go and read it for yourself.

Please pray for Fr. MacRae and for all priests wrongfully imprisoned in the great injustice of the witch-hunt that convicted without evidence and condemned with false trials.

From Crisis to Hope - Fr. MacRae

Today, the Solemnity of the Assumption of Mary, perhaps the best way we can honor her is to honor her sons. I'm thinking of one faithful son in particular who is locked away in a prison cell, still seeking justice. And how many of our priests are in the same position, having missed out somewhere on the "due process" that failed in the modern witch hunt that, while eradicating those who would do harm, also allowed those who are innocent to be swept up and cast away?

When criticizing our Criminal Justice system, people often cite the number of people wrongly accused and still convicted and imprisoned. It is one of the biggest arguments out there against the death penalty, for of course, no one wants to see an innocent person put to death. Nor do people of good will want to see any innocent human being imprisoned for 30 years or more. That is not justice.

What I find so ironic, though, is that when it comes to imprisoned priests, everyone is crying out for their blood and assuming guilt. Everyone wants "justice" for the victims, and yes, we all do. But what of those who were falsely accused and in fact, are the victims themselves, never having hurt anyone? And STILL unceremoniously cast into prison, their protests ignored, for even the accusation became "evidence"?

Where are the critics of the system that falsely imprisoned priests? Are priests somehow magically excluded from the inherent problems in our legal system?

But one voice does cry out from his prison cell: one voice. Father Gordon MacRae has a story to tell, one that is well documented, and he's not willing to give up.

Today he writes an incredible post about how one person heard him and sought to help, and in so doing, has finally given him hope again. Finally, he is being heard by the faithful....are you one of them? Are you willing to listen, or will you turn away assuming this isn't worth your time and that the only good priest is a dead one?

Let us remember the corporal acts of mercy, one of which is to visit the imprisoned. Maybe we can't all visit Fr. MacRae in person, but we CAN visit his blog and leave a word of encouragement and a promise of prayers.

Here is an excerpt of Father's post for today:

It was one year ago this week on the solemnity of the Assumption that Suzanne published her first blog post launching Priests in Crisis. It was one day after the Church honors the martyrdom of St. Maximilian Kolbe. It came as no surprise to me that Suzanne is a member of the Militia of the Immaculata, a movement founded by Fr. Maximilian before he was imprisoned at Auschwitz. He pointed everyone he met to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. It is no mystery why Priests in Crisis entrusts wounded priests “to Mary their Mother.”

I don’t think most people can readily grasp how important the apostolate of Priests in Crisis has been for me.

The most difficult aspect of being a priest in prison is that I am virtually silenced. The shouts of the mob vilifying me and others who have been accused have long since stifled our efforts to speak truth. From my prison cell over the years, I have written thousands of letters to hundreds of priests, bishops and Catholic lay leaders. Earning but $2 a day in prison labor, everything I had went to postage, paper and typing ribbons. I was relentless in my writing for years. Ninety-five percent of those I wrote to never responded. I wrote pleading for fairness for accused priests, but it mostly fell upon deaf ears. One priest sent my letter back to me with a terse note instructing me never to write to him again.

Those who did answer over the years, however, stand out as people who speak and write with the authority of truth. Among these were two very special men who became my lifeline for communication with our Church. They were Cardinal Avery Dulles and Fr. Richard John Neuhaus. They encouraged me to write and to never stop writing. Then, suddenly, within months of each other in 2008, they were gone. I have read many tributes to them both, and I know that many miss them. I believe that I miss them most of all for without them, I was silenced again.

Please go and read the rest, and mark this blog as one to follow.

And even more importantly, please keep Fr. MacRae in your prayers, and all priests, especially those who have been wrongly imprisoned.

I Was Hungry...

Just for the sake of comparison:


WHAT JESUS ACTUALLY SAID:
(MT 25:35) 

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.'
Then the righteous will answer him and say, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink?
When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you?
When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?'
And the king will say to them in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.'


WHAT JESUS DID NOT SAY:

For when I was hungry you gave me food stamps, I was thirsty and you sent me to commodities to get powdered milk, a stranger and you greeted me at the beginning of Mass and never looked at me again, naked and you sent me to Goodwill and Salvation Army, ill and you sent me to hospice to kill me by deciding I didn't need to eat or drink anymore, in prison, and you wrote me off as unredeemable.


As a girl who grew up on welfare, and given that the government is all about making people dependent upon them, well...there ya go.

Jesus asks us to be personal in our assistance to the poor. I have to ask some people if they're afraid they'll break a nail if they get personal?

No wonder people never get off welfare; they system creates dependence, it creates a society that doesn't want to be bothered with the problem of the poor, and a society that would rather build statiums for uber-rich athletes and make sure the homeless shelter across the street from the planned project gets moved so that no one will have to suffer guilt for what they're NOT doing to help.

Thank God people in our lives DID get personal, got involved, and didn't make us feel like dirtbags just because we didn't have much.  Some people did, certainly.  But the people who mattered were the ones who weren't afraid that poverty was "catching".  

And that's all I have to say about that. 

*

To What Do We Agree?

In the last couple years, I have received a great deal of help in both large and small things, from both people I know and people I've never met.

And in that time, I've reflected on the generosity and love of such people, which has made me also reflect on my own lack of generosity, or my own lack of helpfulness to others. I've mentioned before that I'm often lacking in the "hands-on" form of charity, at least, in my estimation. I also realize we are all called to different things at different times. As members of the Mystical Body of Christ, we all must fulfill our roles, none of which excludes the others, but rather, incorporates them while maybe one particular portion is what we have been designed to complete.

Lately this has been my struggle. I have one co-worker who is very service-oriented, and I used to be as well. But my life has pulled me into more of a contemplative stream, one involving more prayer and study than actual hands-on service. It makes me feel guilty. I have to keep reminding myself that the time may come where literally feeding the poor in homeless shelters might be my role, and of course, I would love it. Or maybe it'll be caring for the sick and injured.

Or maybe I'm already fulfilling that role, in caring for the spiritually poor, which is the REAL deficit of our nation. Of all nations. Ever since I added the widget to my sidebar and have seen all the people from all the different nations who have passed through my blog at one point or another, I've realized that I'm fulfilling the command of Christ as He ascended into Heaven: to preach the Gospel to all Nations.

As Catholics, that is our command, and we all do this in different ways, according to the gifts we have been given. Everything we do should be ordered towards spreading the Gospel. Perhaps we're not well versed in the Faith, but know Christ enough to act in love and maintain a strong moral stance as an example to others. Maybe we don't have the words to preach, but we have the hands, and we have our very lives to lay down as an example to others who may ridicule what we say, but can't ridicule the joy of our lives and our hopes. And in that, there is a door opened through which they may enter.

Several years ago, a friend of mine and I were discussing the lack of morality around us. Neither of us were exactly living moral lives ourselves, and we regretted our actions. My friend, after a long pause in our conversation, said to me, "Once you've said "yes" to one guy, it's harder to say "no" to someone else."

It had to do with a loss of moral ground. A loss of dignity. From the other side, a judgment of a lack of fairness: "You're not a virgin. You slept with that other guy, what's wrong with me that you won't do the same thing with me? It's not like it means anything!"

And yet, it does, and we all know it. My friend knew it, and she carried her warning with her. Once we've compromised by saying "yes" to the wrong thing, it's harder to fight in the right battle. One becomes disoriented, unable to truly discern any longer, especially when the culture around us all defines certain behaviors as proper, even as our souls scream at us to stop for a moment and reconsider. To use our intellect and wills, to look upwards towards what is good, to flee from what is only debasement and injury.

Jesus Himself tells us to make our "yes" mean "yes", and our "no" mean "no". There is no middle ground; not in oaths, not in our moral choices. In everything we do, even in the small things, there's an absolute. A small compromise here leads to a larger compromise there. A strong stance here becomes a stronger, more fortified stance there.

We see this in many ways. Recently I observed to a friend that sometimes it's hard to step out and help another person, especially a stranger. But we can be safe about it, and truly, once we are willing to break out of our self-absorbed bubble on behalf of someone else, it is easier the next time. Once we say "yes" to the right things, it's as though the wind fills our sails and helps us to engage more quickly, and with more confidence the next time someone around us needs our charity.

The converse is also true; when we say "no" to someone, it becomes easier to say "no" again and again to the needs of others, and in that process, our hearts become more hardened. That's what happened to the Israelites in Isaiah; they said "no" to God, and as a consequence, their hearts were hardened. They had free will; they chose to disengage from their relationship with The Lord. And because of their willing rejection, they continued to reject all the blessings that came their way.

Nothing has changed; we still have this same nature. We tend to say "yes" to the things that debase us, and "no" to the things that make us holy. We are prideful if we go about "helping" others, but don't see the moral poverty that we must address, and so what do our good works mean if they are divorced from the morality and holiness that should be driving all of it?

So it happens that when we give our acquiescence to the wrong things, we end up giving obesience to even more things, until we are slaves of the world rather than lovers of God.

But when we give our obedience and love to our Lord, we are lead into active accord with not only charity to our neighbor in whatever form is needed, but to a higher morality that seeks to elevate the sinner towards God and out of the mire rather than to tell the sinner (ourselves, mostly) that the mire is actually a "good".

God is not a gray object. He desires that we are clear in our intent, one way or another. A "yes" to Him is a clear "no" to the winds of fickle popular culture. A "no" to an immoral act is automatically a "yes" to the Most High and His love.

We must be clear in everything that we do, at every moment, surrendering to God in even the smallest things. It is the smallest sins that lead us to the bigger ones that rupture our relationship with God.

To what, then, are we giving our agreement every day? To things that are holy, or to things that debase us?

We must choose. We must examine ourselves.

What do YOU choose today?
*

Poverty

Today is the Feast Day of St. Vincint de Paul, a name that is synonymous with poverty and outreach to the poor.

I certainly grew up hearing of his name associated with various funds and food shelves to benefit the poor, and I'm certain my own family received the benefits of works and donations by people dedicated to his mission.

Somewhere around my 8th or 9th year, Mom applied for welfare, and I don't remember a single day after that where we were not under the offical state heading of "poor". I remember bags of food being delivered to our apartment a few days before Thanksgiving and Christmas. I remember clothing showing up at our house, and Mom exclaiming over strange items as though they were the most beautiful fabrics she'd ever seen (even though they were things that should have been buried and left for dead.)

To this day, I have no fashion sense...I'm still too traumatized by the atrocites that were presented to us to understand what "fashion" means. If it fit, we wore it no matter how ugly it was. And we wore out the good stuff in order to avoid having to don things that should never have been conceived by the human imagination.

So I know poverty. I almost died rather that give in to it back in the winter of 1996-1997. At the time, I was in an apartment I couldn't afford, but which was easy to cover when I had the employment under which I'd obtained it. The rent: $600 per month for a one-bedroom. But I lost the job, and spent the next few months just trying to survive. I found a job that didn't pay me NEARLY enough (I'm in a similar situation now), and I didn't think I had ANY time off in my new job. So when I got sick, I went to work. For a day without pay meant I wouldn't eat, or would be short on rent.

So it was that one sickness bled into another, and I ended up with what I think was bronchitis. I woke up one night unable to either draw a breath or exhale. I could well have suffocated in my sleep. As it was, I sat straight up in bed, panicked, my lungs full, my sinuses full, paralyzed. But by a miracle of God, some residual passage must have been available as I coughed some awful stuff out, enabling me to breathe once again.

I laid back down, exhausted, terrified, thinking I should go to the hospital as I knew I might go to sleep and not wake up again. But I had no money, I had no insurance...and if I didn't work, I'd lose the roof over my head.

I never went to the doctor, and slowly, on my Nyquil and other OTC medications, I recovered.

That's poverty; where you won't go the doctor even when you're dying because you have to choose between that, eating, or paying the rent.

I never looked to the State to save me; I'd grown up that way. The State doesn't save; it ENSLAVES. I'd rather die than ever live in the enslaving sweat of taxpayers.

But poverty has a greater meaning.

We consider poverty only by its material meaning, but in reality, it has much more depth. Poverty isn't about the goods we have or have not. Poverty is spiritual.

Jesus said to us, "Blessed are the poor in spirit"

The "poor in spirit" are those who are impoverished not through financial means, but in a deficit of God.

I grew up materially poor, in a divorced family, on welfare and receiving major holiday dinners thanks to our parish. But God was always present, Jesus graced our home, and so we had abundance.

I have never been so poor as in that year I lost my job and couldn't pay my rent; for not only was I without financial well being, I was without God. And that was the greatest poverty of all.

Last year in our Old Testament class, we had to do a synthetic paper on of the the possible topics given by our professor. In speaking with other students, we learned how related was each topic; sacrifice, mercy, poverty, and the disadvantaged among others.

In looking at GOD'S definition of poverty, we see that the disadvantaged are those who are in sin, who have deprived themselves of God, or who never knew Him. THAT is true poverty.

God does clearly teach that we need to care for those with material needs, but what is so wrong in our culture is that the spiritually poor are being ignored, or encouraged in pursuing their poverty. It is a poverty of morality, a poverty of spirit that no one seems to WANT to recognize.

I see so many people arguing for the financial condition of this country, and for their homes and for money for various things. I see so many Catholics arguing for Social Justice and working for social services, and, yes, these things are important. But they aren't everything.

They aren't eternity. The problem is, that even in many (if not most) of these allegedly Catholic programs, there is no soul; there is no morality. It's all about the material to the detriment of the spirit. We are enabling sin, ignoring the need for conversion.

I am a woman who has grown up poor, stand to likely lose my own home in the coming months given the current crisis, but I don't consider that poverty.

So many religious communities are in economically poor neighborhoods, and they are doing incredible work. But the wealthy neighborhoods are being ignored. The Middle Class neighborhoods...where are those?

I'd argue that THOSE places harbor the true poor, for those are the people who have the financial goods to do amazing things, and yet they compartmentalize their lives. They maybe give to charity, but skip Mass on Sunday. They maybe have a crucifix or Bible in their home...but it's only gathering dust.

There is no greater poverty than to be without God. Give me my untreated bronchitis any day, as long as I don't have to suffer it without our Lord.

All of us will die someday. We don't get to take stuff with us. Our goal is eternity in union with God; focusing only on material poverty only makes us poorer.

Let us always remember that as Jesus charged us to care for the poor, we must remember ALL definitions of that term, and if we care for the body to the neglect of the soul, we have not lived up to His Word.

We will all be judged by such an omission.

Modern-Day Martyrdom

Found at Orissa Burning.

The August 2008 Siege of Orissa

All the "rage" locally is with regard to the coming political convention. And yes, it's important, it's an election year. And the local "anarchists" are being arrested and there's a great deal of outrage about it, claiming the police are abusing their civil rights.

But has anyone been reading Catholic news? Why hasn't the media been covering the horrible-beyond-words violence in Orissa, where the Hindu extremists are running about gang-raping nuns in public, burning young women and priests alive, and torching everything they run across that happens to be Christian.

All this while their police look on and do nothing to stop it. Quite literally, the police stood and watched while "groups of Hindu extremists" gang-raped a nun. I have been reading Catholic and Christian news services, but their articles are rarely, if ever, carried in secular venues. And I've been horrified beyond horror at what's been happening...and the resounding silence of TV has made it even worse.

Thanks to Terry at Abbey-Roads2, I have found a new blog to watch, Orissa Burning. Get the REAL info, the stuff the media won't bother to cover. Why should they? It's not happening here in the US, and of course, it's not as if this country isn't made up of people from other nations, some of whom are Indian. So it's not as if this kind of violence affects US! Oh, no!

WHY ISN'T THIS VIOLENCE BEING SHOWN THROUGH THE SECULAR MEDIA??!

You and I know darned well that if it were Christians doing these things, the media would be ALL OVER IT! But NO! Because it's Hindus. They must be a protected class...they can do what they want, burn people alive, destroy orphanages, and rape nuns, but apparently this isn't newsworthy.

We have a couple of Sisters from India at my parish, and this morning at Mass, considering the violence in India, I began crying, trying to understand why God allows this. Yes, I know the theology, but I can't figure out how He could allow His Brides to be so violated by so many men, so violently. I can understand why He allows violent persecution...the same thing happened to early Christianity, and has continued to happen throughout history. Christians were brutally murdered, and we know that the blood of the martyrs were the seeds of the Church. And we know that in places where our Faith is so violently persecuted, it also grows very strong.

But GANG RAPE? I can't imagine anything worse. I'd rather be burned alive, flayed alive...anything but THAT! Do you see what a horrible violence that is? It's not just invading one's most intimate and private parts...it damages the soul. Women who have experienced rape experience a trauma unlike that of any other. It's not being beaten, or a broken bone, or even cancer. It's rape. It's the closest thing to Hell on this earth. There is NOTHING more awful. There aren't words in ANY language to describe the horrors of rape.

And for this unspeakable crime to be suffered by the most innocent of people....I have only tears, for words can't convey the depth of suffering. Words are trite.

And in Orissa, it's even worse and "just rape"...for those who are supposed to be there to protect them are standing there in their badges and looking on, unconcerned at the physical, sexual, and spiritual violence being done before their very eyes. One article speaks about how a priest, apprehended by the mob, was ordered to "have sex with" the Sister, because they claimed, "priests and nuns do it!"

It seems he continued to refuse and continued to be beaten even more in lieu of visiting this deepest and most atrocious violence upon someone who was likely a friend. How awful for them both, how he must have been trying to avert his eyes, how she must have stood there, probably naked or nearly so, covered in slime, violated, humiliated to her very soul...

And we hear very little, if anything, about it in the secular media.

If this was happening in the US, if even for an hour, it would be all over the international media outlets. It would be quashed.

But because it's India, it's apparently unimportant.

The truly sad thing is...this kind of violence is happening in other countries as well, perhaps more quietly. But we don't hear a lot about the Sudan, either, and this kind of violence has continued to happen there for YEARS.

Please pray for our brothers and sisters in India, and throughout the world. This HAS to end!

As we go about our daily lives here in the U.S., we practice our faith, we celebrate Labor Day, we sport images of our faith on our cars, on the windows of our homes, on the jewelry we wear, and in the words we proclaim. And we are safe. And although I am a woman living alone, I can't say I particularly fear that a gang of extremists will happen upon me and attack me. As I write, my home is wide open to admit the breeze...and I am not afraid.

I have done nothing to merit this safety. My sisters are being violated, and even though by our country's standards I consider myself to be poor, I have more than I need, including an expectation of safety. A presumption of safety.

They don't have that in Orissa. They are fleeing to the jungles, they are hiding out, they are suffering in ways we can't imagine...and as a country, as Catholics...we're ignoring them.

In India, such transparency that we enjoy in our practice of Christianity isn't just a physical death sentence...for women, it places us in a position to be gang-raped by violent extremists.

I thank God I'm in America...and I pray to God that those women who have given their lives to Him, and the violence done to them converts the very mobs that have done so much to destroy them, body and soul.

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I can write no more about this...the tears won't allow it.

Can't You See the Blood Dripping from the Flag of China?

I wasn't going to post this, and maybe it's a post that will be taken down. In all likelihood, if my URL is not yet banned in China, it will be after tonight.

It's completely INSANE that China was allowed to host the Olympics. Given the well-known human-rights violations in SO many areas, given the well-known oppression of their people...HOW, in good conscience, can the OIC POSSIBLY have awarded this honor to one of the WORST and most immoral countries on the planet?

In 1982, one of my cousins was bound for the Olympics, and as I understand it, her name was a big one; EVERYONE knew she'd be going. She was a diver, and the day before Trials, she suffered an unfortunate landing in training, and the resulting broken bone broke her chance for the Gold...and her heart. She couldn't face four more years of the same regimen of training only to come so close and meet the same disappointment. She chose to move on with her life.

I remember clearly watching the 1982 Summer Olympics, watching my cousin's sport, completely awed by the athletes, and I announced that day to my parents that one day, I'd be an Olympian, too. Because SOMEONE had to be. Why not me?

Well, I have resigned myself to the fact that this will never happen, yet in my years of adulthood I DID achieve a certain elite training and have come, through that, to appreciate the amazing sacrifices and dedication of Olympians. I've also become a person of faith, which affects me not only spiritually, but socially as I cannot look at the world we live in and remain aloof.

Let's just cut to the chase:

When I see the Chinese flag, I see the blood of the Chinese People.

The flag that welcomes the athletes, the dignitaries, and the visitors is red for a reason, and EVERY time each of us looks at it, we must remember the people of China in their subjugation to the oppressive and deranged communist leaders who deny not only their dignity, but their very basic human rights...even their lives.

A long time ago, an important leadership concept came to my attention; never ask anyone to do what you would refuse to do or could not do. To do so is hypocrasy. But the idea goes beyond leadership and into everyday life and colors our decisions and opinions.

Taking into consideration my cousin's great disappointment and my own forays into serious athletic training in the past (not Olympic-bound - not the same goal), I took an objective look at the Olympics in China. Sure, I could look at it ideologically, even positively. But in the end, I've had to concede that this event does more for the current Chinese Regime than it does for the beautiful Chinese people.

There's a lot of ideology out there; you have a lot of people, even good Catholic authors using the tired argument that "the Olympics doesn't HAVE to be political...."

Well, right. I agree. It doesn't HAVE to be...but the fact that politicization isn't required doesn't change the reality that it IS and REMAINS a political event.
We cannot use the idea that "The Olympics don't have to be political." It's a strawman argument and it can go up in the same flames a match applied to a scarecrow would generate. We live in the real world and we have to see it as such, not as the fantasy world of "what we'd prefer it to be." We can't react to fantasy; we can ONLY deal with what's happening before our very eyes, and if we don't accept it, we can't encourage change.

China isn't doing this for the goodness of her people. China isn't hosting the Olympics for a financial boom. They aren't doing it out of "goodwill", for the latter has to arise out of a true desire to do good...and the objective documentation on human rights failings on the part of China leaves "goodwill" out of the equation.

The people of China deserve something good...so why are they suffering in the shadows of the Olympic stadiums?

Because the Olympics aren't about them. They are about China's use of what Nazi Germany used when they hosted the Olympics, while, in the meantime, they slaughtered thousands of people in death camps.

Yet, their hosting of the Olympics gave them a positive spin in the world, and people were willing to overlook what was REALLY happening because, well, Hitler had such a pretty face when his country hosted the Olympics...he couldn't be THAT bad, could he?

I can think of thousands upon thousands of souls, some still living, who would disagree.

The Nazi Olympics are happening again, folks. And sure, the Chinese government, just like Nazi Germany, is putting on a pretty face. Just recently a man from Minnesota, a prominent and beloved local businessman, was murdered in China by a random deranged killer. And the Chinese government, reportedly, has been just wonderful to his wife who was also severely injured. The government has been incredibly helpful to the family and is providing the best medical treatment available. And that's good..that's exactly what they SHOULD do.

But they won't do this for their own people. And I doubt, if they were there as tourists and not for the Olympics, that we'd be seeing this face of the government; they likely wouldn't take personal interest at all, and we wouldn't expect them to do so. Things happen to people who visit America, and our government doesn't "adopt" them and issue press releases, do they? It would be a full-time job and a news channel would have to be dedicated to all the events.

So, this event alone seems to point to the fact that the Chinese government is over-extending itself in an attempt to "prove" how good and benevolent it is.

ON THE ATHLETES

I don't fault the athletes for competing or for being there. They worked hard to be there, and this is a dream of a lifetime. Congratulations to all, and God bless them. They are living history and will forever look back on these events, but I fear that what China is and will become after this event will also forever taint their memories when they come to realize what was happening in the country that hosted them.

Much like being hosted by a mass murderer and being sent away unscathed. Survivor's guilt.

In musing about this, I tried to, using my experience and knowledge gained from memories of my cousin, place myself in the shoes of an olympic athlete. I've written fiction about being in that very place, but now I change the idea; what if the event was...China?

Knowing what I know, knowing about the underground Catholic Church, knowing that women are forced to have abortions due to the one-child limit legislated by the Chinese government, knowing that they recently killed a Bishop...I'd have to weigh it. Getting to the Olympics is a once-in-a-lifetime event that happens only to the fewest, and the best of the fewest.

To be counted in that number...wow. Humbling. Amazing. Not something to discount. You can ONLY get there by putting your heart and soul into it.

But knowing all that I know...I honestly believe I would turn it down. I would walk away and ask other athletes to do the same. Not without tears, not without a struggle for I would know what I was giving up. But I would also realize that if I competed, I'd be competing upon soil bloodied by my own Christian brothers and sisters, and through my willingness to participate, I'd be legitimizing the government's actions against them.

Thus, my actions would be a betrayal against my own people. And I, as a Catholic, claim the Chinese as my brothers and sisters in Christ.

If they are being slaughtered, I have no business being friendly with their murderers. The ONLY thing to do is to walk away and use my position as an athlete to make a very public stand and declare a very public condmenation against the Chinese government.

BOYCOTT

I have not watched the Olympics. A couple times I have briefly had the channel on, although the event wasn't one I care about, yet I still feel guilty even for that. I have watched the medal count, and I'm glad when America does well. And it is KILLING me to realize I won't be able to watch the equestrienne or swimming or gymnastics or track competetions. Because, if I say I wouldn't be willing to compete...then I can at least make the sacrifice of not watching those who do. Even though it has no financial impact upon anyone.

I can't watch the Olympics this year. At all. Because, through this post especially, I am saying that the venue is immoral, thus, so is our participation.

Watching is participation.

I wish the athletes of all nations well, and I pray good comes out of this event. But I can't give acquiescence to it because the host is the next thing to Satan Incarnate, and I certainly don't think that the Olympics should be held in Hell next time around.

Speak to Chinese Catholics and other Chinese Christians...they'll tell you that this year, the Olympics ARE being held in Hell.

And every time you look at the Chinese flag, take a really good look...because, if you were born under it, it could be your blood dripping upon the athletes that now tread on your grave or the graves of your unborn.
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There's No Crying in BASEBALL!

One of the Best. Lines. Ever.

From one of the BEST. MOVIES. EVER.

Hands down.

The first time I watched this movie, I was bored and just looking for something new, and had seen portions of it here and there on TV, which prompted me to finally pull it out of my roommate's DVD library and watch it.

I was enthralled. I love this movie. And for a long time I had cable so every so often I watched it, but for months now I've been deprived of cable services since I can't afford the fun stuff like TBS. So while I was at Amazon.com recently ordering my books for my upcoming semester, I also looked up DVD's and purchased "A League of Their Own" for the awesome price of $3.95. I'm not sure there will be anything left of this DVD when I'm done with it!

My Confession...

I've never really been a fan of baseball, and that's one of the reasons I delayed so long in watching this movie to begin with. When I was a kid I HATED softball with a passion, and every other sport. This was likely because I couldn't SEE..I had an astigmatysm and even in the classroom teachers couldn't understand why I wasn't grasping the material. I didn't realize that I couldn't see like the other kids could. I didn't realize that I sucked at sports because I literally couldn't see the ball coming at me and I couldn't observe the plays of any given sport, so when a ball or a puck came to me, I had no idea what to do. (Incidentally, for some really odd reason, I was REALLY GOOD at soccer and Field Hockey in spite of my vision problems...but never got the opportunity to play them when I got out of elementary school.)

But I digress...basically, the point is, I've never been a huge fan of Baseball. I've gone to games in person on occasion, and ALWAYS enjoyed the experience. I remember when the Minnesota Twins won the World Series in 1987; I was in Jr. High, and in the classes like Drafting, where we had "work time", the teachers let us watch the afternoon games as long as we also continued to work on our projects. It was then that I maybe had the first enthusiasm for Baseball. And let's face it; this is a uniquely American sport, with a unique place in American history. I still remember sitting with my Great Aunt Rose in her livingroom, watching the Twins Games on her little livingroom TV. She was a HUGE fan, and I'm guessing she'd remember the Women in Baseball portrayed in the movie I watched tonight and I only regret that I didn't even, at the time, know that women HAD a history in Baseball.

Themes
The themes woven throughout this movie make it a timeless classic. Themes of sisterhood, of family, of feminism (both the good and the bad) and chauvenism are woven masterfully and theatrically throughout the story, painting a very believable picture with a mixture of fact and fiction to keep us all hopping, inspiring us to learn more, and...might I say....to BE more?

The movie opens with the ongoing rivalry between the farm sisters, Dottie and Kit, both incredibly talented in Baseball, both responsible in their work on the farm. And even in their rivalry, the love and connection they have to each other is nearly palpable.

Then we see the theme of selfishness versus sacrifice, which switches throughout the movie to the people and the situations, revealing the depth of the characters as well as the human capacity to overcome their own personal failings. In the beginnig, Dotty refuses the offer to come to Chicago to try out, but at the ultimatum given to Kit, "If your sister comes, you can come too", along with Kit's desperation to finally come out from under her sister's shadow, Dotty realizes that her life, although already chosen, isn't hers alone, either. She sacrifices what she truly desires in order that her kid sister can reach her own potential.

That's love.

Yet when they witness injustice, a rejection of an incredible yet not-so-attractive woman, BOTH Kit and Dotty refuse to continue on the train towards their destiny. They both recognize talent and aren't willing to let the world's standards of "beauty" reject the calling of even a potential competitor. And so it was that Marla Hooch joined them. (And for the record...I NEVER thought she was ugly, and the way she was treated in the movie by "officials" really ticked me off! But wasn't she a beauty as an elderly woman?)

FEMINISM

This movie took place just past the peak of true Feminism. It seems to me, without researching the timeline and actual facts, that WWII marked a Golden Age of Feminsim, wherin the gifts of woman were recognized beyond the "barefoot and pregnant" category, where women literally stepped up to the plate and saved our economy, built our weapons, and even provided our timeless form of national entertainment in the form of women's sports. And un-heard-of event. Women literally saved America. U-RAH!

The event brought out the same weird extremes we see today; with the pre-programmed and prim prude who continues to suggest that women must remain in a niche that had oppressed them for so long, to the chauvenism that fought to "elevate" the women as sex objects, even using the idea of "charm school" to give the impression of "lady-ness" so as to better exploit their "wares" on the National, or even Intenational stage.

Even racism makes an appearance, and we are made to realize that women of color were not allowed into the League, to the very detriment of the Game. The dignity and proud humility (the only time those two words can EVER come together) of the black woman who pitches an out-of-bounds ball to Dottie says far more than any rhetoic can ever accomplish. I have to say that this, for me, was one of the most heartbreaking scenes.

The movie takes place in the time of War, when the men of America enlisted in DROVES to fight Hitler, which is what allowed this entire sports event to happen. Yet, in the Roadhouse scene, populated by the vixen-like girls of the Rockford Peaches, I, for one, have to ask...from whence did come all the smitten gentlemen that had aforeto encroached upon the locale of that venue?

They seemed mostly healthy and intelligent to me...what had kept these men home to woo the vixens, as opposed to going off to defend freedom for the world? Could they really be the cream of the crop?

But I digress. Hollywood always has a stash of their own "objects" to fit any movie scene. Poor things.

The war theme comes to bear, having been built up among the women of the Rockford Peaches, especially those who were married. When a telegram comes, the agony is nearly palpable, and in this day and age, I think we might feel it all the more. This scene NEVER fails to make me cry; it's too real. It's too direct.

It's too "now."

And yet, we still see the theme of selfishness, even with Dotty, our heroine. She was the great talent who had, throughout the movie, saved the day morally, personally, and through her coaching for the team when Jimmy Dugan was far too schnockered to be bothered to stop scratching himself *ahem* long enough to bother doing his job.

But then Dotty's husband arrives, wounded, and even though her team is heading to the World Series, her detachment is so great that she leaves the team. At their most dire hour, she walks away. It's understandable, given the situation (husband back from war), but there didn't even seem to be a struggle; she got what she wanted, and who cares about anyone else?

It brings us to consider, no matter what we want, even if life throws our desires our way, are we really free to forget that others need us, too?

But there is redemption; for Dotty, for the alcohol-soaked Dugan, for Kit, who steals the show.

And in the end, we are left with nostalgia, a sense of what has been, maybe what should still be, of friendships that never ended and lives that had come to a close. It is a bittersweet finale that reminds us that life is temporary, and even in the shining moments, they become only snapshots in black-and-white, sepia tones at best, and it is our memories that add the color.

Maybe this is for another post, but I can't help but observe that what original feminism intended has failed. This movie alludes to the new "liberality" of sexuality that carried on in their baby-boomer children that are still wreaking havoc in the Church and our society. And while all the worst has happened, the beauty of the Golden Age has not continued. We don't have Women's Professional Baseball, and if we did, no one would go. When I was in college, a Women's Hockey League started, but while I was in Mexico. If I could have afforded the equipment and if I'd been there at the time of formation, I would have been on the team. But there have been no opportunities since then, and Women's Hockey STILL isn't major league.

Women's Basketball might be the biggest thing, and even that doesn't have NEARLY the prestige of other of men's sports.

I would suggest that if Feminism were to get over their vagina-gazing (not-so-veiled reference to the gross Vagina Monologues), and over their obsession with the so-called "sexual revolution" that has done nothing more than cripple women and kill babies, well, maybe they could focus on the things that mattered to the women who started the Movement to begin with. The foundresses, the women are rolling in their graves at what has happened with the idea that they originally advanced; that women have dignity. That women are more than just cooks and housekeepers. That women have gifts and talents that can contribute to and even BUILD society.

Instead, we've gotten...a culture of death. A far cry from the freedom and dignity we see in the movie.

You see, I can do rhetoric, too.

But it's time to bring this long post to a close. And I'll do it in a fun way. For those who know this movie...do you find yourself categorizing your friends? Yourself?

I can tell you right now...I'm Kit. I've never had her moment of fame, but I'm her, in all her best and especially worst moments. I have her fiery temper, I've been overlooked for the shadow of another, and I've had her passion. I've even spent time blaming others for things that weren't their fault. And like Kit, as much anger as I've had towards the important people in my life, I've loved them even more and recognized their contributions to who and what I am. But I gotta say...I'm Kit.

Maybe one day I should write a version of this movie and cast my friends...

The Eyes of a Child...The Eyes of an Offender

I’ll never forget his eyes, how they hid in his teen face, still childlike, terrified, questioning, and in complete agony. His hands were shaking as he spoke, seeming to transfer the fear to his very voice, which also shook. He was a nervous kid, from my observation, and found it difficult to relate to anyone.

That evening I was assigned as his “One to One”, a Staff person assigned to a patient who was in need of extra supervision. He was a fairly new patient so we were on a locked unit. At the time, we were in his room, with the door open according to policy. Also according to policy, I could not be outside of an arm’s length from him. The only time he could be alone was in the bathroom. At the end of this conversation, a male staff would be assigned to him as he’d no longer be able to go into even the bathroom by himself.

Troy* had accepted my presence with docility, and seemed to be a nice kid. He was soft-spoken, with a willowy stature that promised to eventually make him a tall man. At the time, he was maybe 15, maybe a little younger. His pimpled face betrayed his adolescence, while his eyes seemed both very old and very young all at once. Although I’d been working there for a couple years and knew most of our patients had experienced agonies the average person couldn’t even imagine, I’d never seen such pain before. It was almost hypnotizing.

As he was a new patient, and given his mild manners, I wondered how the other patients would accept him. Troy didn’t seem strong enough to stand up for himself. Guaranteed he’d be bullied, and if he wasn’t, he’d be one taken in by the bullies and “converted” to their ways. He seemed ready to conform to whatever the place had to throw at him, just as a form of passive survival. Troy was a wounded creature, and I was about to find out just how wounded.

I knew some; he had been abused and he must be an abuser because he was not allowed off the unit or near the children’s ward. He was a risk to himself and to others, although they weren’t sure in what ways, exactly, which is why I (and other staff on other shifts were assigned to him.)

Troy asked to speak to me in his room, and acknowledged the need to have the door open. He also knew that whatever he told me would be reported; this boy knew the system. I was on my guard, but he did seem sincere. He was near tears and the shaking in his hands became more pronounced. But I told him he could speak to me and I would listen.

He sat at the foot of his bed. I sat on the other, which was not assigned to any other patient. Consistent with the rules, I was in sight of the doorway and within an arm’s reach; the building was constructed with this in mind. I had a radio on my hip, out of his immediate reach, and the other staff on the unit knew we were there. Yet they could not hear what was said, so Troy could speak as though in confidence even though he knew I’d be making a record.

Troy told me, haltingly, that he’d been abused…sexually. Severely. He didn’t get graphic, but the shame was evident. He had told this story before and knew that we were aware of it, so he didn’t need to provide details. He even verified that I knew and seemed to take comfort that I did; for that way, he didn’t have to reveal the worst details. But that’s not why he wanted to talk. He seemed to want to lift a weight from his shoulders and reveal who he really was. He told me how awful the abuse was, how it made him feel, and how it made him want to die. But as he got older, he found himself with other kids, and he started doing the same things, compelled to do so. He hated himself for doing it, and even more, wanted to die. He knew he was making those kids feel like he had felt and STILL felt.

He had nightmares of jumping through windows, of hanging himself, slitting his wrists…everything. And he wanted to follow through. He wanted to die. He’d rather die than ever abuse another kid. He wanted his compulsion to end. And he would kill himself if he got the chance. Troy didn’t want sympathy; he wanted to be condemned and he wanted to die as quickly as possible and felt he deserved it. He said he knew he didn’t deserve to be abused and neither did his victims.

He was just a kid…and when his eyes met mine, they were direct; he meant what he said, every word.

Torn

I didn’t say a word as he spoke. I wasn’t surprised by what I heard, although I was moved. I knew I was sympathizing with a sex offender, but he was a sex offender who was still a child. He was both adult and child in the same person, and all I could see was his humanity.

He wasn’t a danger to anyone at the moment; he was on a locked unit and he was there for help, admittedly help he didn’t want for he thought his help could be found on the edge of a razor or in the barrel of a loaded gun.

I thanked Troy for speaking with me and telling me what he was thinking. I asked him if he realized what I had to do; he did. He would not be allowed to go to the bathroom alone, he would have someone within an arm’s length for as long as the powers that be decided. But he said he was glad he had spoken. Troy went with me willingly to the supervisor’s office to obtain the orders necessary to protect him.

To this day, when I learn of sex offenders, I am torn. On one hand, I think they are vile, they are evil, they should not be suffered to live. There are too many horrifying stories of lives destroyed and of brutal murders. And I worked with so many victims of those offenders; children…just children. Then, I remember Troy, his dark eyes anguished, both adult and child, and I realize that EVERY sex offender was once a child, and they and Troy share the same eyes.

I can’t divorce the humanity of the offenders from their offense. I don’t sympathize with their crimes, only their humanity. They were children once, too. They were abused, they were terrified, they were alone and they were destroyed. It was their destruction that created monsters they became. But within those monsters, there are still children that were so wounded they could never overcome the injuries.

And yet...others suffer because of them. Excruciatingly. Lives are destroyed.

Of those offenders that are not violent in the bloody sense, their actions are still violent given what they do the heart and soul of another. Some of them hate themselves, and still, there is no treatment.

I remain torn when it comes to the issue of sex offenders. People need to be protected from them, and thus, they must be isolated from the ability to offend again. Yet, they are human beings, wounded souls more in need of mercy than many of us. Not all of them are psychopaths, and we pray that their victims don’t follow in their footsteps.

I believe in justice….strongly. In fact, I tend to align more with prosecution than with defense, if given a choice. When I considered going to Law School, I considered that if I pursued Criminal Law, which was the area of the greatest interest for me, I wanted to be a Prosecutor. What stopped me? I’d have to spend time working in Defense. I did not want to defend criminals.

Yet my very life brought me into the position of defending those who have committed the most heinous of crimes…this very post is an example.

I also believe in Mercy; for I have been the recipient of Mercy, over and over again. I still don’t deserve it. I have also been a victim of crime. Yet…there is no Justice without Mercy.

We all need to find the balance. We all need to be rational, look at facts, weigh them carefully…and then we have to be careful not to remove humanity from those facts. All of our judgments in life impact others.

Maybe I’m wrong in this philosophy. But whenever I think of justice and mercy, I remember Troy and realize that it’s only by God’s grace that I never went by the same route.

God have mercy on us all.
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* Troy was a real boy but this is not his real name. Incidentally I don’t think I ever had a patient by that name.

Forgotten in the Destruction

KARE11 photo
The tornadoes that hit the local area on Sunday afternoon are still all over the news, and well they should be. But I criticize the media, for they are focusing on only one area of damage, that being the most dramatically hit, while ignoring the area where the tornadoes began. People in lesser-devastated areas are not receiving the same help, and they need it just as desperately, for some of their homes are just as completely condemned. They weren't leveled by tornadoes, but they WILL be leveled by bulldozers and wrecking balls as a result of this storm.

Where are the news stations with regard to their plight?

The other day I had a meeting in Forest Lake and I returned back via highway 61 which took me right past the worst devastation. It's one thing to see it on the news..it's completely another to be looking at it from ground-level, even in passing.

That pile of twigs? Yeah, that used to be a house, just a few days ago. That neighborhood of plywood and 2x4's, disconnected rooves, tarped shingles of structures left standing, and windowless homes...yeah. That used to be a vibrant comunity. Not a decade or so ago...just last weekend.

That same afternoon, en route home, I took a tour through the neighborhood slightly north of me, and observed the damage there as well. It wasn't as bad as the damage in Hugo, but it was bad enough, and too close to home. I was nearly caught in that storm. Had it shifted only slightly south, well, maybe I'd be homeless and waiting for a restoration company.

But let's talk about the people who aren't getting any help. At my meeting, the big topic was the storm, as it had happened in our area and the women there knew a lot of people directly affected. One of the women was late; she spoke of her friend from whose home she had just come. Her friend was in shock, completely paralyzed, living in la-la land. The tornado pretty much touched down in her yard, from the sound of it, yet NO ONE had been by to help her. Her house was not livable; the walls were bowed inward, waterlogged, the pictures were askew, and the woman was simply incapable of making any decisions. Not due to lack of intelligence or organizational ability; she is a person very gifted with organizational skills. But this storm has unseated her, rendered her out of control, and she is helpless to get it back. She needs help...but all the help is being called into the city of Hugo and her area will get "overflow" if there's too many volunteers (a number which has been capped and filled). There is no volunteer organization for her neighborhood. And she's only ONE soul. Only ONE family.

Where is KSTP? Where is KARE11? Where is WCCO? Where is KMSP?

What I really want to know is this:

Where is the media when they can really do some good for people who really need the call for help that they are incapable of making?

Oh, right...they're getting the money shots at Minnesota's version of Katrina, as this is likely to be billed.

If there was true justice in this world, the people such as the woman I mentioned (and the rest of her young family) would have a host of media attention and volunteer assistance to match that of the worst sections of Hugo. I'll not slam Hugo or the help they have; I am only demanding that justice be met and that those who ALSO need help receive it. The platitudes of the media and some other organizations are sickening and speak of corruption and PR-seeking, while many people in need of assistance are being summarily dismissed. Why?

Because their devastation is quiet drama. But they are no less in need. It is just that their needs are less obvious since their homes were not leveled directly, but will be leveled later.

MAYBE they'll have a brief apppearance in an afterthrough-story in 6 months or so, and at that point the spin from the media will be to point fingers at the government, the churches, the neighbors, or any other convenient target. And the only question we'll have then is...Where were YOU when this story was in progress?

Right. You were selling your soul for money shots where you perceived the real action to be.

There's a reason I didn't go into Journalism. I considered it, but in the end, I decided that Journalism, as a whole, had no soul.

I have not once been proven wrong. Except for my commment here, that is; for one cannot sell a soul that one does not possess.
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Caring and Sharing Hands and the Corruption of Minneapolis

The CITY of Minneapolis, that is.

For a great summary, check out Cathy's post...she gives us a solid testimony about what the City is trying to shut down.

Anyway....

Nothing like looking at good ol' fashioned New York-style city corruption in a place like our backyard. Seriously...the employees of the City of Minneapolis don't get NEARLY the concern for their "safety" that the City is now expressing about the people who are served at the shelter.

Their real concern has nothing to do with codes or shelter or the homeless...it has EVERYTHING to do with marketing.

They're building a controversial new Stadium across the street from Sharing and Caring hands, a local homeless shelter funded and lead by Mary Jo Copeland, which has been there for several years. This is a shelter that is IMPERATIVE for the survival of thousands of Minneapolis residents every year, and given the state of the economy, YOU could be next. I know that I'm certainly on the short list as I stare down a period of unemployment this summer. All I need is a major medical problem and a missed mortgage payment and I'll be bankrupt for the rest of my life.

Mary Jo, here I come!

Make this personal, people....because it's not about the nameless homeless that you don't know...it's about YOU. It's about people you love. It's about people you haven't met yet because they're receiving services from the shelter because last week they were ejected from their homes, and in a couple years you might meet them when they get back on their feet. And maybe you'll get their story and realize that you could have helped by making a simple call.

I can say the above with a certain authority; I grew up on welfare and actually was formally "homeless" for awhile. It was only the grace of God that led me to people who provided me a roof and a place to go and relatives who cared. Not everyone has that very seemingly simple benefit. Some maybe have homes...but they don't have food. Or anywhere to keep their kids during the day while they work bottom-dollar jobs to keep the roof over their heads.

You may be asking yourself what I'm talking about, and good....you should! The City of Minneapolis is threatening to shut down Sharing and Caring Hands by removing their restaurant license, allegedly for "security issues" which were pretty obviously set up for the media to film...just after the plans for the new Stadium were announced.

Oh, and did I mention that the Republican National Convention is coming? It's in the best interest of the City to make sure the squeaky-clean Republicans don't see that Minneapolis has a dirty secret. (The homeless!) Because it's not good for tax dollars to see that the plight of people in a city as shiny as Minneapolis still exist.

I gotta say...for a city that is largely blue and prides itself on all sorts of pride, it's a sad state of affairs that they are choosing this particular attack against this particular shelter with all the political goings-on in this state. If they would only realize what Copeland's work would do to showcase what the City is willing to do for the downtrodden!

From a marketing standpoint, Sharing and Caring Hands is the City of Minneapolis's Ace in the hole with regard to the political convention. It's a political diamond and free for the taking, free for media shots of politicians kissing babys, washing feet, giving soup to the homeless, and garnering publicity so that not only would they win, but Sharing and Caring Hands would win, more would donate money to the shelter after all the publicity, they'd have volunteers coming out of their ears...ad infinitum.

But no...that leads me to believe that the issue really isn't politics; it's about the money. The Stadium money. Because no one wants to feel the guilt through spending a fortune on prime seats for the Twins Game while looking at the poor people across the street - people who might not even have shoes. Might as well shut them down...it'll be better for the Twins and the general city economy if there is no dichotomy between the rich and the poor. It's all dust under the rug.

Read more facts and links over at Abbey Roads, Abbey Roads 2, and St. Monica's Kneeler.

PLEASE! If you haven't done so - come to the aid of Caring and Sharing hands and make your objections known to the City of Minneapolis. Please call today or before April 25 Mayor R.T. Rybak's policy aide: Erica Prosser 612-673-2133 or erica.prosser@ci.minneapolis.mn.us

All God's People

One of the things my superiors have always commented upon has been my ability to "endear" people to myself and build rapport by taking our conversations outside of the parameters of our business relationship, lightening the conversation, bringing both themselves and I into the picture as people. No one trained me to do this; I'm actually just naturally nosy and talkative, and apparently, this force can be directed to Good!

This trait of mine has been addressed at many positions, even the ones that were complete failures for me; somehwere in my life, God gave me the ability to put people at ease when they are in crisis and make something as boilerplate as a recorded statement into a conversation. Perhaps had I remained in Law Enforcement I would have been able to obtain great confessions...but that's not who I am.

I do love people. I love their stories and legitimately want to learn about their lives. (Yeah, I'm also completely ego-centric as evidenced by this blog.)

Today, though, I heard a story that stopped me in my tracks such that I had to share it with my co-workers.

Keep in mind; I hate my job and the subject and focus of my job; not the customers. (Some are irritating to no end and there's nothing we can do right...)

This lady hails from Russia and has been in the United States for 15 years. I'm not sure how we got on the topic, but she made a comment about something so I opened the door wider and asked her what brought her here. She grew up under a dictatorship and when Gorbachev came into power, there was a very brief window of freedom for the people of Russia. This was her opportunity. She fled the country into the Ukraine, lived with her son for awhile and then they traveled to the United States, where they became citizens and made a life here.

She acknowledged that even though it's now "home", it's not Russia, it's not her homeland, and it's not perfect. However, she also knew that it was a gift to embrace the comforts and opportunities of this country, and she is giving something back...as much as she is able. This summer, she is traveling back to the Ukraine, six hours from her own country. She will be so close to her family, yet she will not be able to visit because, as she said, Russia is still under a dictatorship. Should she try to return home, she would be considered to be a spy, she would be arrested, and she would never be released.

She will, in all liklihood, never see her family again.

Over the phone, I could hear how this breaks her heart. How she misses home. Her country is not about the political machine that governs it currently any more than the US is about our own political machinations. It is about family. It is about the land. It is about roots.

And she can never go home again; she can never embrace her family again.

This is true suffering.

I thank God for introducing me to people like her, to help remind me that we are a country of refugees, a society made up of people who have fled various nations and various histories, and we have made our home here. We have been born here, and we are now citizens of a soverign nation.

Sadly, we have forgotten our ancestry; we have completely come to disregard the sufferings of our previous generations who left family and land and home to sacrifice for the future lives of the progeny yet unborn; us.

Take some time tonight to consider from whence you came; consider your ancestry and the nations your grandparents or great-grandparents, etc. fled for the promise of the lives that would come, including yours. Consider their suffering, when the journey entailed, and how they could never go home again, either.

We are a country of refugees; let us remember, upon meeting those who are such recent Americans or even temporary residents, that they have come here for a reason, and everyone has a story. Most of them will calmly tell you stories of harrowing escapes, but gloss over them so you will not see their pain. They will tell you of fallen walls and dictatorships, they will tell you not of hovels, but of beloved family members they will never see again.

We must become family to people who are displaced and would not choose this country but for certain circumstances; we must listen to their stories and recognize that, but for the grace of God, there go we.