Catholics and the Press

It's no secret that the Media hates us but if we are to be honest...it's partially our fault. 

Recently I happened to witness an exchange between a reporter and a Catholic spokesman and was dismayed by the image given to the Reporter about an important Catholic devotion, one that is quite central to our Faith. I also saw others try to explain things to a reporter who had no qualms in asking for details and clarification, citing that this was entirely new to him and he truly wanted to understand.

I believed him.Truth and sincerity were in his expression and body language, conveying slight embarrassment.  I also knew that the people speaking to him had their minds elsewhere and let's face it: it's really hard to explain our beliefs about things we take for granted because they have always been our practice and belief.

It must be terribly confusing for "an outsider", e.g.  the secular press, to come into any religious organization or something associated with a religious organization, and obtain details of an event, people, or person involved in whatever story they happen to be covering.

We bloggers are often the first to condemn the Media (yup, I'm right there in that crowd!) and harp at them for interviewing this or that dissident or mis-informed individual. We're always rolling our eyes and cringing when we hear or read a reporter's summary of our beliefs and practices or how it applies to a situation, and then, if the spokesperson of a particular place is quoted, we either tend to condemn that person as a "dissident" or, more likely, the reporter with some other defamatory label usually lumped in with "The Liberal Media."

I don't think that's really fair. 

Now, don't go off on me in the combox about the general fact that the Media as a whole is, in fact, actually quite liberal. Even most liberals agree with that! And they've got plenty to say about the "conservative" media, too, and I'll stand in line to condemn the "conservative" end, also without qualms.

So let's move past that and actually shine the light on ourselves as Catholics for a moment. It's necessary and we do need to take a good, hard look. 

Like it or not, if something is happening involving a Catholic parish, reporters and big trucks with huge antennae are going to show up and stick microphones in people's faces. We don't have to like that fact; few people do, even those who are trying to get a story into the News in some way. It simply isn't comfortable to be a bug under glass. The only people who are comfortable with it are veteran reporters and news anchors in cozy studios.

Let's look at things from a different perspective

First let's consider the Catholic psyche.

We Catholics often grow up in our faith and we are accustomed to our liturgical worship; it is quiet, it is contained, and it is constant. We don't just have the Mass which is infinite and contains everything in heaven and earth, but we have the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH) seven times per day, or for busy people, the Magnificat magazine (which is often a bridge to the LOH). We have Eucharistic Adoration, Processions (a bit more public than our typical form of prayer!), Rosary, various prayer groups and just a general culture of prayer that is inherent in our religion.


The world does not understand this intense form of prayer because it is not available for public viewing. While it may be emotional, it is hidden and is not open to reveal to observers who expect us to react in a different way. In the world of religion, Catholicism is very introverted for our relationship with Christ is so intense that we have no need to announce to others what we are doing and when.

But the world does not understand this and if we are in crisis or if a group experiences a great event that is somehow related to the Catholic Church, the general public is confused. They confuse our regular prayer cycles and think if it appears we do nothing, we in fact, are doing nothing when the opposite is true.

They are, quite understandably, a bit stymied by the fact that Catholics pray so quietly and in a crisis, we don't "rally" like many do, but we bow our heads and bend our knees and do this privately or in the silence of the Eucharistic Adoration chapel. If we don't have such a chapel, we to to the Sanctuary and we do the same thing with Jesus hidden in the tabernacle.  

Then enter the Press, in some form, mostly secular or participants in a different non-Catholic or non-Christian religion...or no religion at all.  

The Press is supposed to be conditioned to be "unbiased" (Journalism 101) but the reality is they are human beings and as such, they are biased. However, let us, for the sake of the virtue of charity, assume the best of these professionals and hope they really ARE trying to be unbiased, especially when it comes to religion.

Yet, the largely-secular Press, by practice at least, comes into a Catholic parish and is suddenly confronted with all sorts of theological terms: Liturgy, Eucharistic Adoration, Transubstantiation, etc.

Now, think of who is called upon to respond to the Press at a given event:  often it's the Priest, and really, dear Father has his mind on many things. Perhaps his explanation to the media is harried and clipped because while he knows he must give this interview, his heart is with his flock and all that needs to be done to serve them in this given event or crisis. The parish business administrator may be called upon to become the Spokesman and you know what? That person may not even be Catholic as his job calls for knowledge of business, not theology. He may give an explanation of a Catholic practice of which he has rudimentary knowledge and may even admire, but if he doesn't share the Faith or have direct knowledge through shared participation in a given devotion, he may get the explanation wrong.

It's also quite possible that the person giving the interview to the Press has his or her mind on the larger community, and out of lack of faith, fears our beliefs are not palatable to the general public, and further, may not have a succinct explanation of it. The reporters need word bites, not long theological treatises. So the spokesman bungle the explanation, or, more likely, hedges the explanation to make it seem like something other than what it is...maybe something more Protestant or more "generic" to the allegedly larger non-believing crowd.

Inherent Catholic Culture

As it is, what I'll call "orthodox Catholics" who tend to prefer the quiet, unobtrusive liturgical prayer that characterizes our culture are not very likely to step up to the mike and speak for us. It's just not part of our collective Catholic personality to want to be in the spotlight. Those Catholics who do, though, unfortunately tend to be overwhelmingly blustery and condemning.  Or perhaps they step up out of a sense of duty or parish role and do the best they can with what they have and just pray it all goes away quickly.

Now, when it comes to the blustery types, common to what the world wants to call we "conservative Catholics",  if I were a Reporter, I'd run far away, quickly, and never darken the door of that parish ever again. I'd certainly never call up such people for an interview. Who wants to be lectured-to and condemned as "liberal media"? Why even risk that?

We so often see that some of the more "socially-active" parishes have much of the media spotlight, and we know that those same parishes for some reason tend to be missing the proper theology to back up their explanations, too. But because the personality of those parishes is more extroverted, they are also more press-oriented and so the Media, as a whole, will naturally gravitate towards them. If you were a member of the Press, wouldn't you look for comment on a Catholic topic at a place where you were more likely to be well-received?

Heck, I would!  And, having worked with difficult people in many places, yeah, I'd call the nice witness before I'd call the one I knew was going to be a problem to me personally in the fulfillment of my job!

Here's the thing, my dear friends...we need to do a serious examination of conscience in our relationship with the Press and we need to see where we are at fault...and what we can do to change it. And really, it has to start with we bloggers because, at least online, we are the face of the Church. And we're scaring the secular  Media away. That's not going to help our cause.

Here are my suggestions for good Catholic PR: 

* If you are called upon to be a spokesperson for you parish or our Catholic-related event and need to use terms like "Eucharistic Adoration" or "Liturgy of the Hours" or "Vespers", for example, you need to have a concise definition fresh at hand, use the actual terms for our practices, and understand that our terms may be new to the reporter who visits us.

* Don't shy away from theological terms - such terms invite questions and questions invite answers which tend to develop friendly relationships. (Keep an eye on evangelization y'all. Maybe not that reporter, but if he or she gets it right because you took the time, it can go a LONG way!) 

* Be open to the reporter's requests for definition - have it handy! Write it down on a card you can hand out, even!  (Hey! Media-ready flash cards! I get dibs on the copyright and patent on that idea!) 

* Don't try to evangelize the reporter. *cough*  They're used to that and expecting it because of the fact they're visiting a church. If you don't do it, it will throw them off and you're more likely to help them get your comments right because they'll relax and stop worrying about how to politely turn down your invitation to their Bible study!  ;-)

* Be patient with the reporter. They're just trying to get a job done, they were sent to you by someone over their head and may not even want to be there. Give them the benefit of the doubt, be gracious, and know that this is part of your job, too, even if you're "just a volunteer". Or "just a random guy".

* Stop painting the Media as a whole with a broad brush condemning all. "The Media" is made up of human beings and they have editors who make certain demands. It isn't the reporters who are "in your face" who have the final word on a story: it's their editors. And probably other people, too, like investors. I don't know. I'm not a journalist. Thank God! (No offense to Journalists!)

UNCONCLUDED CONCLUSION

I guess, ultimately, what I'm trying to say is that if we want to change the state of the Media in the United States, we need to learn to be more friendly TO the Media and stop expecting them to acquiesce to us. We complain they seem to have this or that dissident theologian who has long been discredited, but really, if we don't throw out a welcome mat, they're not going to come pounding down our doors and asking us to comment or explain this or that detail.

We don't have to compromise our Faith; we just need to do better at explaining our beliefs. 

What I witnessed recently renewed my hope in the Press, and I think there are many who would really appreciate a good definition of terms, would be happy to have a knowledgeable Catholic on hand for questions and research, and truly, want to do a good, ethical job of getting the story right.

Maybe, for once, we should give them a chance and recognize that we are our own worst enemy and only we have the power to turn the tide in that regard. 

Divine Pedagogy

Well, the end of my Advent is shaping up to be...not at all what I planned or expected.

Remember the puppy from last week? Well, on Monday he went to a new foster home with children, more space - everything he could need! I've seen pictures and can say confidently that it was the right decision and even though I loved the little rug rat, he needed far more than I could offer, and my own dog needed far less than that pup was offering her!

After that experience, of course, my week was pretty calm and I finally got most of my Christmas cards out.

Then yesterday (Saturday), I received an email - could I emergency-foster a 1.7 month old Rottweiler who needed to be moved from his current foster home ASAP? I looked up his info on the rescue's web page, called the rep back and obtained a little more info on him. It seemed appropriate to take the risk.I said Yes.

We introduced my dog and the newcomer on neutral ground and walked them back to my house where they actually began to play. The young Rottweiler, however, was not quite really understanding play-time. He first didn't seem to understand my dog's play-bow in his direction, then started "copying" her moves - it was quite hilarious! My favorite, though, took place much later in the evening after he'd had his dinner. While my dog finished checking his bowl for crumbs, he began inviting her to play. He pounced and pounced and wheeled around and play-bowed - to my dog's butt! She was totally oblivious to the desperate drama taking place behind her.

Unfortunately, though, although all of this was hilarious, it again quickly got very old for my dog and she began seeking solace from me just to get away from the young dog's playful advances. I also ran into a great deal of frustration as the dog is still "intact" (ahem!) and as such, has a hobby of "marking". It doesn't matter how often I have taken him in and out throughout the evening and day. The moment we come back in he's alternating between trying to chew on me (OW!) and lifting his leg on something. I have to watch him very closely and the moment he even SEEMS to be sniffing I yell a warning to him so that he will desist.

The best, though, was this morning. We must have walked for about 45 minutes or an hour and he absolutely REFUSED to "poo". We got inside, I took his leash off thinking perhaps he'd go next time I took him out. As long as it took to turn my back, he had peed and pooped all over the floor!

I cleaned it up, took him out and threw the "refuse" in an area of the yard so that he would associate that with the business that belongs OUTSIDE.

Somewhere in the middle of scrubbing the carpet...and the chair...and the carpet there....again...I realized it would behoove me to buy stock in "Nature's Miracle." As it was, I had to go back to the pet store today to get MORE of it!

Now, it is a consolation that this dog won't be with me for long. I know someone is already interested and I advised his rep that I can't take him with me for Christmas. He's far too rambunctious and out-of-control and I'm terrified he'll both pee all over my brother's house and potentially knock my mother down. Not a good risk.

Mind you, this dog is not mean or aggressive. He's just a very large puppy who doesn't understand manners. He's also cooped up right now in a small house with no way to run freely to get his energy (and other stuff - ahem) out.

So it was this morning that I mused and prayed and mused again on my way to Mass. I swore to myself I would NEVER take another puppy again because both my dog and my house are just not good for puppies. As it is, I'll have to kennel the creature so I can wrap Christmas gifts, and I can't actually get anything done unless it's something that can be completed in 5 minutes with a constant shift of attention to see where the dog is and what he might be sniffing. Or chewing, for that matter. (He really likes my cedar chest.)

I'm having to develop ADHD as a coping mechanism!

Then it struck me: NOW I know what's going on!

At the beginning of Advent I once again offered a little prayer and asked God to help me become more patient, more caring, to grow in virtue in these areas. I shuddered as I offered the prayer because those virtues, much like asking for humility, tend to be answered with a Divine bat upside the head!

This afternoon while I wrote a "bio" for the foster dog to help him be adopted, I still felt frustrated and found I had to dig to really look for this dog's great points. I know he's a good dog and deserves a good home. I know he's more rambunctious with me because he's free to move around, has another dog to play with (when she does play), has a person to walk him and pet him and give him awesome food. He's responsive, he is protective, he is playful and won't let me out of his sight. That means he bonds quickly. He is exactly what a healthy dog of his age should be, minus a bit of training for he has clearly been neglected in that area.

In other words, what does he need from me? Patience and understanding!

OK, God, I get it. Thank you for answering my prayer. *sigh* 

My dear friends, do take care what you ask from God, because if you mean it (and He always knows if you do or not, even if it's only a little), He WILL answer. And seriously, I mean it, BE CAREFUL!

I'm just sayin'....if you ask for patience, humility, or a chance to sacrifice....God might answer your prayer just like He answered mine: by sending you a  65 lb unschooled young Rottweiler!  

Growing Up

Adulthood is never what children perceive it will be.

From a child's perspective, when one finally "grows up", they will be respected, have money to spend, get to sit at the adult's table at family reunions, and not have to go to bed when the best shows are on TV or the best things happening in the neighborhood.

Yeah, from a child's perspective, things in adulthood are all peachy and perfect.

I wish it was really like that. 

You know that some days I sit up and think, "Oh my gosh! I am just a kid! Where is there an adult to go to in order to handle this problem! Help!"  Then I stumble across a a mirror, see the wrinkles and sags, the weight gain and, well...the oldness...and realize there isn't anyone to go to anymore.

And even worse, more and more, I find I am becoming like one or the other of my parents, for better or worse.

The most tragic part of that fact is this: no matter how much I aspire to their greatest virtues, I seem to have made my own their most grievous faults. I have become the sum of the fall of my parents. 

Nobody's Mom and Dad are perfect. Nobody's! No matter how well-to-do or how impoverished, every family, in modern pop-psychology terms, is "dysfunctional".  Welcome to the human race. In ancient times and theology that was called "concupiscence", but in modern times, we poo-pooh that away by labeling it with things such as "dysfunction" and "co-dependence".

Oh, fogeddabodit! Let's just get to the point and recognize we're all a bunch of sinners in need of salvation, and yeah, we've been harmed by the sins of others! So what? How does that make anyone a victim?

Sorry, got off on a rant there for a bit.

Every so often, I fall into the Oprah-victim-pity-pot of interior destruction. Oh, to see her big brown eyes well up with tears for my familial demise....cry me a river. Seriously, is there anyone who DOESN'T deserve to be on now-defunct Oprah?

Tonight I fell into that trap for a short period. I thought about how, as a child, I was bullied. Always, in fact. I always had a hard time fitting in, and I think the reason was two-pronged:  Mom had a difficult time socially for a few reasons, and, well we were poor and from the wrong side of town. Dad was a great guy, everyone loved him, he loved everyone, but let's face it; he wasn't an over-achiever unless he was drunk, and then he was living what he wanted to be but was always denied because of his congenital disability. (My parents were bullied as children and as adults, too. Dad died, but Mom continues to be bullied by her own siblings.)

[I don't care what age you live in, but your social circumstances and family hierarchy dictate how you are treated by others. You cannot legislate that away. Period.] 

So...I was pondering my childhood today, often an exercise in futility. Recently I came across a piece of music and if my piccolo wasn't so in need of repair, if my embouchure wasn't so in need of practice and retraining, if only I could remember how to finger the notes...I think I could pick up either a flute or piccolo and play the piece. In fact I did, in a dream, and it was incredible. If only that had been real life!

It was this that made me ponder so much, for my love of music is often met by the resistance of memories I wish I could forget.

You know the movie "A Christmas Story"? 

Yeah, well, as children my brother and I begged for a piano because we both loved music as did Mom, as did my Dad, whose father was a musician, teacher, and salesman in a music store.

One Christmas we came home to...a two-octave organ, totally mechanical sound (computers do better now...far better, far more realistic), complete with set drum beats, "trumpet" sounds and others that sounded NOTHING like the actual instruments, and after only a few weeks of "piano" lessons that took us far beyond what the limited keyboard allowed, both of us [necessarily] quit lessons and the organ gathered dust until Mom finally managed to pay someone to take it away.

That took years, by the way. It was our fishnet-legged lamp in the window and I'll never forget my disgust. I suspect that's why Mom was so enthusiastic after their divorce, to spring for a flute for me when I was finally able to choose an instrument in 5th grade. (In the US, that's when public schools began musical instruction). Granted it was rented, but she didn't put up a fight with any substitutes like trumpet (which I also took up in high school) or clarinet (which I never wanted, no offense to clarinetists!).

Then there took over the concupiscence, the push-and-pull of child and parent as the child struggles to become herself or himself in the world.

I loved music and began singing. Mom loved the fact that I loved music and encouraged it, but didn't seem to understand the sense of balance. She began to ridicule my successes and my attempts, and this was part of her own disease of bipolar.

One summer, I tried out for Community Theatre, having been a member of our tiny parish youth choir, and so accepted the help of another community-involved parishioner to help me in my audition. I nearly got the lead role, was cast as unofficial understudy with a serious role in the chorus...and had a great time! That same summer, in prep for a talent show at a camp I wanted to attend, my fellow chorus-members, the music director, and musicians helped me to prepare a song and gave me great advice while my Mom waited as an all-too-verbal spectator.

I was trying to sing "Memory" from the musical "CATS", a song I knew my Mom loved, so my offering had a lot to do with her own influence. As I learned the piece and sang it with accompaniment, as the experienced musicians and teachers encouraged, taught, and helped me to make it my own, I heard only one voice, that of my mother, speaking above them all,  "You're no Barbara Streisand."

I cowered in shame and listened to that litany all summer. "You're no Barbara Streisand."

I still remember the musicians and one of the actors exchanging glances, pretending not to notice, then renewing their lessons for me. Knowing I wasn't trying to be great; that I was only trying to have fun in an entertaining way; and that's something I could do.

Over the years, I heard that line a lot. As I soloed in my parish, as I was selected to cantor, as I occasionally auditioned for high school productions, always my mother telling me, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

There was a dichotomy, though, as I practiced my instrumental music, for Mom didn't have a comparison. She wanted me to be a professional musician. When I aspired towards visual art, she shot that down, telling me there was no money in it and I would end up on welfare. As we were already there, that terrified me and yes, I knew she was right about that. I wanted to be an actress; not allowed, and yes, she was right about that!

I nearly joined the Marines after my band teacher handed me a brochure about the Marines Band, something I knew about thanks to my uncle, a proud former Marine! It was a great deal! If I enlisted, I could go to ANY, and I mean ANY Music school I desired, on a full scholarship! Because my brother had been around and around with an Army Recruiter who wouldn't take "no" for an answer, I said nothing about this to my Mom, but did to my band teacher. "What's the catch?"

"Well, you gotta go to boot camp."

"Um...no thanks. Not selling my soul for boot camp."  (Seriously, if only I could have predicted the 2 boot camps I would go through a few years later...lol)

When I pondered colleges, and we went to visit the college I would eventually choose, and while we gathered information regarding various programs, including theatre, Mom informed me once again, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

Finally, I'd had enough. I don't recall when I said it but I do know it was in private - a grace she had never left to me. Finally, finally, I cried out in tears of frustration, anger, and sadness:

"Why do you continue to compare me to BARBARA STREISAND?  I'M NOT HER!!! STOP comparing me!!! I CAN'T SING LIKE HER! I DON'T KNOW HOW!  WHY do you compare me????" 

It was as if I had slapped her; she hadn't realized what she was doing.

The reality is this; her years of comparing my every attempt to the GREATS made me aspire to something more mundane, more average. More people oriented, less arts-and-music oriented.

So it was that I left my music, my art behind. So it was that I majored in Criminal Justice and spent four years defending myself against the extended family trying to tell me that law enforcement wasn't for me.

But at least I didn't have to try to sing like Barbara Streisand anymore.

All Grown Up

It would be easy to blame my Mom for a lot that's wrong in my life, but I can't. If victim-hood is going to come into this particular Diego Rivera mural, it's going to involve everyone, not just my family, not just yours.

We all have our stories, and if we know them, we can take responsibility for them.

Yes, I left music and the arts because of constant and overbearing criticism holding me to a standard I could not meet, but I don't regret the degree I pursued, even though I'm not qualified to work in that field anymore - because of my own choices and career path. Yes, I live in a townhome I can't afford because I bought it back when I had a good job, and left it because...it was time, and now have to pay off grad loans on a salary that pays less than peanuts. That's my choice, not my Mom's.

Every criticism from Mom was an attempt to ground me, to keep me balanced, and to ensure I did not suffer the financial and personal ruin of the poverty in which she raised us. I can blame my Mom and my Dad for a whole lotta things, but as an adult....I truly can't blame them for anything.

All I can do is thank them. 

I thank them for trying to guide me as best they could, even though they suffered so much from the deprivation and abuses thrust upon them long before they brought my brother and I into the world.  I thank them for giving us the opportunities they could, and even if misguided, for criticizing us to try to keep us from being what we all hate. I thank them for being who they are (or in Dad's case, who he WAS, may he rest in peace), so that we could become greater, according to God's calling.

And most of all, I thank them for the life they gave us, with all its trials, all its suffering, all its failures, all its triumphs, for much we experienced together, and much, growing up, made us who we are today.

We may not be much, and we will never be "great" in the eyes of the world, but both my brother and I know who we are, where we came from...and it's gonna be a whole lotta years before we ever really "grow up."

Somehow..I think Mom (And Dad, Eternal rest grant unto him...) would agree.

To all you Moms and Dads out there, I speak to you all...Thank you. 

Eternal Love,  

Your Children

The Joke's on Me!

Back in 1996, I was in the market for a handgun.

I'd graduated with my B.A. degree, had passed the Police Officers Standards and Training (POST) Boards, and knew that it was only a matter of time before some police department (hopefully) hired me. I needed to be able to practice and I wanted to practice and become intimately familiar with a handgun that wasn't just my own for random range recreation, but something that might be carried as a backup weapon, that of which would also be compatible with my likely duty ammo.

So it was that I demoed an HK .9mm, found it to be far more accurate than the .9mm Glocks we used in training, and decided I'd make it the love of my life (as far as saving it if necessary).  While I'll admit I REALLY wanted the Sig Sauer .45, since I couldn't afford that holy grail of weaponry, the HK was satisfactory enough.

Minnesota State Law required that I apply for a permit to purchase which was good for the period of one year. It was further required that I wait 24 (or was it 48?) hours after submitting the application. So it was that on the prescribed day, I went down to the Law Enforcement Center to pick up my approved permit to purchase the gun on hold for me at the local gun shop.

I went to the window, and as I was a Police Reserve Officer, saw a few Officers I knew who waved at me as they walked by.

Unfortunately, I was on a short schedule and had to return home, but when I arrived a friend asked to see my permit so I pulled it out of my purse to show him. Just before I handed it over, explaining the State Law and the year limit, I saw the date of expiration:  "April 1, 1996".

I burst out laughing as I handed it to my very confused friend for a gander, having finally realized the joke on me. (The next day I returned to the LEC for a replacement permit, and then purchased the gun.)

Given the disposition of my law enforcement career, I find this memory absolutely hilarious, especially as I recall badge number assigned to me when I was sworn in a few months later:  Badge #72.

1. **   **  ** 

For those who need an explanation:

My permit to purchase expired on the day it was issued:  April 1, 1996.  [Sure you can buy a gun - NOT!]

My badge #72, received the day I was sworn in, corresponded to police code #10-72:  DOA.[Dead on Arrival]

APRIL FOOLS! 

Muslims

I've been pondering a great deal about the average people of Islam; their reality versus what those of us "outside" think about them.

The recent stories from Cairo, Egypt have given us some snapshot; such as all the average men and women who rallied to protect the Coptic Christians as they celebrated Christmas after the attacks by Muslim extremists. The return favor of the Christians banding together to protect the Muslims from similar attacks (from their own Muslim extremists) was beauty to behold.

I've gone on record in various places stating that I am opposed to the Mosque being built at Ground Zero, especially considering the Orthodox Church which was stymied even though it existed long prior to 9/11 and was destroyed on that day. I protest the injustice and the imprudence of the Mosque there...which is not the same thing as saying I deny Muslims the right to build a Mosque somewhere else. Somewhere more prudent and more respectful.

I don't want this post to be about that political issue however and I won't get into that topic in the combox.

Rather, I wanted to discuss my own limited connections with people who profess Islam, and where the stereotypes end and relationship begins.

Relationship

There can't be a relationship with dialogue (conversation) and without connection.

I do not personally have any Muslim friends as they simply are not near me and as I work in a Catholic Church, of course my co-workers are mostly Catholic.

When I worked in Insurance, however, I had customers from all over the globe, of every system of belief. Usually faith was not a topic of conversation, although I knew that my Somali customers were Muslim, religion did not affect their claim; our biggest problem tended to be communication and sometimes...culture.

Because I handed thefts and fires, I had some very interesting interactions. One woman's claim was that she'd had an engine fire, and she described for me what had happened. I suspected over the phone that it wasn't really a fire, but wouldn't know until I saw the car. My heart sank when she gave me the name of the shop and the address...a Somali shop.

I admit here my own fears, my own prejudices, and I admit them as a woman.

I'd "learned" years prior that "Muslim men do not respect women" and of course, I know that as a Christian woman, I am an infidel. So be it.  That latter label has no real meaning in my local area. But I knew the Somalis in my area were tight, they seemed like a very closed group and I feared not only that this woman, my customer, might not get a fair shake, that there would be a double whammy because I, too, am a woman outside their Somali and therefore Islamic community. 

But I went in to work and I dutifully went to the shop where the woman's car awaited my inspection. I'd called in advance in case they were very busy and also to get more specific directions. The men on the phone were kind and although a bit difficult to understand at times, were gracious. When I arrived one of the mechanics, maybe the shop owner, stepped out with me to the car, lifted the hood and told me very directly that what the woman claimed was a fire...wasn't.

He pointed out with a light and a pointer something I'd seen many times over: a hole in the engine block. Her car had thrown a rod. Indeed she'd seen flames and smoke, but only from that one point of massive mechanical failure. He looked me in the eye and told me that he knew her claim was not covered by insurance.

He also helped me to get the photos I needed for the file.

I thanked him for his help and told him I would call our mutual customer to explain things. We were both sorrowful, for the lady was in a bad spot. He told me to call him with any questions.

I walked away surprised, for my encounter with this shop, being the minority there, was far more positive than I'd expected; he was honest both with me as the representative of what universally, everyone recognizes as the "evil Insurance company" and with the woman, our customer. He wasn't taking sides; he was interested, as I was, in truth.

Accident

On another occasion, I handled a claim for my customer, who had liability only, and was not at fault in an accident where the other party, a Muslim man, I believe he was also Somali, ran a light and struck him. The other party kept asking me what I was going to do about his car. I kept explaining he was at fault and owed my customer. He didn't seem to understand at all...I believe it was simply a failure to understand the laws.

As it was, he took my client to court, so I went with him, provided him the documentation he needed and listened during the hearing. Both drivers were honest about what had happened. I knew we'd won when the hearing officer told the other man that he was in the wrong and explained the law and what it means. He nodded his understanding. A week or so later we received the judgment...in our favor.

I saw in the notes that on that day, the other party took it upon himself to contact the subrogation department to set up a payment schedule; he didn't have insurance on his own vehicle.

I sat back, shocked at his honesty; it was a trait I rarely saw...anywhere.

More Honesty

On a recovered stolen vehicle, I had another female Muslim customer, not sure where she was from, but she, too, was an immigrant. My relationship with her was a bit troubled for some days she liked me, other days I seemed to be Satan Incarnate. Again, I believe this was much a matter of her not understanding the laws, and me not doing a very good job of explaining them.

In any case, she brought her car to a shop owned by a Muslim, and I went there with the same trepidation as with the other shop; expecting to be "taken in".

Instead, he showed me where the car was, he had his mechanics lift it for me so I could see the undercarriage and the damage being claimed, and later returned to answer my questions.  He told me, in all honesty, that much of what the lady was claiming was simply not related to the fact of loss. He stated outright that she was trying to claim damages that were long-term wear and tear versus something a thief would have done in 30 minutes of road driving.

I have several customers' cars go to that shop and always...he was honest. His workers, all from various places (many Mexican and Guatamalan mechanics) were also very helpful and it came to pass that if a customer's car was going there, I knew I could relax - all would be treated fairly and honestly.

Why do I bring this up?

I don't really know. Perhaps to reveal how limited information and prejudices we don't intend often may lead to misunderstandings. Maybe to reveal how simply being a professional goes a long ways towards understanding another.

Perhaps I write it to shine a light on our own inconsistency and where we get our information. To direct us to look to the integrity of the source of our knowledge.

Or perhaps I'm just writing so I can hear myself think and bore you all to tears with it as well.

There's one big question, though:  Where do we get our information?

We Catholics, we complain that too many people get their info about the Church from disgruntled Catholics who got mad and left, taking all their misinformation and grudges to spread around with impunity. We do indeed have a right to protest that, yet I know so many people who will accept the testimony of a disgruntled ex-Muslim or ex-Baptist or ex-Buddhist or what-have-you as the be-all and end-all of their religion.  Double standard much?

I did not learn much about Islam in my professional relationship with Muslim auto body or mechanical shops, nor did I learn much about the Somali culture by getting a few recorded statements regarding vehicle mishaps. I learned about individual people and about individual businesses but what I did learn taught me to put my prejudices aside for the sake of a greater good. Because of that, I saw honesty where I expected to be distrusted and I experienced a good business relationship where I expected to have problems.

Perhaps in the end, this post, like most of my posts, doesn't really say anything at all. Maybe it's just an exhortation to integrity with regard to our fundamental questions about the beliefs of others.

It is good to ask questions, to learn about one another...and to do so in security, knowing what we believe ourselves and holding on to that while still respecting the beliefs and differences of others.

My ponderings tell me I must begin to ask questions, for I want to understand...but I also want objective truth and not the twisted thoughts of a disgruntled soul. That latter helps no one, and least of all..the soul originally affected.

If you have any thoughts, please share them below:

Random Search Terms

Every so often I take a gander at the search terms used to find my blog. Over time, I've noticed, without needing to check the actual statistics, the most popular posts.

Sometimes, the oddest terms are used to find the most popular of my posts, or those that are more obscure, and sometimes I just roll my eyes as I try to figure out what Google is doing to direct people to my blog. The results are both humorous and serious so I'll share a cross-section with you along with my responses:


Query:  Cow eye spiritual direction

Not sure where you're going with that, but if a spiritual director had cow eyes present (without being attached to a living cow) I'd get the heck out of her office!

My friends have informed me, however, that my blog is the #3 resource for those using that particular search term.

I'm proud to be your third-ranked expert, worldwide.

Query:  Remember your forefathers.

Serious request, landing on 5 Grains of Corn, written after an intense lecture by one of my grad professors and he was right, on every count. I've never looked at Thanksgiving the same way again.

Query:  Summa theologica abstinence meat contemplation

This one landed them on my post on Why Catholics Eat Fish on Fridays.  I gotta say, though, given that word combination, I love the Summa Theologia, I abstain from meat on Fridays and therefore find that the contemplation of tasty meat is one of my favorite hobbies.  Mmmmm.....steak...bacon....roasted pork...barbecued chicken..... mmmmmmm.....

Go away! Can't you tell I'm contemplating here? What? Isn't the grill big enough for you?  Huh? Huh?  HUH? WHA-AT?

Oh, sorry, got carried away.  *blush*

*AHEM!*

OK moving on now...

Query: How do you rinse sauerkraut?

Great question, and one of the most common hits to my blog.  I had that question once, too.  What I did was empty the bag (I was using Sweet Bavarian, as if "sweet" and "sauerkraut" aren't totally ironic terms when used in relation to one another), into a colander, took the sprayer and hosed that fermented, shredded hunk of rotted cabbage down to remove every trace of the vinegary ooze it was contained within.  Then, when I was satisfied, I added it to a bunch of other ingredients to ensure that rotten vegetable would never be tasted by anyone who hates it as much as I do.

Please don't ask me about lutefisk. I may be Swedish but it has been my great pleasure, thus far, to avoid that rotted gel formerly known as fish flesh and  if someone asked me how to rinse it I'd suggest using lighter fluid and a match then maybe a shallow grave somewhere in the northern woods.

Query: www.St Augustine's letters on Prayers to Lady Propio.com

Well, that's unique. Possibly looking for St. Augustine's letters to Proba?

Try here, then scroll down to the Third Division. Is that what you're looking for?  Some excerpts in that letter came up in the readings of the Divine Office in the 29th week in Ordinary Time.


Query:  Why do some men devote their lives to cats?

Oddly enough, I've seen this question more than once and have NO IDEA why those asking that question are directed to my blog.

I have no idea why men devote their lives to cats, or even that any men anywhere would ever do such a thing.

I would therefore suggest that the person making the query pose it to the man they have in mind, in hopes he may explain his obsession addiction devotion   uh.... lifelong interest in the feline species.

Query:  Jesus, I trust in You. 

Yes, I do, too. Amen!

A Few of My Favorite Things

I have a mischevious nature and sometimes I just love to let it loose. For example:

I have a couple tattoos. Most people don't know I have them, including my mother. As most people have no idea and it's not typically a topic of conversation, I don't usually have need to announce the fact, and I'm not into swimming anymore (unfortunately, but can't afford the membership), that fact about me remains hidden to people who know me. 

Many of my friends are very solid, very traditionally-minded Catholics and Protestants, and most of them have very strong opinions about many things. Usually when one of us goes off on a rant about something, we're all ranting together in full agreement. 

Until it comes to tattoos. Then, this is truly one of my favorite things to do:  I let them go off on their anti-tat rant. When they are sufficiently into it and have properly denounced not just the artform, but those who practice it, engage in it, become a canvas for it, etc, I will quietly pipe up and say, "I have tattoos."

This is my favorite part:

I love to watch the colors that particular ranter turns when they hear my little confession. They are typically shocked right on down to their little bitty toes and back, and clearly have NO IDEA what to say or how to reach. I love the look of horror that comes over their countenances when they realize what they said, and in fact, their very personal attacks actually applied to someone in their presence they consider to be a friend (and good Catholic). I especially adore the sputtering sound that comes out of them as they try to backtrack, even apologize for what they just said...

And there I sit, enjoying the show, smiling, not offended one bit. After all, they're entitled to their opinion.

But if they are entitled to their opinion, it seems to me that I am likewise entitled to a bit of harmless entertainment at their expense.  ;-)

Ah, yes, life with Adoro.

Does Modern Catechesis Focus Too Much on the Wrong Thing?

We are a Church in Crisis. It's not a crisis of vocations or belief, but of catechesis...and whose fault is it?

Fingers are pointing everywhere. 

The "Progressives" are all about "feeling" wheras those who claim "Traditonalism" are pointing to the intellect.  One side cries for people to have more "compassion" while the other cries for people to have more knowledge. 

Neither side denies the need for both intellect and feeling, and yet, this is a battlefield within the Catholic Church, and really...within Christianity in general in the United States. The thing is this; neither side is wrong according to these very simplified positions. In the classic Catholic position, it is not "either/or" but "both/and"!

In pondering this, I think I see at least a part of the problem; to no one's surprise, we haven't yet found the middle ground that will emcompass the extremes along with the objective Truth.  

For once, this is not going to be a long post, for I really have nothing to offer, but only an observation. 

For the "Baltimore Catechism" crowd, the problem in the Church is completely intellectual.They are heaven-bent on winning souls for Christ through the intellect, through presenting Truth academically through homilies, teaching in parishes and in fact, informal teaching whenever the situation presents itself.  They are sure that if they raise their children to memorize the Catechism, their children will become (hopefully living) Saints by the time they reach the age of 13 and the hormones are raging and destroying their brains.  

The "Love, Justice, and Peace" crowd doesn't think they have much use for dogma and doctrine, and think that people need to experience the love of Christ through emotion and hands-on experience. They in fact, haven't much time for the knowledge part at all, for as they accurately ascertain, people usually come to Christ not through the intellect, but through the emotive powers.  

 Yet we know that the purely intellectual is not an answer to the world, for many people are not intellectual, couldn't care less, and actually, find the Baltimore Catechism and those who use it to be elitist, snooty, and, well...impossible to understand. And those who are more intellectual reveal to us that the "Emo" crowd isn't the answer because purely emotional "conversions" are NEVER lasting, for they are based on something superficial and prone to change, second by second.  

It comes down to this:  Catechesis is Classic Catholicism:  It is "Both/And".

Each "side", if you will, has something to offer, but is incomplete in and of itself. 

So while the Liberal/Progressives have a portion of the Truth, what they are lacking is the foundation of knowledge; this crowd tends to be either completely uncatechized or reject the intellectual portion of Catholicism almost completely, if only because they view the other side as being political, not truthful.   

On the other hand, the Conservative/Traditional crowd tends to emphasize the intellectual side of Catholicism, to the detriment of the foundation of service to fellow humanity, if only because they view the other side as being political, not truthful. 

Do you see the parallels?

Having been on both sides, and now fighting to maintain the center ground, which is Christ Himself, I have to offer these observations.  

What I see as the  main problem is this:  BOTH sides forgot about the SOUL. 

BOTH sides forget that the enter purpose of the coming of Christ, His Passion and Death is....so that we can spend ETERNITY with Him. 

Yes, we are Body, and it is our obligation to tame our passions so that we might become Holy while here on this earth. And because the Body is important, we are called to care for the bodily needs of others; for so did Jesus. Jesus never disdained the importance of charity to the body of a person, for He both suffered in His actual body, but continues to suffer in His Mystical Body. 

It doesn't end there;  we are also Spirit. We have been created with an eternal soul, and we are, by our very nature, drawn to eternity, drawn to God, so as to live with Him, in Him, and through him not just now, but through Eternity. Our Souls are given to us at our very Conception; this is when life begins. Not just in this world, but for ETERNITY.  

The problem with "Conservative vs Liberal" and "Progressive vs Traditional" is that neither side goes far enough; BOTH sides forget the importance of the SOUL, either to the detriment of the will or the intellect. or both combined. 

It is so easy for us to forget that what we are doing here on earth has eternal consequences. It is so easy to forget that our intellect serves a purpose, and our hands, the same purpose; the salvation of SOULS. 

We say it every Sunday:  we believe in the resurrection of the dead and life everlasting. 

If we really BELIEVED it, we would not go to extremes and seek to politicize our Faith.  

So, in short, YES, Modern Catechesis DOES focus on the WRONG things, for it forgets the purpose if all of it: the only two extremes that really matter:   Eternal Life or Eternal Suffering.  

We DO have a choice and it has NOTHING  to do with politicized extremes. It has EVERYTHING to do with true Faith.  

Choose carefully, pray sincerely, and know that Hell is real...and eternal.  Know that Heaven is real...and eternal.  

God never promised us happiness on earth; he promised us happiness in eternity if we would follow HIM. 

Jesus never forgot our souls...He died to save us, body AND soul.  

But He left it for us to choose, and left those moral parameters to be offered through His Side and through the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.  

Yeah, modern catechesis is wrong; it denies grace, it denies fidelity, and refuses Truth. Most modern catechesis borders heresy.  

Why should we, then, be so shocked that so many people are both confused and heterodox in their belief and practice?  

/Random Ramble 

Story Time!

I haven't had a Story Time in awhile, so settle in, grab your iced tea or warm milk or hot cocoa or water with a twist of lemon. Whatever works. Tonight I'm going to tell two stories: one from my rookie cop days (all I was was a rookie so I'm a bit of an expert on rookie stupidity) and one from my veteran insurance investigator days.

The Rookie

Tonight I was watching the new show, "Rookies" or whatever it's called. I cringe at a lot of it as it isn't like any rookiehood I've ever heard of or experienced, but heck, it's Hollywood and God knows they can't tell a story right if their lives and careers depended on it. (That explains a lot of what happens to celebs, but I digress.) Obviously, screenwriters know nothing about how reality makes a far better story than their pedantic and adolescently immature daydreams about what it would be like to be a cop.

Anyway, in part of tonight's version, the rookie cop ends up being left alone at a crime scene, there to keep the woman of the house company until her husband got home. But when the stuff goes down, she realizes that for some weird reason, she forgot to load her gun that morning.

I gotta be honest here; I don't remember ever UN-LOADING my gun! It wasn't our department policy. Heck, I should have ejected the round I carried in my gun during my tour of duty and had it bronzed as the round that was chambered and then retired without ever having to explode.  But I digress.

At the end of the show, the Captain (or whatever he was according to their hierarchy), when Rookie confesses to not having loaded her gun, tells her that it's a common mistake and "that's why you have a partner."

There's truth there; it IS a common mistake, and I remember the night I made that mistake myself!  The difference was this: it wasn't that I'd forgotten to load my gun. I had rather forgotten to bring it with me!

How did that happen?

On Day 1 on the Job, my FTO (Field Training Officer) gave me a tour of the facility and the holding area, showing me the lockbox for weapons. If an arrest was made, we searched them outside of holding, then once they were clear put our own weapons in the lock box.  My FTO said that he put the key (like a gym locker key) in his rear pocket as it would remind him, when he sat on it, that he'd forgotten his gun.

I think I did as he suggested, certain that if I sat on that oddly-shaped thing I'd remember before I ever left the station that I didn't have my gun.

Well, one night we brought a guy in, processed him, and hit the road. This was a normal practice. I remember driving through the streets, my FTO giving various instructions and suddenly I became aware that something was missing.

With a gasp I put my hand to my hip and confessed that....I didn't have my gun!

You know those dreams you have where you show up somewhere public and you're naked or clad only in your underwear?

The realization that I didn't have my gun was a lot like that, but WORSE as I realized that in my role, the public depended on me to have my gun. It wasn't about humiliation; it was quite literally life and death!

In embarrassment I returned to the station and my FTO let me go back inside by myself (it must have been 30 minutes to an hour after we'd left) so that I could sheepishly collect and holster my weapon. Oh, yes, the ribbing that came my way!

I thanked God nothing had happened in that time period; after all, even though my career was short, I did have need to unsnap my .45 and withdraw it during that tenure! I think that while on the Job, I'd rather have been naked than without my gun, even though I hoped and prayed never to have to use it!

It was a serious Rookie dumb moment:  honestly, how do you NOT notice that the weight of a .45 Smith & Wesson is absent?

Y'all, pray for rookie cops; they do stupid things, and you do NOT want them to be doing stupid things when YOU are the one calling 911!

       *       *       *

The Nice Car Thief

This story isn't mine, but it's so memorable and awesome I find the need to post it for your edification and entertainment!

One day, hard at work at my desk, I got a call from a new investigator who had the most interesting case; he thought it so funny he HAD to share it, and I'm glad he did!

It was, for once, a legitimate car theft claim.  The woman reported her car stolen, she gave a good description on the maintenance that was done and, importantly, that which was needed. She described the prior damage to her car (nicks, scratches, door dings, lights out...etc.  I don't know the specifics for her car, but it was an older model so she knew a lot of the marks that would identify it.).

As with many older-model legit thefts, her car was recovered within a couple weeks. She called to inform the Investigator of the recovery and said she was going down to the Impound lot to look at it and sign the paperwork that would allow the Insurance company to inspect it and tow it if needed.

She called her Rep/Investigator from Impound, completely perplexed.

Customer: Hi, Scott. I'm out here at the impound, and I'm looking at my car right now.

"Scott":  Great!  How is it?

Customer:  Well...this is weird. I'm looking at it, and it's DEFINITELY my car, but......

Scott:  What's wrong?

Customer:  Well......remember how I told you about the damage to my bumper? That big scratch I said was there?

Scott:  Yes...

Customer:  It's GONE!  It's like....he fixed it!  But...this is DEFINITELY my car, but it looks way better than it did before!  It's driveable so...can I get it out of here and take it home?

Scott:  Yes, go ahead. Save the receipt of the impound fees so we can credit you towards your deductible, then give me a call back if you find anything wrong with it.

That's where he thought it ended. A couple hours or so later, the woman called back.

Customer:  Hi, Scott, I got my car back and I have the receipt from impound. But..this is really weird.

Scott:  Hi! What's going on with your car?

Customer:  Well....I told you about the bumper, but, you know how I said that it needed an oil change and that it was making a funny sound before?

Scott:  Yes, I remember....is it worse?

Customer:  No! Actually...it's better! It's like...he fixed my car! It's running BETTER than I ever remember it running!

Scott:  SERIOUSLY????? 

Customer:  YES!

(pause, shocked silence as neither knew how to react)

Customer:  So...I guess you can close the claim, there isn't any damage to my car. It's actually better now than before it was stolen!  The impound fees are under my deductible and I'm happy to have my car back.  He even cleaned it out!

Scott:  I'm glad it turned out so well for you. This is amazing!  I'll go ahead and close the claim, but do let me know if anything does turn up, and I would like a copy of your out of pocket expense in case something else comes up.

Customer:  I'll fax it to you for your file. I can't get over this!  (laughing)

Scott:  (laughing)

**

You'd think it's over, right?  But wait...there's MORE!

A couple days later, the customer called the Representative back:

Customer:  Hi, Scott, you're not going to believe this....

Scott:  What happened? Is everything all right?

Customer:  Well, I was putting everything back in order. My maintenance manual is missing, but I found an insurance card in the mailbox.

Scott:  Oh?

Customer: Yeah! It looked different than my card, and I looked at the date on it...it was insured through Company XYZ a couple days after it was stolen, and I want to give you all the info.  HE INSURED MY CAR!  (*LAUGHING*)

***       ***       ***

Need I go on? I'm STILL laughing over that one and hoping this guy will steal MY car!  I only wish he had stolen it before the recent (and necessary) brake job/oil change.  My tranny flush is WAY overdue, but yet another thing to hit the credit card along with the brake replacement charges.

Is there a thief out there willing to take my car, fix it, and leave it for the cops to pick up? It would be cheaper to pay impound than to actually pay for it....

(Just sayin'....)

I gotta say, that was the BEST car theft story I ever head. I only regret that it went to a rookie instead of one of we veterans in need of a serious break...

***       ***       ***

This Story Time has been brought to you by Adoro in hopes you have found comedic relief. Please show your appreciation in the combox if you would like Story Time with Adoro (TM) to be a regular feature.

Kibbles and Bits and Bits and Bits

There's a lot going on in my life in spite of the fact I'm done with school.

Work has been insanely busy; I haven't had an actual weekend in maybe 6 weeks or more now, and I won't have a normal weekend this time around, either.  I can't seem to catch a break!  All I want is 2 days off, together. But no; not an option. Not even feasible! And in the meantime I have a couple volunteers directing a program at work and while they're doing incredible work with their talents, one of them seems to think I am her personal assistant and doesn't seem to grasp I'm juggling 10 different programs and hundreds of people and their own "demands."

Yup. God is helping me to grow in patience. I'm failing miserably, by the way and it's only His grace that has kept me from unleashing all the things I want to say but don't.

I'm looking forward to Memorial Day weekend like you wouldn't believe!

More Bits:

I'm planning a weekend of fun in June, after graduation.

On the discernment-and-supremely-cool front, in early July I'm heading out to visit a monastery where I will be studying iconography for a week and, bonus, living the monastic life while doing so! Given my ongoing discernment, I will be doing a lot of it there, too, even while writing icons in my paint clothes (which for me is my everyday stuff!)

Seriously, if someone is discerning one's vocation, is it even POSSIBLE to turn off the "discern-dar" when in a monastic setting and keeping to the schedule, especially when the community itself is supremely cool?

I'm thinkin' not so much.

No, I won't state where I am going. But I do ask that you keep this community, and me, in your prayers, and God bless their generosity for being willing to put up with me for a week!

Those were the Bits. Here's the Kibbles:

It looks like I'm going to be fostering again.

I received a desperate email from the dog rescue coordinator last night. One of the other coordinators has left the rescue, so she's doing double-duty and has 6 dogs coming in, terrified she won't be able to find foster homes for them in time.  I responded with my situation:  can't afford to do this right now, life is insane and several out-of-town trips coming up. (It's hard enough to find someone to take my dog! My dogsitters have lives, too!)

She guaranteed it would be a short-term emergency-only foster situation to buy her time to find a more permanent foster home, she will provide all food and other necessary expenses (normally foster homes would get the 1st bag with the dog, but all subsequent food is the responsibility of the foster.)

So I gave my conditional "yes" to the terms, and IF she doesn't find a place for the dog, he'll be spending Saturday night and a few days or weeks with my dog and I.

He's a German Shepherd mix, smaller than my dog (mine is pretty small for a Shepherd), he's only 2 and doesn't appear to have the fear/abuse issues my previous foster had. But, being young, I'll have to see which things he has a taste for. Books? Rugs? Furniture? Shoes?  Is he housetrained, kennel-trained, or obedience-trained at all?

Another Bit

For three years, there is a project I have wanted to take on. I asked a few of my professors whether they could explain in further depth a connection I was seeing in scripture, but they couldn't answer. Perhaps they couldn't answer because I couldn't properly formulate my question. As time as progressed, this "question' hasn't left my mind and so I have been waiting until I would finally have the time to pick up the thread and follow where it leads.

I'd rather not reveal the "question" as I have decided I am going to turn it into my first formal work. I am going to delve into scripture in a synthetic study, looking for how the topics are woven through the Bible, how they interrelate, and perhaps bring different disciplines within Theology into play in the final analysis.

Our professors have given us incredible tools for study, especially our scripture professors. I learned how to do synthesis, analysis, and exegesis. In considering this in light of Ecclesiology, of Sacramental theology, moral theology, fundamental theology...everything and more..I look forward to delving into this project.

I have already begun, in fact, to recognize the tools I will need, both practical and theological.

Perhaps this study has already been done. Even so, I think I will do this for perhaps I will still find another connection, another contribution to the study of theology. And if not, if nothing else it will draw me closer to Christ through a study of His Word.

That is always a good thing. Especially if it leads to a deeper conversion and therefore, a growth in holiness.

And boy-howdy, do I have a LOT of growing to do!


P.S:   
Seriously, people if you think you're holy and possess any virtue at all, go to work full-time in a parish. You'll be humbled before you even get a chance to blink and even in your humility you will understand that you aren't humble at all. Not even then.  And no...it never ends. 

Sacred and Profane: Where Adoro goes, Grace Abounds More

This week has been an interesting one. I've been at the NCEA (National Catholic Education Association) Conference held here at the Minneapolis Convention Center.

Now, just to get rid the the Elephant in the Room: I did not attend anti-Catholic, anti-Life, pro-Gay "marriage" Garrison Keillor's keynote speech yesterday. I'm shocked he was ALLOWED to speak given the Archdiocesan Speaker Policy, and as I understand it (unconfirmed by an official source) the good Archbishop Neinstedt actually asked NCEA NOT to have him. But then they went for popularity instead of content. All this is heresay, though;  I don't know why Keillor was allowed to speak and I refuse to defend his abominable presence. There might have been reason, but in light of the policy, I can't see that reason myself and need it explained to me.

Anyway...

I  learned that I hate discussing curriculum (I actually already knew this), and received affirmation that the idea of being a teacher and reviewing textbooks and curriculum makes me so itchy and uncomfortable that when my boss brings up this or that book or curriculum, the only thing I want to do is exit freely while kicking and screaming.

I think that true teachers actually care about those things. I don't. I hate them.  *cringe*

That's not the say, though, that the week was useless.Much to my surprise, I attended several professional development sessions which, although they were geared towards actual school teachers or principles, there is some content that can be applied in my work, for our students, catechists, and even parents. There are some practical points I hope to put into practice, or at least pass on to those under my guidance. There are a few things I hope to apply to myself in my own work.

Along with all that professional stuff, though, all that Sacred, we still had the Profane to keep us entertained.

Oh,  yes. Where Adoro goes, grace abounds more.  

This week, I took my friends into Hell, and as we found out, with my guidance, there was no waiting!

As we left the Convention Center for lunch, we wondered where best to go. A few blocks up were many restaurants. Being that we were in Downtown Minneapolis, we didn't want to go to some cheap chain we could find around the corner from work.  If we were going to walk down the street for food, we wanted food to remember. Some stuff was ruled out, like Ruth's Chris and Manny's. (Who can afford those places?)   We came, then to a crossroad at 2nd Ave and 9th St.

We didn't have a lot of time, so had to choose:  Keys Cafe' or Hell's Kitchen?

Although I scandalized myself at the juxtaposition of such dire opposites (Keys vs Hell), I did what my coworkers asked me to do, and I made the decision:  Hell.

If nothing else, I thought, we'd have this wonderful receipt to turn in to our straitlaced parish bookkeeper who would read on it, "Hell's Kitchen" and wonder at the Faith Formation department that decided to Descend for lunch.

And descend we did!  

We entered the door under the sign only to find that we had to descend the steps into Hell (that is, the restaurant itself.)  Other convention-goers were in front of us, and specifically a party of 6.  (Does anyone else find that ironic?).  The party of 6, when asked, was told that their 6 could not be seated for another 10 minutes. They were diverted off to a side hallway to await their judgment seating.

My coworkers and I discussed this as we overheard it and decided to stay anyway, for, given that it was shortly after noon, we knew we'd have to stand in line or wait anywhere we went. Walking along to the next place would eat up time.

So as the party ahead moved to the side, and I was greeted by the minion Concierge of Hell's Kitchen, I told him that we are 3. He and the other minion hostess conferred, and we were informed that there was immediate seating for us...and we were led around the bar and into the next level. This also led to much hilarity as my coworkers recognized that apparently, with me leading, there is No Waiting in Hell.

The food was good, and in fact, we learned that in Hell, Buffalo is the staple.

Both my boss and I ordered a Buffalo burger, although with different toppings. When our meal was delivered, I received my white-topped (white cheddar) burger, and the waiter came out with a similar looking one for my boss. She saw the cheddar which looked like mine and said that she'd ordered bleu cheese. He took it back although she said it would be fine, but he feared maybe it was another person's order. No problem. Unable to find the other customer, he brought it back with apologies, my coworker thought it was fine and told him so; she was happy to eat it.  In the meantime I had bitten into my own burger and realized that the waiter hadn't confused the table..but the orders.  I had the bleu cheese.Which I'd almost ordered, anyway.

Still, though, we were happy with our meals. To our surprise, thoughl our hostess came back, apologizing for the waiter. He was very upset at the mistake and wanted to make it up to us, offering us one of their Famous Carmel rolls! But we knew we were all full, and even splitting it between the 3 of us would be too much. Our hostess said that our waiter was nearly in tears, and when she stepped away we commented at how deep the feeling was in the customer service in Hell! Seriously...I haven't ever had a waiter who REALLY felt that bad about such a simple mistake. In the end, as we didn't accept the Carmel Roll, they decided to give us free beverages, and on behalf of our employer, the parish, we happily accepted the discount.

(Seriously...how many people do you know have gotten a discount in Hell?)

I thought back to all the old jokes about the guy who went to Hell and was shown 3 doors. Two of them upside-down in..uh...refuse. The last one, they were standing, talking, socializing and having a great time while sipping cups of coffee. Looking around in Hell's Kitchen, I saw families, including very small children, tucked there in between weird art and a children's program being shown on a big screen. A simple menu encompassing American cuisine (heavy on the Native!), aimed at the family.  What a great place!  It was classy, it was pretty peaceful, and obviously a respectable place in spite of the name!

It was because of this that I kept waiting for someone to jump on the PA system and yell, "OK EVERYONE! COFFEE BREAK IS OVER!"

Instead, we got a waiter with an overdeveloped sense of customer service who had made a minor error that wasn't his fault as he hadn't been the one to directly take our orders, and we  got a hostess who was funny, kind and down to earth, to the degree that when she gave coffee to my coworker she said comfortably, "This will wake your ass up!"

We liked her immediately, and our waiter as well.

As we were leaving, we decided to have our pic taken under the restaurant sign. Just then a man emerged from the general hallway coming from Hell's Kitchen, who agreed to take our pic with my boss's camera phone.

After we finished and thanked him, he said he was the nephew of the founder, and asked what brought us to Minneapolis.  Ha! We're FROM here! But...we explained...we were specifically there because of a religious education conference and thought it would be fun to visit Hell in the process.

Much to our surprise, expecting eye-rolling or general politeness, the man wished us "luck in your ministries", and that stopped us in our tracks. He asked us what we do, and then shared that he does some "street evangelization" there in Downtown.

I couldn't help myself. (People who know me shouldn't be surprised at what I said next.)  I asked him, "Do you street-evangelize from Hell?"

Thankfully he took the question well, and with humor. (The answer is no...he literally hits the street, not Hell!) and all I have to say is this: I hope he brings many souls to Christ! It takes real courage to do such a thing, and I wish we Catholics could get over ourselves enough to do it, too.  Gosh..in comparison to Evangelicals, we have no "personality" at all!  (Incidentally I'm actively working on forming a program that will form Catholics to have such courage and conviction!)

Now...for the record, lest I scandalize anyone:  the Restaurant "Hell's Kitchen" isn't named for Hell, but for the neighborhood in Brooklyn NY (kinda) and for the actual HEAT in the kitchen!  It has no association with the popular reality TV show and celebrity chef, nor the ontological reality of the place people who reject God in hatefulness go to after death.   In fact, I think this restaurant and name pre-dates popular culture!

Back to Sacred

There were many Religious Sisters at the Conference, and I was happy to, several times, run into my friends, the SCMC's, whom I visited last summer in Connecticut.  This afternoon one of the Sisters and I wandered about the exhibit hall, picking up freebies, hobnobbing, and talking with old friends.  I found some great resources, made some great contacts, and strengthened an already-good friendship.  What's not to love about that?

When it was time we headed to the Auditorium for the closing Mass. I couldn't reach my coworkers and hadn't seen them in a couple hours, so I ended up sitting with the Sisters and the teachers from their school, and was somehow given some kind of a "recommendation" to the Principal. His response: any friend of Sister is a friend of mine!  Ha ha!

The Mass was celebrated by Archbishop John Neinstedt, was MC'd by Fr. John Paul Erickson, and concelebrated by many priests. As such, there was no nonsense...it was a beautiful, reverent Mass, and a perfect way to end the Conference.

I admit I hadn't wanted to go to the NCEA conference, but I have to also admit that it was a good experience, I did attend some valuable professional training sessions and made some important contacts.

It is good to end with the Sacred, and so I ask for your prayers for all the Catholic Educators out there who are truly trying to do the right things for your children. They do care about doctrine and how to present it faithfully. They do care about whether or not you as parents are involved....and how best to make sure you know you are the most important part of the education of your children.

God bless teachers, God bless parents, who are primary in teaching their children!  God send us many more!

2000-2009 Full of Sound and Fury Signifying....WHAT?

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

~ Shakespeare, Macbeth Act V Scene V

I wish I had some wisdom to offer. I don't. I have a story, but it doesn't contain wisdom. It's just a story,  as Shakespeare said, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Ten years ago I had a boyfriend I thought I was going to marry, I wasn't practicing my Faith although I was seeking God in all things, but like Augustine, seeking Him "without" instead of "within", and within the Church that has always been my Mother.

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would not have been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.
~ St. Augustine of Hippo, Confessions 

The last ten years has been tumultuous, amazing, heartbreaking, astounding, successful, a complete failure, and still...incredible. 

In 2000, I was still on the ski patrol, training hard physically both for fun and for a Fire Department test, which, the closer the date came for the test, the more I wanted it although I hadn't been interested at the outset. I passed the test with flying colors, shined like a star at the interview, and was hired the following April to start in May 2001 as a cadet.

That fall, September 2001, we were at the dreaded Training Tower, perfectly in place to realize exactly what it all meant as we watched the World Trade Center collapse in the terrorist attacks. We excused the tears of our Deputy Chief as we wept our own, we watched the local police department dogs sniff our cars and the entire training facility realizing we might be next in a way we could never predict.  We were invited to quit, having watched 300 firefighters in New York lose their lives that day, doing what we were being trained to do, and yet, we all came back. Not out of heroism of any sort, but out of a sense of practical reality, a work ethic instilled in us, a desire to do something good even if it meant our own lives in the end.

And I'm going to say what no one has said, in all that I've read and experienced. Here's why we ALL came back:   Because even though we'd seen something horrible, we were all in our 20's and didn't really, at heart, believe it could happen to US.  Not that.

Well, I did, and it took the wind of my sails, which, by that time were already patched, fully of other holes and not accepting any more breezes.  But I digress.

A week later I was injured in training because of another bullheaded cadet with more muscle than brain. I tried to get by and finally had to report the injury, fearing someone else would be hurt if I couldn't hold up my end of the work. They put me on light duty and I had surgery on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception under general anesthesia, without benefit of the Sacraments, my first surgery ever. I still wear scar and am a bit proud of it, just wishing I had a better story to explain it.

The Department let me go (with references from the top) in May of 2002 at the same time they dismissed several other firefighters on light duty, near retirement, and a class in progress.  I spent that summer looking for a job, a fish out of water, wasting time to appease my Work Comp rep who didn't seem to understand I wasn't qualified to be a Police Chief, a wilderness counselor, or a sous chef.  Or all three at the same time.

When I finally did find a job I was grasping at straws and she asked me if it was what I really wanted...causing me to nearly reach through the phone and strangle her!  But work in Insurance I did,  bought a house in early 2003 at the age of 30, was promoted to an Investigator position the following November, handled my first fatality, my first couple fraud cases, and for awhile...loved it. It was my dream job (except for the fatality, which I will NEVER forget!)

It didn't take long for me to begin to hate my job and my life, although in the meantime, my conversion was taking place, I found a home at my parish, became involved in a few things and began to hear God's voice in my heart and soul, asking me to consider Him as my soul focus in life.  Was He calling me to become a religious sister?

Although I don't properly consider the year that Call took place, I know it happened, probably in February of 2004,  and has been an undercurrent, has been the force of a waterfall and has been as painful as rapids in a drought for the rest of the  first decade of this current century.  Although right now it is at a trickle at best, given that my Vocation is far from decided, this decade leaves me painfully raw.

My search for God and the encouragement of a friend led me to look into Graduate school, a desire of my heart ever since college.  I'd long given up on the idea until his words of wisdom combined with a fortuitous attendance at a Catholic Conference made me both realize how thirsty I was for knowledge and thus to ask the question:

"Why NOT me?"

I began my first graduate course through Ave Maria University thanks to a priest at my parish who told me about the open enrollment for that class, and  that May, 2007, after much angst and agony and uncertainty as to how I was going to pay for it, I applied formally to the program and was accepted for that Fall...with a scholarship to pay for one third.  The rest...through unsubsidized graduate loans.   I decided to trust God and went for it. Finally...a grad student...in Theology no less!

In July that year, I turned in my resignation to the Insurance Company that employed me, having no place to go, certain I would lose everything. I was ready for that, sure I'd be in a box of some sort by winter, whether on a corner in Minneapolis or one in the ground, having frozen to death.  It didn't matter; I knew that life was too short to waste in a job that went nowhere, meant nothing, and truly held no security of any real sort. Not given what I saw happening as the most important and loyal people in that company fled for greener pastures.

But God answered and only a couple weeks after I started school again, I was employed at a parish in a job for which I was grossly under-qualified, inexperienced and....totally lost.  Yet it was fruitful in many ways, I met some religious sisters who thought I might have a Vocation and encouraged me to consider it again. That took me into 2008, where I visited Ohio, where God hit me with a 2x4 during Mass at St. Sebastian's in Akron, asked me again to look at Him as my sole lover, the Lover of my Soul...and so I did...quite seriously, and this time, finally ready to do so.

It was another year before I was FINALLY able to visit convents, which only came about because of the time God had provided to me, and the finances provided to me both to travel and to pay my bills...just last summer.

  2009

The last year has kept me on edge constantly, certain that I would lose everything, even as I gained more than I ever requested, expected...or deserved.

It has been a year of outright terror, surrender, confusion, joy, friendship, dependence, rejection, rebellion, restoration, connections, darkness, depression and ultimately...apathy.

The last months of this year have been a "wall" I hit hard, not really caring about anything anymore. As I studied the Immaculate Conception, I didn't care, all while I was also dealing with my Vocational crisis, certain maybe my life had no meaning at all. It was a complete act of the will to get through nearly every day of the last few months.

I have ended the year grateful to be through another semester, nearly certain I am NOT called to religious life yet sure there is something I still don't know, something else I need to explore before I can resign myself to a life of committed singlehood...and that itself will involve its own discernment.

I begin 2010 not with real hope, for I'm not sure there's much left after the last decade and the last soul-wringing  year that was 2009.

Still, there is always a glimmer, as long as God is involved, and so I invest myself completely in that glimmer, hoping for the best as I am preparing my heart and soul for the worst, for I have nothing else to expect.

I begin 2010 as a perpetual pilgrim, realizing this state may never change and may be the state that finally brings me to sanctity;  God in every moment, living on the shores of Divine Providence as the world threatens to tear me away as I claw at the wet sand, trying to cling to the Rock.

There is a tide in the affairs of men.

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat,

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

~ Shakespeare - Julius Caesar, Act 4 Scene 3

Welcome, 2010. You can't do much worse to me than 2009...or do I speak too soon...?