The Least of These

Remember that time where I loved Stephen Colbert? Yeah, that time that started when my capstone Sociology research was all about him and Jon Stewart. I don't have celebrity crushes or idols, but he comes pretty close. I've written before about his humor and his defense of the Catholic faith, and, while I don't know his views on everything the Church teaches, I've come to think of him as fairly stalwart, despite his satire. Satire (this was the contention of my final sociology presentation) allows him to say things that he otherwise would not be allowed to say, express views through layers of subtext that could not be expressed without that protection. Because he spews the serious and the farcical in the same breath, he can get away with much more than the mainstream media. This theory applies to much more than religion; he calls out so many people and institutions for foibles and major flaws; I tend to view him as genuine in spite of his satire.

What happens when he has to be serious? When, for example, he is asked to testify before Congress? For those of you who don't know, Colbert agreed a few months ago to work as a farm laborer with migrant workers. Recently, he fulfilled this promise in two episodes (one and two). As a result of his fame and his one day on the farm, Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren (D. CA) asked him to speak to a House subcommittee about immigration reform.

First, Colbert is never (in public, that I have come across) completely serious and is always to a greater or lesser degree in character. However, he shed his character during his testimony before Congress to the greatest degree I've ever seen. And he left the character even further behind when answering the questions of the Congress people.

My favorite moment, as I watched on the Washington Post's website, came around 8min 55sec. One Congress woman asks him a question that he obviously does not expect and has to think about how he wants to answer. Watch the interview, at least the last few seconds of it, and listen to his response. And then you'll see why I am so much in love with this man.

Forgiveness and the Eucharist

I hold up the bread. "The Body of Christ," I say. I look into the communicant's eyes and smile. And repeat, seventy-five times.

The campus minister from a school down the road insists upon the use of those four words. Not, "This is the Body of Christ," not "Mary, the Body of Christ," not "Behold, the Body of Christ," or any such variations. When you say, "The Body of Christ," she explains, you are declaring that this bread is the Body of Christ, but also that this communicant is the Body of Christ, that you are the Body of Christ, that this gathered Church is the Body of Christ. So when I act as a Eucharistic Minister (or Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, as I have learned is the "proper" title), I use those four words, and I acknowledge Christ in all the incarnations of the Eucharist.

I distribute the Eucharist pretty consistently every Sunday, and normally it's a straightforward process. The Eucharist amazes and awes me, but even the most sacred events can be calm with familiarity. But, every now and again, I have moments like this past Sunday.

I was upset with someone last week. Not in a huge, affecting-my-life kind of way, but definitely not at peace with this person. I found my position to distribute the Host, and suddenly I realized that said person was walking towards the altar -- towards me. I wasn't in a place where I could look at that person, smile, and say, "The Body of Christ," recognizing God in that person, in me, and in the gathered community of which we were both a part.

There was the possibility of handing this person the Host, with the proper words, but letting the smile slip away and not letting our eyes meet. It wouldn't disrupt the Mass, and, truth be told, this person might not even notice. But I couldn't do that. It might not disrupt the Mass, but it would disrupt my heart and, let's be honest (if slightly hokey-sounding), Jesus would notice.

So, in a swift twisting of the heart that can only be attributed to God at work in me, I forgave. I saw it as completely necessary, and so, through grace, it happened. I do not normally forgive that quickly or that spontaneously; this truly was the work of God in me.

However, it got me thinking. I could forgive this someone for an act that upset me a little bit. But there are some people in the world whom I have not forgiven for longer periods of time. People to whom I could not say, "The Body of Christ" and smile and acknowledge Christ in them and in me and recognize their divinity and our unity in Christ. These people are not likely to turn up in my communion line (or at the Sign of Peace, another time when it's hard to hold grudges), but what if they did? What would I do? And how can I work now on forgiving them? After all, this dilemma reflects a problem within my own heart, one that I need to start fixing.

In Which a Cat Is in a Tree

I think I gave away most of the story in the title. After coming home on Sunday, I got a call from a good friend and recent alum, who was visiting the 'burg this weekend, wanting to see me. When he and his girlfriend arrived, I opened the door to greet them... and Grace Kelly left the house.

She's done it a couple times before, and she rolls around on the concrete at the end of the sidewalk, and I walk out and glare at her and pick her up and bring her back in. Apparently, she's done this for Cara too, and now has gotten smart about it. Kind of. She ran behind our house to the common lawn. I followed slowly, since I was barefoot. And then she scrambled up a thin holly tree... leaving me on the ground staring up at her a good 7 feet in the air. My friends joined me, and we watched Grace Kelly try to figure out what to do from there. She wasn't too happy with the tiny branches that were the only things that supported her... but she wasn't quite ready to climb down.

I don't know who took more persuading: Grace Kelly, or the tall male in the group. But eventually, he managed to grab her and drag her out of the tree. I carried her into the house, where she promptly proceeded to try to sneak out every time the door opened.

"We Permeate Awesomeness"

This weekend, I represented my school at the annual Diocesan campus ministry leadership workshop. Various student leaders from various schools throughout the state get together, along with campus ministers from the same schools. Unfortunately, the one student who was going to go on the retreat couldn't make it at the last minute... so that left only one me.

Fun life-fact: I called Ana from the ferry because I was making the drive alone, and I am used to fun people on the ferry with me. Apparently I called her just as she needed directions to a St. Louis coffee shop that we loved. God sometimes has easily identifiable awesome timing.

As for the retreat itself, God was there too. Most of the student leaders had fun exchanging ideas with and just getting to know students from other schools. The relationships were, in my humble YACM opinion, the most important part of the whole weekend. Oh, and the s'mores were a very important part of the weekend as well.

For me... well, two other YACMs came along as team. First of all, I like being in the company of awesome people such as these two YACMs; secondly, I took comfort in spending time with people who do the same thing that I do. YACM is a strange, liminal position. One which I love, to be sure, but a strange, liminal position nonetheless, and there is a camaraderie created by that fact.

And, the event I've been anticipating for weeks, I got to tag-team a talk with one of my favorite male-folk. He was the assistant coordinator to my coordinator on a retreat two years ago, and our awesome team has remained awesome. And, as he pointed out, our talk would be great, because "we permeate awesomeness." Granted, I didn't expect one of the campus ministers to tease us all weekend about being a couple, so that my talk partner introduced us by saying, "We're going to be married in one month." But that got the talk off to such a dynamic start and gave us and our audience the momentum to stay awake, alive, and animated during the Sunday morning slump.

Day-Maker #5

I walked up to Wawa today to get a fruit for my dinner. Since I was talking to my dad on the phone, I waved a lady in front of me in line. She paid for my banana! Thank you, Wawa stranger!

Day-Maker #4

I collect "After-Event Reports" from CCM Board members (student leaders). I make a photocopy and hand the form back to the board member. For my own organization, I put a check mark on the corner of the page after I have made the copy. For second weeks in a row, different board members have asked why they didn't get check-pluses.

I Think I'll Move to Australia

Remember that book? Well, on Monday, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I generally have Mondays off, but since we were hosting a dinner to say thank you to all the students who do the hard work for CCM, I swapped my day off.

Coming in on one's day off never gets things started right. The main difficulty of my day was getting t-shirts for our CCMers. I had been in communication with a screen printing company for nearly two weeks. And by "been in communication with," I mean, I had been repeatedly calling them, because the sales person with whom I was working was far from on top of her game. On Friday, she had called and asked if we absolutely needed them by Monday. Monday at 11am, I finally received the proof for the t-shirts that we wanted that day.

The whole day was a back-and-forthing nightmare of logistics and minor panic. And of course, when you are hosting a dinner, you have more logistics to worry about than the t-shirts you had been told it would be "no problem" to receive in time for your event. Our communication culminated when the sales person asked me (and I do not exaggerate here) if we could meet an employee by the side of the highway to pick up the t-shirts.

After we agreed on a 7-11, I breathed in relief over the idea that I would never have to speak to this woman again. We got the t-shirts to CCM barely in time to start handing them out. And then Miriam asked Marianne if all the t-shirts had a double r in "Mary." In fact, they did. In fact, the t-shirt company, which did such excellent business with the College, had spelled our name incorrectly.

That was the final straw on a stressful encounter. And I knew that tomorrow, I was going to have to call the t-shirt company and speak to my favorite sales person again.

Thus was my mental state when I arrived home. Then I pulled open the talk for a retreat this weekend. I had been working on the talk while waiting for my favorite sales person to call back all day. In it, I relived some of my most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days from last year. Last year, my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days came on days when my students got into fights, ran wild against teachers, came to school with bruises, bullied each other, or revealed horrifying home situations. My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days were ones on which I came home crying to or yelling at God.

Comparatively, this day was not that bad. All I needed was a little perspective on it. If my problem is with an order of 70 t-shirts to give as gifts, how blessed am I? I wish my perspective had come in time to brighten my day. I wish it had come in time to help me smile better at the Board members who came to set up for the dinner. I wish it had come in time to keep me from snapping at the Bloom-Lion cashier. But now that I have it, it gives me something to keep in mind in the future. When my biggest problems are with t-shirts, life is good.

On a Boat

Saturday I had a rare treat -- a Saturday off! While I have gotten Mondays reliably off from work and have taken some other weekdays off to compensate for weekends on the job, this weekend marked my first occasion since school started on which I have had a Saturday free. Friday afternoon, when I was feeling excited and slightly lost about this concept, I got a text from Percy, inviting me out on the Chickahominy with his family.

Papa Percy is known for being able to get anyone up on skis, so I drove up to the river both excited and apprehensive. I have always wanted to be able to waterski, but am very self-conscious about any sort of activity that displays me... and being dragged behind a boat, while all its occupants watch, certainly does that. When I arrived at the river, I found not only Papa and Mama Percy, but also a friend that I hadn't seen since graduation.

She and Percy took the first turns showing off behind the boat. Then, all of a sudden, I elected as the next run behind the boat. Percy and his father gave me instructions about how to hold myself in the water and how to let the boat pull me. They handed me a life vest that was too large, but which I managed to make fit well enough. I sat on the ski platform, putting the skis on my feet, then slipped into the cold water.

The first go or two, Papa Percy just dragged me a little, so that I could "get used to the force." I had a couple fail attempts where I felt myself rise up out of the water, only to tip back forwards or backwards and tangle myself and my skis back into the water.

I fell enough times, but then, sooner than I expected, came the moment when I managed to counter-tip the tipping and hold my balance and then I was up on top of the water, flying behind the boat. Mama Percy had explained that there was no trick to skiing -- it was all just balance. And I felt that -- I felt the way the water moved under my skis and the minute shifts that kept me balanced on top of it. I have few physical graces, but I do have a good sense of balance, and I loved engaging it, especially on top of the water, where I am home and alive and joyful as I am in very few other places. The motion felt familiar, though I could not place it.

After a few runs, I realized what the familiarity was. In a strange way, waterskiing reminded me of dancing. Dancing with a strong lead. If I didn't concentrate on what I was doing, and didn't look at my feet, and focused my eyes on another point and my body on the music (I was singing as I skied. Percy laughed at me for it.), then it was the most natural motion in the world. Well, skiing was easier than dancing, because my balance is much better than my rhythm.

That is the story of the time I learned how to ski. But that is not the only boat story. Percy's family's boat is fully equipped with waterskis of various shapes and sizes, wake boards, and a wake surf board. Wake surfing is a new sport. You balance on a surf board, being dragged behind the boat. Then, when you find the right part of the wake, you toss the rope back to the boat and the wake carries you at speed with the boat. So you glide along without being dragged.

Percy can wake surf. He can also juggle. As far as I know, he is the only person in the world who would consider doing both. At the same time. He would only make it for brief stints of juggling on the surf board, but between the bright orange of the boat and the traffic cone colors of his juggling clubs, he made a pretty impressive sight. So impressive that at one point, a boater figured out what he was trying to do and kept pace with us as Percy got settled onto his board. The boater watched him juggle and, when he lost control, gave him a massive fist pump and jetted off.

Day-Maker #3

I went to Mass at the Poor Clare Monastery (where the cloistered nuns live) this morning. There was a sign in the restroom that read, "Please let toilet paper be the only paper product you put into the toilet. May God reward you." I hope God does reward me for my restroom habits.

One Body

This year marked the 5th annual Freshmen/New Student Retreat for CCM! My first year in college, we had no such thing, and my second year, several of my friends created the first one, which I had the privilege of teaming. So, along with Marianne, I have had the joy of seeing this retreat grow from the original brainchild several years ago to what it was last weekend.

Last weekend we took the largest group of new students in CCM history to the retreat center by the river. Our team had been forming since the end of last year and had come together into a cohesive, Christ-centered team. A close and focused team can do a lot to make a retreat, and I blame part of this one's success on just that. We had a variety of perspectives, spiritualities, and personalities -- one that served the new students' various perspectives, spiritualities, and personalities very well. This year also marked the first time we had a priest assigned to CCM and thus on the retreat for more than a closing Mass.

The retreat itself flowed smoothly. The class of '14 (plus the transfers I've met this year!) is pretty much amazing. And they love to sing. We sang more on this retreat than we had planned and people kept requesting more songs! It warmed my heart, especially because our music minister on the retreat has a gift for that type of music. Plus, he chose songs that have significance in my life, which made me enjoy them all the more.

Friday night we had a bonfire, and, as I walked out to the fire circle, I looked up and saw the Milky Way. On Freshmen Retreat #1, I spent a good chunk of campfire time looking up at the stars and talking philosophy with one boy. This time, I stood by the bonfire with a few team members as the participants headed inside for an epic game of telephone pictionary. Campfires make for good conversation, especially with amazing people. And we saw a few shooting stars.

Day-Maker #2

A student riding down a busy street on a bicycle -- with hands waving in the air, dancing to the music from his headphones.

The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle

More of an Idiot: "The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle
Of course I loved this novel. Madeline L'Engle wrote it. I have read most of her novels and I've yet to find one that I don't like. This particular novel tells the story of a girl growing up. L'Engle tends to write coming-of-age stories, and all of them are similar, yet each of them is unique. Katherine Forrester is only 8 or 9 at the beginning, and the story takes up about 10 years of her life. She is the daughter of musicians and is a pianist herself. Her story covers her broken but beautiful family life, her time at school, and her experiences with all kinds of love.

This story was a quick read, fun and tragic by turns. I especially enjoyed the ending, because L'Engle tends not to tidy up too much at the end of novels. I can't think of much to say about it, other than that I highly enjoyed it and have checked out the next novel in which the main character appears."

Day-Maker #1

5pm Mass yesterday: I was an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion when a man in Colonial garb came up to receive Communion. Only in the 'burg.

Day-Makers

Day-Makers are little bits of joy that brighten my day and which I want to share in hopes to brighten other people's.

Things That I Can Figure Out

There was this one time when I was in 12th grade. And it was awesome.

I want to start this story back in high school. I was a part of the International Baccalaureate Programme, known as IB for short (which is a good thing, because I only just learned how to spell baccalaureate). I described it, at the time when I discussed high school on a regular basis, as "AP on steroids." It meant taking advanced classes and ridiculous exams, and, since the programme had some cohesion, it also meant specific classes and outside assignments designed to help us integrate what we were learning in all of our classes into one grand and glorious bed of knowledge and critical thought.

One strategy to accomplish this end took the form of "Theory of Knowledge," a watered-down epistemology (apparently, as long as you can say that word, you aren't drunk. But that is an old story for another day) class, meant to answer the questions : Who are you? and How do you know what you know? We started off the class with a list of Ways of Knowing. The 4 Ways of Knowing are Reason, Perception/Senses, Emotion, and Language. Each week, we had to turn in an Out of Class (OC) writing assignment, discussing something in life that related to one of these ideas.

For one of my first OCs, I wrote a few pages about how these Ways of Knowing leave something out. I have knowledge of God, I argued, that I knew as firmly and unequivocally as I knew anything from Reason, Perception, Emotion, or Language. Yet my knowledge of God did not come directly from any of these forms of knowledge. Where did it come from? I proposed that there was a missing Way of Knowing, one that consisted of our capacity to know God.

A couple weeks ago, Father Dude started a series of seminars about the Catholic faith, meant to approach it from an intellectual angle. He started with a lecture on "The Rational Basis for Catholicism." In this lecture, Father explained that modern thinking placed faith and reason in a false dichotomy, relegating faith to the realm of emotion. This dichotomy resulted in a large way from the writings of Kant, although some other Enlightenment thinkers helped.

To place the world back in proper perspective, Father Dude read to us from Aquinas, whom I have never studied. Faith, he contended, is a rational capacity that allows us to know God. We have knowledge (in part) through rationality. Rationality can be subdivided into two categories: reason and faith. Reason gives us knowledge of the created order. Faith gives us knowledge of the Creator. It is the capacity through which we understand revelation.

When I heard these ideas, I got so excited. I had said the same thing! This new, wild idea that Father was proposing to us made perfect sense -- made such perfect sense that I had known it, confusedly and indistinctly, as a 17 year-old, engaged in her academics and alive in her faith. It demonstrated one of the many and most convincing reasons that I am Catholic: It makes sense. It is consistent with what I know of the world and how I know the world.

Father Dude's lecture on faith and reason left me with the impression that he'd left something out, however. Remembering my IB days, I thought that some part of knowledge had been left out. After all, can't we have knowledge that is not purely rational?

Week Two rolled around. "Forms of Knowledge in the Catholic Faith." How else do we know things? In addition to Rationality (Faith and Reason) we know through Beauty and Love. Win once again, Catholic Church.

The Peacemaker

I believe I promised a post about the Peacemaker. This was the ship that Ariella found at the beach a weekend or so ago. Because I found a sign explaining that their shop was closed for "Shabbot" and another sign that mentioned the "Twelve Tribes," I assumed that they were some sort of Jewish group or offshoot of Judaism. However, Marianne found more information about both the Twelve Tribes and the Peacemaker.

The Twelve Tribes also call themselves "The Commonwealth of Israel," but they are not Israeli. As far as I can tell, they are a network of commune-esque societies spread in twelve locations (4 regions of the US and 8 other countries). I don't classify them as Christian because, from what I have read of theirs, they do not consider themselves Christian. However, they do have a spirituality that appears to center around the Messiah (Jesus), whose name they translate Yahshua. They express belief in the Christian Bible.

Yet they claim their life is "not 'religious' ... but it is deeply spiritual — that is, we strive to maintain a heart-to-heart fellowship with one another, and with our Creator, at all times." Which says some fascinating things about Western notions of religion. (Does one have to go to church to be religious? Does going to church make one religious? What is this assumed distinction between the religious and the spiritual?)

Knowing all this information, one well might inquire : What do the Twelve Tribes have to do with a ship?

A ship provides a mobile witness up and down the coasts. By setting sail, the Twelve Tribes hope to show the world a "microcosm" of their community and give example of what life can be. I'm curious to know how effective their mission is. On one hand, I am not about to join up. I have some hippie-ish tendencies and often consider seeking a Catholic commune. And I did want to stow away on the ship and spend a few weeks sailing. And besides being too Catholic to quit, I didn't really see their life, so much as read about it in a pamphlet.

On the other hand, I learned about them, and was so interested that now you have too.

God at the Beach

This past Saturday, CCM took its annual beach trip. Normally, we head down to Virginia Beach for a day of the sand and the sun and the OCEAN and the boardwalk. Instead, this year, for a variety of reasons, we stayed closer at Yorktown Beach. That mean brackish river water, instead of the glorious swell of the ocean, but other than that, the trip remained the same in essentials. Oh, and the bus ride was cut in half. Oh, and I didn't burn myself this year.

Highlights included making friends with a little boy collecting snails. As I watched him prowl the rocky shoreline and as he came up and began to talk to Marianne (the campus minister) and me, I began to keep a sharp eye out for Mom or Dad -- my teacher instincts coming through. Eventually, we met Dad and Grandma, as well as the little sister. We spent some time with them as the dad and Ariella (CCM president) chased sand crabs through the shallows.

Another highlight was the boat, Peacemaker, a beautiful old-fashioned ship with three masts and a hardwood interior, that was offering free tours. I followed Ariella onto it. I will post about it later, because it deserves more than a paragraph in the beach trip story.

And here is the God connection. When I was out Saturday night, I saw on the news that a dangerous rip tide had plagued Virginia Beach and that swimmers had been banned from the water. I think someone was watching out for us.