The Holy Land Here

On Saturday, I took a group of CCM alumni into DC to visit the Franciscan Monastery of the Holy Land in America. I use the word "took" and any reference to my leadership in the loosest sense possible. Originally, Marianne and I had planned to have an alumni retreat, but she had knee surgery again. Rather than cancel everything for our alum, we changed it to a trip to the monastery. Less planning, easier for me to run, still a good time and a God-focused time.

I had a constant shuffle of people, joining and backing out, from the moment I sent the first email to the moment we left for the Metro from Connor's house. We ended up with four and one more to meet us in the city. It's been a while since I've ridden the DC Metro, and I enjoyed it as much as I did two years ago (when did my life get that far away!?!), when I had just started this blog. People watching on public transit is awesome, even if it did take us too many loops around the Metro station to figure out how to get into the parking lot.

I have heard so many good things about the Monastery, and it lived up to my expectations of beautiful, though not at all how I imagined it. The rose garden surrounded by a covered walkway with the mysteries of the rosary was in half-bloom, so colorful, prickly, a little bit new and a little bit dying. The rest of the grounds followed two organizing principles: replicas of shrines throughout the world and the Stations of the Cross. In the midst of the Stations, we'd suddenly come across a shrine or a saint who was beautiful, but broke up the flow of the walk. It was a reminder that you can't follow Christ's death and resurrection without running into his life and his Church. It reminded me of our "prayer table" when I was growing up : full of religious tchotchkes that are unified only by virtue of proximity.

Inside, we took a tour of the monastery. Upstairs, a church shaped like a Jerusalem cross was playing host to Confessions at one end and a quinceañera at another. On two opposite sides, stairs led the way to Biblical scene popping out of the wall : the Transfiguration and the Crucifixion faced each other. Downstairs, we walked through a model of the Catacombs, including tombs of St. Sebastian and St. Cecilia. Ancient catechisms, in the form of rough drawings, covered the walls. We ended in a model of the Church of Nativity. Everyone in our group seemed to enjoy the tour... except me. Our tour guide did his job well, but I'm not a fan of guided tours. I love to linger and soak in. Since I didn't get a chance, I might just have to return and see it all again. It certainly would get old for the going back.

Day-Maker #36

Sitting outside of Starbucks yesterday, a friend and I watched a mini-van pull up. Dad reached in to hand Mom the drinks, and a tiny voice came from the depths of the back of the minivan: "Haaaaaappy Faaaaaather's Daaay!"

Can I get an Amen?

Can I get an "Amen"? My sister posted this and I wanted to share. My life philosophy on a Starbucks cup.

Some Good Things In Life

I could list these all as day-makers, but it was a good day, so I'm going to share them all in one short story.

Today started as my last official day as YACM. I spent a good deal of it walking over campus with Brigit, on various errands, including retrieving cookies from Percy and looking a potential free new desks. After our recent heat wave and considering my basement office, sunshine in 70 degree weather just does amazing things. Oh, and I had good company and flowers, so life doesn't get much better.

That's actually not true. Life did get better! Marianne called 45 minutes before I left for good. Due to a variety of circumstances, she proposed that I stay on for another month. As Percy has had to experience for the past few days, I have been hugely stressed both over leaving CCM and over not having plans for the six weeks afterward. The phone call came fairly immediately after I had a conversation with God, wondering what He was planning for me this summer. I've been searching for pretty much anything to do for those weeks with no luck. God answered my questions pretty quickly.

After that, I left the office with flowers and Percy for several errands. I figured out Father's Day gifts and gifts for my dad's birthday only yesterday. Today, I bought them with much excitement. Percy and I also went out to the boat where I had left my scapular on Saturday. I retrieved it safe and sound and my neck feels better already.

More Feminism

In light of my most recent rambling on feminism, I thought this article was perfect. It addresses an Israeli feminist group who is opposed to surrogacy. They issued a report, which, among other things, states: “Objective utilization of identity-related aspects of the human body contradicts basic ethical values, and by nature, has high potential for exploitation and degradation."

Day-Maker #35

My sister keeps a blog. A few days ago, she posted on entry titled, "Day Maker." Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!

Day-Maker #34

Fresh, homemade wheat bread.

Feminism and the Church

Two of my favorite things, that I wish were in dialogue more often. Each brings such a knee-jerk reaction from the other, however, that dialogue proposes quite the challenge. I recently read two articles trying to bring them together in some form or fashion.

The first discusses John Paul II as the "feminist pope." The second offers a woman's perspective on being a Catholic feminist.

Neither quite coincides with my views on the subject. The first because, in spite of my intense love of JPII, I can't come to terms with a man defining Catholic feminism. I love it when men are feminists, but feminism and femininity need to be defined by women, just as masculinity should be defined by men.

As for the second article, I like her definition of a feminist as "someone who agitates change." Certainly that is true of JPII as a feminist pope. However, her demands of the world are negative : she tells the world and the Church to stop doing certain things. I also wish she had chosen to discuss common ground, rather than divisive issues such as pornography and abortion. I think that Catholics and traditional feminists can find ways to work together in areas such as domestic violence and the beauty culture.

She hits on some of this at the end, and maybe I'm just disappointed because she is struggling with the same questions as I am and so she can't give me answers. She does call for a positive feminism in the penultimate paragraph. Maybe she and I are simply journeying together.

"And Others"

Two or three days ago, we celebrated the feast of St. Charles Lwanga. He was martyred in Uganda during the early days of Christianity there. I found out during the homily that Charles Lwanga was one of 20-odd martyrs in Uganda. For a while now, I have been contemplating the beauty of martyrdom. We all have to die some day. Out of love for my Savior doesn't seem a bad way to go. In fact, it sanctifies death. (Of course, we are called to live sanctified lives as well, and that is a good and holy thing.)

Hearing the story of St. Charles Lwanga gave me a new perspective. Twenty-odd people died for their faith, were canonized, and have a feast day -- but they are 20-odd nameless people. How awesome is that? It fits right in with my desire to have an unnamed bench or icon or stained glass window. I don't like the "Donated by..." signs on religious items. Nameless saints have kind of the same feel as anonymous donations. Here is an example for others to live by -- no need for credit.

The Life of a Liberal Arts Major

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way:

(thanks, Incidental Comics, for understanding my life)

Modest Is Hottest!

I hate that phrase. But it's the best title I can think of for this post.

The past weekend, Ana came into town! She and I planned to go out on Percy's family's boat on day. In anticipation, I had a dire revelation the Thursday before she flew in : my swimsuit was wearing thin. No longer a good option to wear on a boat with my best friend, let alone anyone's parents.

So I braced myself and did something I hate. I went swimsuit shopping.

Unlike, say, toothpaste shopping, I do not find the options overwhelming, in spite of the many choices out there for swimsuits. Rather, I find that there are few to no swimsuits I would consider buying. Add budget constraints because I refuse to participate in our ridiculous vanity economy, and swimsuit shopping becomes nearly impossible.

I ended up with a cute top from a clearance rack and a full-price bottom -- a suit that covers considerably more than most other swimsuits out there. Modesty to me has always been a tricky question. I know girls who wear long skirts all the time to be modest, girls who would never be seen in shorts that came more than an inch above the knee, and girls whose shorts don't reach their fingertips. I know girls who wouldn't show their collarbone and girls who think a little cleavage is okay. My mother, whom I consider a paragon of virtue, approves of some bikinis.

For myself, I am still figuring out what is "modest" and "immodest." I know I draw a line in one place when looking at others and a lot more conservatively when considering what I wear. For example, I refused to buy a regular swimsuit bottom; instead I managed to hunt down a little skirt (the joy of my day!). However, I don't disapprove of them on other people. I just know where I feel comfortable and which parts of myself I am okay with other people seeing. Rules of modesty are in many ways culturally determined. Rules of what I wear are comfort determined.

That being said, the selection of swimsuits still shocks me. I don't think we're at the point where everything sold in the swim-wear section counts as modest. And I know we are not at the point where every girl in the market wants to expose herself that way. And yet it is somewhere between a scavenger hunt and a wild goose chase to find a swimsuit that I am comfortable hanging out in all day. Especially when there are boys and parents involved.

What I really want is a world where women and girls can look good without looking "hot." The reason I hate the phrase that is the title of this blog is because it still buys into the end goal that makes our feminine/beauty culture so messed up. If our goal is to look hot, it is by definition not modest, whether or not swimsuits are involved.

Esquire

After camping/biking in the mountains with Percy, I accomplished my actual goal of the weekend outing : attending my cousin's graduation from law school. As much as I want to call my lawyer cousin Vinny, he already has a pseudonym and shall henceforth and forevermore be known as Larry. Larry and I grew up two weeks apart age-wise and ten minutes apart distance-wise, so he is somewhere between a brother and a cousin. His mother and father were in town as well, along with his uncle from the other side.

The commencement activities were, in the grand scheme of things, commencement activities, and the behavior of the audience did not once impress me. However, I had a fantastic weekend because I got to spend it with family. When I first moved out to college, I did not realize quite what I was leaving behind. Now, I cherish every moment I get to spend with my family. I especially love spending time with the people who remind me why I turned out the way I did. I suppose it is natural that we all feel like outsiders in the world at some point or other, and I am blessed enough that with family my weirdness is normal. Even snarky, sarcastic weirdness, with a more than healthy dose of nerd thrown in.

In positive, congratulatory news, Larry got an award for completing 75 hours of pro bono work (lawyer volunteering) and his JD. Apparently, he can't be called esquire until he passes the bar though. Like the doctoral students here, he did have to give back the fancy robe and even the hood, which just is not right.