We Need St. Cat's Tree

I received this from my dear friend Will and just love it! It's from a message written by Fr. Richard Rohr, and it really resonates with me:

St. Catherine of Siena in her Dialogues pictures the spiritual life as a large tree:
The trunk of the tree is love.
She says the core of the tree, that middle part that must be alive for the rest of the tree to be alive, is patience.
The roots of the tree are self-knowledge.
The many branches, reaching out into the air, are discernment.
(Note she recognizes much more subtlety is needed than mere black-and-white answers.)
In other words, says Catherine, love does not happen without patience, self-knowledge and discernment.
Today we have little encouragement toward honest self-knowledge or training in spiritual discernment from our churches. By nature, most of us are not very patient. All of which means, love is not going to be very common. We need St. Catherine's tree again."

Hopscotch & Hula Hoops

When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, and see things as a child does and think like a child; but now that I have become an adult, I have finished with all childish ways.
- 1 Corinthians 13:11 (NJB)

Paul messed us up terribly. He's done a lot of good, sure. And I agree that we must mature in our faith and move on toward perfection. We would be foolish to remain in diapers when we have a big-girl panties kind of radical faith. He's done us a great disservice, however, with his metaphor suggesting that we should put aside all childish ways.

There are days I long to act like a child more. I want to do nothing but play "sister princesses" at Sevier Park all day with Emma Anne, the two of us ruling the world and playing in our fabulous "castle" (what the unimaginative call a jungle gym). I want to eat popsicles slowly, not caring that the sun will melt them because I'll just lick my fingers in the end anyway. Some days I want to see things as a child does. I want to believe that all children play games and can hardly sleep on Christmas Eve and hate broccoli instead of the reality that some hide from war lords, are molested in the night or wish they had anything at all to eat. I want to talk like a child more. I want to ask questions all of the time. I want to instinctively know that something is wrong and just crawl in my mother's or father's lap and give them hugs and kisses, rather than trying to fix marital bliss gone awry with words.

I love my childish ways and am happy that I can still find healing in hopscotch and hula hoops, remember how small I am and how big God is, be comforted with crayons and a a coloring book. I wish that I would always believe that, even in my smallness, I can put on super powers to run faster than any human being. I don't want to be naive or disobedient or living in a pile of crap for hours; there are some childish ways I happily put behind me. Unlike Paul, however, I have no desire to put away all of my childish ways. In fact, I'm committing to embracing them even more--practicing forgiveness like a child, drawing on more sidewalks, laughing in my hula hoop and coloring outside the lines. This month I plan to incorporate play into my daily routine and spiritual practices. I'll title any blogs I write about this "Hopscotch & Hula Hoops." I hope you'll play with me . . .

Greensboro Four Pilgrimage

I am a pilgrim person. I love the journey of life and the opportunity to seek God and God's graces along the way. Fortunately, as one of the authors for The Upper Room's series The Way of Pilgrimage, I get to be a pilgrim guide for them sometimes.

Earlier this month, I guided some youth who attended the United Methodist youth conference Youth 2007 in Greensboro, NC, through a pilgrimage retracing the steps of the Greensboro Four.

It's a beautiful story of four men who were tired, so they decided to take a walk. It was February 1, 1960. The American Civil Rights Movement experienced a peak in the 1950's with the very successful boycott of the buses in Montgomery, Ala., in 1955 and the efforts to integrate high schools in 1957 with the Little Rock (Ark.) Nine. Then there was a lull for a few years until the Greensboro Four.

Four teenagers in their freshman year at North Carolina A & T University (NC A&T) walked to the other part of town and sparked a national sit-in movement when they sat down at the lunch counter of the F.W. Woolworth store and asked for coffee, an unprecedented act for African Americans who were not allowed to be served. Their names are Ezell Blair, Jr. (now called Jibreel Khazan), Franklin McCain, Joseph McNeil, and David Richmond.

The men walked into Woolworth through the "colored entrance," took the escalator up to the floor where the lunch counter was located, walked to the back of the store and sat down at the counter--two on each side of an elderly white woman. The woman leaned over to them and said she was disappointed in them . . . for not doing it sooner. Much to their surprise, she let them know she was proud and they received great encouragement.

They needed her words because many unkind words followed. For months they returned with other students, peacefully protesting as they sat at the counter. People harassed them--pouring food and hot coffee on their heads, calling them names, threatening them, putting out cigarettes on their heads. But the students--black and white--refused to fight back, incorporating the spirit of nonviolence learned by Martin Luther King, Jr.'s studies of Mahatma Gandhi's sit-in movement and the teachings of Jesus.

So at Youth '07, I guided several pilgrimages each day to walk the mile from NC A&T to the Woolworth store where the sit-in movement began. Along the way, we made many stops:

Stop 1: At the A&T campus, they have a statue of the Four walking. We began here and thought about what it would have been like to boldly step out and make a difference.



Stop 2: Greensboro's railroad tracks brought industry and money to the city. It's also the tracks that separated whites and blacks. If you visit you'll notice that the historically black colleges are located on one side of the tracks still and the historically white colleges are located on the other side of the tracks still. So the Four literally had to cross the tracks to get where they were going. We talked here about the boundaries and "tracks" we create in our neighborhoods, our nation and (since they were high school students) even our school cafeterias. And we reflected on how to cross those tracks. We went through the "tunnel" underneath the track.



Stop 3: The Greensboro News & Record covered the stories of the sit-in movement (called Greensboro Daily Record at the time). At the newspaper's offices, we talked about the importance of news in learning about injustices and the many different (and sometimes annoying) things the news chooses to cover--from Paris Hilton and TomKat to genocide in Darfur and displaced Hurricane Katrina victims.



Stop 4: We stopped at the beginning of February One Place, a street right before Woolworth that honors the Greensboro Four. We walked silently up this street.

Stop 5: F.W. Woolworth--the infamous department store with the segregated lunch counter. In July, when the counter finally was integrated, the manager of this particular store invited the black employees to be the first to serve at this integrated counter. Here, we looked at photographs and drank cold water as we reflected on what it means to be worthy of a cup of cold water. During one special pilgrimage, we happened to get there at the same time as the museum director and the mayor! So the director let our group of 51 people go inside and sit at what was left of the counter and see what they plan to do with the museum when it is complete. What a treat! For more info visit the International Civil Rights Center and Museum.



Stop 6: Center City Park, in the heart of Greensboro, celebrates Greensboro's history and diversity. On the wall of the park, there is a quote spoken nearly 100 years prior to the movement of the Greensboro Four. It is powerful:

"Let hate and prejudice have no place here. Elevate yourselves, but pull nobody down. Go for the education and progress mankind without regard to race or color and invite all to come forward and assist in the development of our common country."
~Thomas Settle, North Caroline Supreme Court Justice

At Center City Park, we debriefed our journey and shared in a body prayer.





*All photographs by Mike Dubose (United Methodist News Service)

Pilgrim People

Tonight, I went on a pilgrimage with our youth at church (whom I adore, by the way!). We did not go far. 1st Ave. in downtown Nashville was our farthest point, and we started at 4th (well, technically the journey began at 21st where our church building resides, but we started walking at 4th). In just those few blocks, however, we silently trekked the streets of Music City (well, most of the youth remained silent, that is). We traveled expecting to see God.

Even though we live in NashVegas, these particular streets are not streets we frequent. The occasional Titans game, music festival or out-of-town visitor might drag us to these streets, but we rarely walk them with pilgrim feet, hearts and eyes during those times.

Tonight my pilgrim eyes were most moved by the very end of our pilgrimage. We reflected on our calling to hospitality--to be in our community and open ourselves up to share our gifts with the community of strangers and friends we will encounter throughout life. So then we sat in front of the brand new symphony hall to hold our "Christ Candle" time. This weekly ritual invites us to pass around our candle (or our battery-powered lantern, as the case was tonight) and reflect on moments we've encountered God through the week. When the sharing/examen ends, we stand and give the UMYF (United Methodist Youth Fellowship) benediction.

Toward the end of our sharing, a man walked to our circle. He looked familiar with this part of town, possibly more familiar with the streets than we hoped for him. I don't know. He paused. He listened as the last person shared. When we stood up to speak the benediction, he placed his camo backpack and red hat on the ground. Without a word and with hands outstretched to join ours, he marched to the circle ready to pray. Grant and Kyle (two of our senior high youth) reached to him, as well, stepping away from one another to make space for our neighbor to join the circle. We prayed, smiled at one another through our benediction and twisted out of the circle.

He never said a word. Maybe he spoke to someone else; I did not hear him. I do not know his name. His presence, after engaging in conversation about hospitailty, was like being tucked into warm satin sheets and receiving a kiss on the forehead by Jesus who whispers to me:

rest well, sweet child and open
not just your eyes with the
Sunrise
but wake up and open your
circles, your church building, your
life, your hands and grab mine

Irresistible Community

I cried this morning as I sat on the porch of my new home. I did not cry because I do not like my new home. Nor did I cry because my home is so whelmingly beautiful and inspirational (although it is absolutely perfectly fantabulous . . . so much so that I'm inspired to write and *gasp* blog again). Instead, I cried after reading this paragraph of Shane Claiborne's book The Irresistible Revolution:

A married couple who were unable to have children happened to meet a woman who had found herself six months pregnant and homeless, so they invited her into their home. It proved to be such a beautiful experience that they decided to continue living together to help raise the new baby girl while the mother pursued her dream of going back to school to become a nurse. They have been living together over a decade now. They are a family, and the baby is now a teenager and the mom a nurse. A heart-wrenching twist to the story is that the wife of the married couple is now very ill with multiple sclerosis, but now the nurse living in her home is caring for her, just as she had cared for the nurse. This is the divine gift of mystical providence and radical interdependence.

I cried because I celebrate the will of God being done on earth, as it is in heaven, through this story. In a time when we are taught to be so fiercely independent, God's will reminds us that, as Daniel Ladinsky paraphrases St. Catherine of Sienna, "vulnerable we are, like an infant. We need each other's care or we will suffer." We are called to community, Communion.

We try so hard to have our "own children," our "own house," our "own healthcare," our "own money," etc., etc. We frown upon 30-year-olds living in their parents' homes and call them "losers." We help others, all the while keeping in mind when our charity is too abundant; soon the needy become "moochers" taking advantage of us.

The kingdom of God, however, looks like a little girl knocking on the door of a family who opened their home to me in South Africa. The child said, "Auntie Connie, we don't have any bread." Without hesitation, Aunt Connie, who did not have much herself, gave a loaf to this child. The kingdom looks like this couple, radically opening their doors to a needy pregnant woman and calling her "family" instead of a "moocher."

The New York Times posted a story today about how lonely U.S. citizens are.

As we face a lonely world telling us there is little hope, the kingdom of God reminds us that hope is in our community and our interdependence.