Border Experiences written by CVV 24 Volunteers-Mary Adam, Monica Amador, Hosanna Fortmeyer, and Morgan Neal

Hope Found at the Border

HOPE. Hope is the desire for something and the confidence in the possibility of its fulfillment.

If I learned anything from those we encountered at the border, it would be Hope.  a woman from El Salvador came into a make-shift shelter in El Paso with her little boy who was maybe 1 to 2 years of age.  I asked how she got here; it honestly didn’t hit me until then to ask that question. How do people travel from country to country? Some of the others in the room had said they had bussed through Mexico; this woman, however, said she did the journey on foot, all the way from El Salvador. I was struck by this. To think that not too long ago she was walking through Mexico to end up here in the U.S. seeking asylum; seeking refuge and a better life for her and her son.

It’s a 3-day hike from northern Mexico to El Paso.

Imagine 470 refugees dropped off by ICE on Friday and 530 refugees on Saturday? That’s 1,000 human beings leaving their homes in search for something better with no guarantees.

Picture this, $15 dollars earned for a day’s worth of work: $10 to save $5 to live on.

90 kids a day rely on 1 safe haven, Cristina’s “library” in Anapra

10,000 pesos a year to raise a family, but in reality, they’ll make 2,000 pesos

Factory workers make 80 pesos to 180 pesos a day with only 10 minutes for breakfast and 20 minutes for lunch. They have to put in a year of work before they receive 8 days vacation.  BUT they wait an additional 6 months before they’re allowed those vacation days.

I wonder, is that what our government does? Is that what Mexico’s government does? Somehow turn their own people’s lives and realities into numbers so they never see the faces.

But these people aren’t just numbers. There are stories attached to each and every one of them. Just like the hundreds of human beings leaving their homes in search of something better. They have a story to tell, and it’s about time we all listen.

One of the hotels serving as a hospitality center needed food to give out to the migrants. We furiously assembled PB&Js and bags of pretzels.  When we arrived at the hotel, we brought the food inside and saw a line of people in the hallway, standing or sitting against the wall, keeping a close hold on their children. They had ankle monitors on. I felt like all of them turned to us with the same look, the same eyes- big and hesitant and questioning. But smiling or greeting them would produce an immediate change in their demeanor- light came into their eyes, a flash of a smile, a nod of the head. I felt it go straight to my heart each time. “God,” I thought, “please help us do right by these people.”

That’s where that experience could have ended, was it not for a boy of about eight years old who was playing with a soccer ball in the parking lot. Felipe. Felipe had big brown eyes, a bright white smile, quick feet, and a shy manner that you felt could be a little swagger-y if you got to know him more.  We won’t know where he went after the hotel, how much of his life will be in the U.S., or if very soon his lightheartedness and fun would give way to fear and uncertainty. But that memory of playing soccer in the parking lot is a very special one for me, and brings back the feelings of joy, connection, and hope I felt in a place where I didn’t necessarily expect to find them. “Lord, help us to see the migrants as our neighbors, and to love them as ourselves.” 

I was constantly struck by many cots were lined up next to each other. I heard shouts in the air to make sure that families would be able to be together overnight. I kept thinking about how my clients at Lutheran Family Services in Denver felt going through this. This wasn’t a refugee camp, but they saw similar situations. The lucky asylum seekers saw this situation. All the beds lined up next to each other made me think of the classically referenced aerial photos of the white tents lined up in refugee camps.

When the sister pulled open a kitchen cupboard door, there were shelves filled with utensils and little things that clutter up a kitchen over time. I couldn’t stop staring at all the big plastic serving spoons. I just kept thinking about how much poverty there was concentrated in this little corner of the world and how many resources must have gone into all the spoons. I was struck by the fact that in the midst of this poverty, there was something so in abundance. But also by the fact that there are so many more important things in life rather than stockpiles of things.   

We don’t know the rest of their stories. We don’t know the beginning or the end. We don’t know specifically what they were escaping or what they were hoping for here. However, there is no doubt that they have hope. Why else would they even begin this long unknown path? For them to even think of starting this journey there must have been something inside telling them that there is something greater out there; to embark on this long and no doubt torturous path, there was a light of HOPE leading them to a seemingly better life.   

 

June 2019 – Matthew Norris

May 2019—Lauren Franklin

2019 Lenten Reflection

April 2019—Rachael Klos

March 2019 – Haley Todd

February 2019 – Jenny Jordan

January 2019 – Chris Morgan

October 2018 – Jeff Peterson

September 2018 – Allison Duber

August 2018 – Patrick Kluesener

July 2018 – Humberto Camarena

June 2018 – Erin Casey-DaCosta

May 2018 – Reflections from the CVV Blind Cafe Experience

2018 Lenten Reflections

March 2018 – Jen Gordon

February 2018 – Jenna Carbone

January 2018 – Katie Kerr

December 2017 – Maura Martin

November 2017 – Katie Cassady

October 2017 – Tara Williams

September 2017 – Kristen Gittinger

August 2017 – Chris Morgan

July 2017 – Cathryn Dutton

June 2017 – Joel Cassady

May 2017 – Elizabeth Lent

Holy Week and April 2017 – Sarah Ault

Lent 2017 Week 5 – Heather McCormack

Lent 2017 Week 4 – Michael Thomson

Lent 2017 Week 3 – Josie Johnson

Lent 2017 Week 2 – Christy (Titus) Thomson

Lent 2017 Week 1 – Diane Smith

February 2017 – Cassie Price

January 2017 – Dan Walsh

December 2016 – Shaughnessy Miller

November 2016 – Nikki Murillo and Kara Schmitt

October 2016 – Lynne Baumann

September 2016 – Brian Sheehan

August 2016 – John Taylor

July 2016 – Katie Cassady

June 2016- Jenna Carbone

May 2016- Tara (Bradley) Williams

April 2016- Alyson Hankwitz

March 2016- Kyle Earlywine

February 2016- Erin Kennedy

January 2016- Josh Wise

December 2015- Alison Mercier

November 2015- Mary (O’Neill) McManus

October 2015- Mallorie Gerwitz

September 2015- Christy (Titus) Thomson

August 2015- Chris Morgan

July 2015- Casey Sharp

June 2015- Jennay Smith

 

Matthew & Mary celebrating their wedding with their CVV Community

Experiencing the Holy Spirit

Matthew has a lot of experience with full time volunteer programs.  Before coming to CVV, Matthew, did a year of service at Amate House, and after CVV, he worked at the Jesuit Volunteer Corp.  During his CVV year, Matthew, served at the St. Francis Center.  Currently, he and his wife (Mary, CVV 20) live in Denver.  Matthew graduated from St Edwards in Austin so don’t be surprised if you see him wearing cowboy boots.

 

“When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled, they were all in one place together. And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were. Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.”  Acts 2: 1-4

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, on your own intelligence do not rely.”  Proverbs 3:5

Do you trust in the Lord?  Do you question when terrible things happen, or when seemingly everything goes wrong?  Frequently, I find myself lacking trust in God, and while my faith is strong, active, and participatory, I know that God is calling me to trust more in the presence of the Holy Spirit.  If you look at the state of our country, the world, or perhaps even reflect on your own life, this is easier said than done.  What would happen, however, if we had faith that could indeed move mountains?  Could we speak in tongues as the Apostles did at Pentecost?  Would we waiver when challenged by friends or family on societal issues, abuse in the Catholic Church, or why we believe what we do?  While I have never spoken in tongues I have had a moment, rather my family has, that upon reflection, the Holy Spirit had certainly been present and guiding us.  Confidently, I can proclaim, the Holy Spirit was in that room, that Divine Providence guided us on our journey.  Sharing that story with you speaks witness to the Holy Spirit very present in our world.

This past April marked the one year anniversary of the death of my younger brother, Owen.  On Thanksgiving Day 2017, Owen was brought to the Emergency Room, and after a few days of tests, it was discovered that he had a brain tumor.  Coupled with an immune condition, ITP, that greatly reduced his platelet counts, Owen spent the next several weeks in the hospital.  Christmas that year was spent there, yet Owen was still able to lead prayer before our meal together.  Eventually, Owen transitioned home, and his attitude was one of gratitude and trust.  Owen knew the Holy Spirit, and he became a witness of the Spirit present today.  Fast forward to April 2018 and another tumor had grown.  On April 19, 2018, I received a call to come home, Owen was on a breathing tube, and while there is no guarantee, they could keep him comfortable until people arrived.

My fiancé, now wife, Mary, and I took a flight that night and drove two hours to Cleveland.  Later that day, we went to the hospital and had several hours with my family, and Owen.  We prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet, as well as other prayers. We had a moment to say goodbye.  Around 7 p.m. that Friday, April 20, the breathing tube was removed.  Comfortable still, Owen continued to breath for a few hours.  We continued to pray, hold each closely, and comfort each other as needed.  Approximately three hours after we removed the breathing tube, my mother, while sitting on his side, holding his hand, asked, “Does anyone want to read Psalm 23?” 

Mary pulled up the Psalm on her phone and I began to read, “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack.  In green pastures he makes me lie down; to still waters he leads me.” 

As I began to read one of Owen’s doctors walked in, and I paused.  Around the same time, Owen’s breathing suddenly changed, and he led out a long exhale.  Silence.  We gathered around his bedside and I continued.

“He restores my soul. He guides me along right paths for the sake of his name. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me. You set a table before me in front of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Indeed, goodness and mercy will pursue me all the days of my life; I will dwell in the house of the Lord for endless days.”

April 20, 2018 Owen went home to a merciful, loving, God.  The following week we shared the story of his passing.  It still gives me chills, not because of great suddenness in losing my young brother, but because of the powerful experience in that hospital room.  What prompted my mother to ask if anyone would read Psalm 23?  What allowed smooth and immediate travel from Denver, Atlanta, and southern Ohio for his siblings to be present, and equally important, to comfort our parents?  God was present in every moment of Owen’s journey, and the Holy Spirit was with us the night he died.  On Holy Saturday, April 20, this year, my family and I went to the Easter Vigil mass.  During the celebration, the Priest consecrated bread and wine into the body and blood of Jesus Christ at nearly the same time Owen died one year earlier.  Lent had ended, Christ had risen!  He is now our Advocate, and will be with us always (John 14:16).   

Though we may not all have such beautiful moments of the Holy Spirit with us, may sharing it with you be witness of the Holy Spirit very much present in the world today.  Circling back to my introductory questions, however, why do I still not trust?  God has shown me that He resides in our world, and is with us always.  Therefore, I must be witness to this presence.  We have daily opportunities to be witness of Christ to others.  In the workplace, with our friends, and yes, even when suffering, tragedy, or death surrounds us, we can bear witness to Christ’s resurrection.  This encompasses true Christianity, true discipleship.  Perhaps if I did this more, if we all did this more, our country, and world, would not be so divided?

However, I can only speak to my own actions and words, which means I have to put my full trust in the Lord.  With uncertainty, with life transition, and with sorrow, I must look to the Holy Spirit for guidance.  I can also pray to Our Mother to be my advocate.  Ultimately, I must trust that God will guide, and lead me, to wherever He wills.  Pentecost is a great reminder that God is with us always, the Holy Spirit very much present in our lives.  Should I still forget, however, and find myself a lost sheep once again, there is always a Good Shepherd to guide and lead me once more.  Never abandoned, the Holy Spirit is always with us.

 

 

 

Lauren delightfully serving a student at Arrupe Jesuit High School.

The Fruits of Radical Service

After graduating from the University of San Diego, Lauren Franklin, a.k.a. Frankie, brought to CVV 23 a joyful and reflective spirit.  Her plan is to use her many gifts to pursue a degree in counseling.  If she is not reading a piece of literature or writing about her heartfelt thoughts, Frankie, is probably preparing her favorite dish-Shakshuka (an Israeli egg dish).

 

It has been just about nine months since my year with CVV (23) ended, and I can’t help but notice how that is the same amount of time as a gestation period. The timing is wildly appropriate, because so many of the fruits of that year are now being birthed in my life. While I did experience radical growth much earlier than just this Lenten season, allowing God to integrate the work He did in me last year with my life today has been another journey of its own.

Last year, I worked in the Corporate Work Study office at Arrupe Jesuit High School, retraining teens who had been fired from their job placements and assisting with other administrative duties. I don’t love to admit it, but for the bulk of the year, I was desperately overwhelmed by my position. I didn’t know this at the time, but as I accompanied students, I saw their challenges as my own projects. So when students needed extra time to work on certain skills before receiving new job placements, I would become discouraged and work harder. I was operating under the lies that I am a savior, that my own efforts can solve humanity’s struggles and that those students’ journeys and mine defined each other. In retrospect, I can clearly recognize the pride that coursed through my perspective.

I have boundless gratitude for my community, coworkers and everyone Mary Frances and Bill so gracefully surrounded us with. Without them, I never would have had the opportunity to speak with Brother Aaron at Snowmass last spring. We sat on a bench a little removed from the retreat house, and I shared with him how deeply challenging the year had been for me. It’s funny, because I will never forget his words to me, but thinking back to that moment in time, I’m remembering that we were in a field and spring was just showing itself. As he spoke to me, he kept pointing out the new life all around us, “Just wait a moment. Now watch this butterfly.” “You see those birds over there? There’s something interesting about that type of bird…” The sunlight was catching everything, and as it did, Br. Aaron’s words illuminated my experience. He chatted with me about true service and how those we give our lives to do not belong to us. He said, “Your students’ successes are not your own.” I think a lot of pride died in me on that bench. In powerful tenderness, he helped set me free to love more purely.

After that weekend at the monastery, I returned to my students with a transformed perspective. I was able to look at them with unhindered delight, because finally I understood that really, their “success” had very little to do with me. I was simply there to cherish them, be an honest teacher and let God do the rest. Gosh, for the students’ sake, I wish I had begun the year with that mentality. They would have had to deal with far less stress and would have probably felt a whole lot more loved by me.

Now, fast-forward to today. I am back home in the town where I grew up, outside Los Angeles. I’m working with kids again, but this time all four of them are under 4 years old. The community I live with is my immediate family. In these upper middle class Southern California suburbs, human needs are harder to discern. True to form, I entered this new year with a bit of an existential crisis. (Where my enneagram 4s at?) Joking aside, I struggled to integrate the life-altering lessons I had learned in Denver. I wanted God to use me again. I yearned for Him to put to practice the true mutuality He’d taught me about the prior year. My thought process was something like this: God painfully stripped me of my false sense of service, and now He’s led me back to people who didn’t even need me?! I am sure we all can recognize that the same sinfulness of last year resides in these thoughts. There was my pride, popping up again.

I find it especially apropos that I have been led to a nannying job in this season of life, because I am convinced that there are no better teachers of service than children. Funnily enough, it’s as if teenagers were the refining fire that prepared me for their younger counterparts—toddlers. While I floundered to apply the lessons of last year to suburban California, this Lent is affording me the space to see that even here, even now, God is yet still purifying my heart for others. A one-year-old’s cry for milk or her three-year-old sister’s tantrum are expressions of human need. No, those needs are not the same as poverty; and it pains my heart to think back to my students’ stories at Arrupe and what their living situations were, especially as I juxtapose them with the homelives of the children I care for today. What I can say is that the kids whom my time belongs to this year are important to God. I am no longer under the illusion that I am a savior, but I can see that these tiny people deserve someone who has been shaped and renewed by the hearts at Arrupe. I never could have looked these babies in the eyes with such unfettered love if my students last year had not challenged me to start with them.

During Lent, I took time to contemplate the heart of Jesus. As I sat in his presence, I was struck by his relentless desire to serve me in every moment. I am convinced that the Lord is the mutuality of service. Christ-filled form of service is not one-sided in any sense. “For in him, all things live and move and have their being” (Acts 17:28). He is with us, as we are with Him; as we are with others, others are with us. I now see that this relationship is everywhere: in Denver and California, in mountains and beach towns, in cities and suburbs, in broken homes and those that appear to have it all figured out.

As we savor this Easter season, I want to encourage my fellow CVVers: do not be afraid to go where you are called. How does Christ’s risenness move you? Where does love incarnate take you? Wherever in the world that is, God wants you there, and it is there that He will meet you again. Everything we do in His love is radical service. Everything.

What’s more? All of it is God’s radical service to us.

Michelle Baumann, CVV 21

First Week of Lent

“Every little thing just wants to be loved.” –Sue Monk Kidd.

This quote was the theme of a digital story created by one of my fellow volunteers and has been a mantra for me during my work as a clinical social worker. During my year at CVV, I worked with youth at Urban Peak, an overnight homeless shelter. The youth taught me not every person is given love freely, some have to fight for it. At the shelter, love is a warm place to stay on a snowy night, a bus ticket to a job interview, or a person listening with an open heart and mind. Their frustrations with the staff or community were simply expressions of feeling unloved. All they wanted was a place to be loved after receiving so little love.

Currently, I am a social worker at an Early Intervention agency. Early Intervention works with families and children ages birth to three who have or are at risk for developmental delay.  Every day, I see how parents and children show love in different ways. To a child who is taught that being loved means getting whatever you want, a tantrum is simply feeling unloved by a caregiver. A mother in recovery taking prescribed Suboxone while pregnant isn’t neglecting the unborn child, but making a difficult decision between risking fetal harm due to side effects and preventing a potentially life-threatening relapse. A mother force-feeding her underweight child is desperately trying to make her child medically healthy. Seemingly ill-intentioned actions can be a sign of love when explored more deeply.

The biggest challenge I face in my work is not recognizing expressions of love, but working with families on loving and caring for their child without imposing my own values or preconceived notions of love. Even if I disagree with the parenting practices, I must work with the parent to find a way to best support the child, ensuring both the child and parent feel loved.  When I am unsure how to move forward or question the practices of a parent, I remind myself to simply find the love.

 

Chris Morgan, CVV 17

Second Week of Lent

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” NRSVCE Mt 5:3 

“You’re blessed when you are at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.” MSG Mt 5:3

How often do you find yourself at the end of your rope? Does it prompt you to remember that you’re blessed? I’m going to guess that it doesn’t. In the lives we live, we often find ourselves in positions where we have control over a number of the variables. It gives us a sense of stability and security. Take your pick of the things in your life that you think you can control: where you sleep, what you eat, where you work, how you spend your time, where you spend some of (if not most) of your money, where you worship, etc.

At a foundation level, stability and security are not bad. As we hear from the creation accounts in Genesis, it was God who brought order out of chaos. In the Psalms, God is revered for bringing regular rains to water the crops. That brought stability to their lives. Note that these are examples of God in control.

I’ve been having a lot of conversations lately with people who find themselves at the end of their rope. “It feels like my life is totally out of control.” “I can’t do anything to change whether my husband lives or dies.” As a hospital chaplain who mostly works nights, you can imagine that I meet many people on the worst day of their life. This theme of control has been coming up more and more lately, and I know there is something for me to learn here. 

That translation of the first Beatitude from The Message doesn’t tell us to keep from being at the end of our rope. It doesn’t say “if.” It says, “When you are at the end of your rope.” It will happen, and when it does, you are blessed. You are blessed because you are presented this great and awful opportunity. In the midst of your world feeling so out of control, you can be shaken from the stability and security you provide yourself, in what might be the only way to remember where we truly find stability and security. It is through surrendering our lives to God’s care that we experience the Kingdom. It can be difficult to do that in your everyday life where you’ve set up routines and structures to live as you see fit. 

Look to those moments when you don’t have anything else to give as opportunities to go deeper with God. Those moments are dark and hard to see the way out. I pray they happen as rarely as possible, but when they do, remember the first Beatitude. Blessed are the poor in spirit! When you surrender to God’s care for you, You are participating in realizing the Kingdom of God on earth. 

Lent can be a season to recognize parts of our lives that get in the way of loving God and others. I encourage you to take some time to reflect on what came up for you while reading this. Maybe some objections or some convictions. Bring them to prayer and ask what God wants you to do with them. 

When we surrender our sense of being in control of our lives (or anything else), we have the opportunity for something more beautiful to happen. We have the space and the posture to co-create with God and be partners in realizing the Kingdom of God; in our community, in our family, in our work.

 

Coleen Calamari, CVV 21

Third Week of Lent

My year in CVV challenged me and changed me in many positive ways. I had countless experiences that continue to shape who I am as a young adult. I had moved to a different part of the country, where I was taken out of my comfort zone, to begin working with the marginalized and growing in community. Though it was difficult at times, the whole year was an immense blessing and opportunity to walk with people through the joys and sufferings of life. Words do little justice to express how much I value and learned from my journey with CVV.

Living in New York City now, it can be easy to get caught up in a self-centered culture. We all have places to go and tasks to accomplish. Yet, people find time to look out for their fellow New Yorker. It is inspiring when people look outside of themselves to help another. I often see someone sacrifice a seat on a crowded subway for the woman with a small child or someone offer leftovers to the person who is sitting alone on the sidewalk in the cold. Through these shared experiences, we together make up this imperfect, beautiful city.  

Working as a nurse at a doctor’s office in New York City, I am not always encountering the marginalized in the same way as when I worked at Stout Street Health Center in Denver. My current patients typically do not have the same types of needs as the clients at Stout Street. I do, however, still encounter them at vulnerable times, such as before surgery or during illnesses. I have the privilege of being with, listening to, and offering advice during these instances. I am humbled to be entrusted with their concerns and feelings.

A unique aspect of my nursing position is working frequently with people who are immigrating to the United States. The office performs medical exams that are required during the green card application process. These exams include verifying the patient’s immunization status, among other health screenings. My favorite part of this office visit is listening to the patients’ diverse stories. Each person has his or her own unique background and circumstances that brought them to the country. I am often reminded of our border trip with CVV to El Paso, where met many people and listened to their experiences with immigration. I strive to help these patients feel cared for and listened to during a part of the often long application process.

My CVV experience taught me to see love and charity in all situations, from living in community while serving people experiencing homelessness in Denver to building a life in New York City. I continue to experience the charisms of CVV at home, at work, and with family and friends. We can participate in the Body of Christ within all life circumstances.

 

Sarah Mayer, CVV 17

Fourth Week of Lent

When I was reflecting on what to write for my Lenten reflection I could not help but think back to the reflection I wrote for the CVV newsletter.  At the time, seven years ago, I felt quite torn up about the mandatory CVV mid-year move.  My community was not without faults but to me the faults were few and far between.  I tied this community to the physical location of 1544 Pearl Street and figured that everything would change if we moved.  I struggled to realize that the brick and mortar surroundings did not define my community.  

In the spring of 2011, I remember sitting in my Saint Mary’s College dorm room answering the application questions for CVV.  When asked about how I would live with intentionality, I must confess, I googled the word intentional.  Of course, I knew what the word meant but what did it mean in the context of community?  I learned quickly that it meant pushing dinner back or forward depending on Mike’s rugby practice schedule because meals together were so important.  I learned staying up late talking about life with Erin or Alison would make waking up for the 6am shift at St. Francis Center harder but not impossible.  I remember the conversations much more than the dread I experienced getting out of bed on little sleep.  I learned that it is possible to love people but not like them (Ryan Martin warned us that would happen).

CVV taught me a myriad of things but I would say the one constant has been intentionality in relationships.  The excuses can pile up: work is busy, you are tired, you have had a long day, etc.  The year after CVV ended, 13 of the 19 people in my year lived in Denver.  It was an extension of CVV and spending time together was easy.  As we have gotten older, people have moved away, gotten married, had babies, gotten graduate degrees, changed jobs, bought houses, and traveled the world.  It can be hard but if CVV has taught me anything is that you still have to try.  This extends beyond people from my CVV year and into my general friend group.  There is not meaning beyond the saying “I do not have time for…”.  You do have time, you just choose how to spend it and what to prioritize.  I am nowhere near perfect but I try to be persistent to the people who are most important to me.  Sometimes I think, gosh, no one ever let me in on the secret that friendships require a lot of effort.  When I reflect, however, I realize CVV hinted at that idea.  CVV was countercultural in many ways.  One of those ways was living with intention.  I am grateful for CVV for many reasons and one will be that CVV taught me to put into relationships that you “glean” something from.  

 

Brian Sheehan, CVV 14

Fifth Week of Lent

Generativity

“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” -John 12:24

My great uncle was a Trappist Monk. His name was Clarence “Nick” Prinster, and for a time during his early monastic and adult life, Brother Nick worked closely with Mother Theresa in India. Prior to becoming a monk, Nick was a handful; he gambled, drank, and radiated untamed vitality. In his later life,

Nick exuded tranquility, wisdom, and presence (this was the uncle I knew). And in his time between the polarities of youthful vigor and twilight quietude, Nick was exceptionally generative: He oversaw the year-round management of vast swaths of monastery farmland, he hand-built astonishingly elegant grandfather clocks, and worked side-by-side with Mother Theresa and her Sisters of Charity serving the destitute poor in a capacity he humbly referenced as “my apostolate.”

My uncle Nick passed away last summer at the age of 91. His entry into the next Great Journey was modest. During his final months of life, most would hardly characterize him as generative. Naturally, he spent much more time being cared for than producing, and needed more attention than he was capable of immediately giving. Yet in a peculiar way, Brother Nick’s process of dying and eventual death, though melancholy (I miss him), was productive. He left me with budding understanding where I expected a void.

Psychologist Erik Erickson was one of the first to articulate in secular terms what many mystics and religious thinkers with a grounded spirituality have intuited for centuries. Namely, Erickson stated that a healthy human psyche must develop throughout life. From birth until death, our interior sense of self is capable of growing to meet the challenges of life’s various stages, and ultimately bears fruit (i.e. generativity) by moving towards psychological integration.[1]

In his work Sacred Fire, theologian and spiritual writer Ronald Rolheiser puts it more pragmatically. He poignantly highlights that the road to human maturity unfolds according to a distinct pattern.  Essentially, from adolescence onward, a fully lived life mirrors three sequential stages:

1.) Getting our lives together

2.) Giving our lives away

3.) Giving our deaths away

In Christian terms, this pattern is called the Paschal Mystery. At our collective best as Catholics, we hold the journey of birth, life, loving sacrifice, death, resurrection, and new life in the Spirit to be the underlying blueprint of a meaningful existence God writes in nature.[2] We also believe God does not leave us alone to navigate the difficulties of this journey. Instead, God chooses to walk through a human, earthly life so we can coalesce as a community, have an ever-present Model to imitate, and glean from those who most gracefully live the Paschal voyage.

If I’m honest, I’m still probably in the ‘getting my life together’ phase. I still rent, I get bogged down by e-mails at work, and quite frankly my calendar can be an unruly source of anxiety. Sure, I work with kids, volunteer for an environmental group, and try to be kind. But If I compare my daily life to aspects of my uncle Nick’s, it’s easy to question if I’m really being generative at all!

I’ve been blessed to find myself in a professional leadership role over the last two years. As such, I’ve been challenged to view the contours of my daily work through the lens of service where the fruitfulness of my labor depends on my capacity to value others rather than simply getting my act together.

Hopefully, this is a sign I am entering the second stage of life – the ‘giving my life away’ stage. But even then, there are days I’m exceedingly busy in the name of ‘service,’ but despite all my scattered haste, I don’t seem to get anything done. The quality of my ‘giving’ when my nose is so tightly pressed to the proverbial grindstone that I can’t see beyond the challenges and complexities of the moment is inevitably characterized by concern, worry, and doubt.

My uncle Nick’s early adult life produced a wake of beauty I can only aspire to replicate in my own day-to-day activities. But paradoxically, witnessing his approach to death and dying teaches me more about making a meaningful impact than tallying his notable actions. In the end, I believe his knack for simply being is what made all his ‘doing’ so valuable , and because he knew what it meant to live contemplatively, his activity was all the more graced and fruitful.

This lent, I hope to imitate my uncle Nick. I pray that my days be marked by a little less doing and a little more being, fewer angst-filled reactions and more mindful pauses for prayer, and a generative interior space that manifests outwardly in the fruits of my labor. And more importantly, I pray that whoever reads this reflection also finds a productive sense of peace.

  

[1] Childhood and Society, by Erik Erickson

[2] Sacred Fire, by Ronald Rolheiser

 

 

Coming Home

Rachael  (Rudeen) Klos was part of CVV 6 (all-women’s group) from 2000-2001.  During CVV, Rachael worked at the Conflict Center. She grew up in Cottage Grove, Minnesota and went to the College of St. Benedict.  After CVV Rachael became a special education teacher.  Now she is married to Jeff Klos and they have 3 children:  Phoebe, Henry, and ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Truman.

 

Coming home.

 

It’s a phrase that has carried so many different meanings for me over the years.

 

To the younger me, “home” seemed to always refer to a physical place: Minnesota, my home state, or the house in which I grew up. Beginning with my CVV experience, home became Denver, and the variety of apartments and houses I shared with friends.

 

As I matured, I came to realize that “home” can be a warm and loving feeling associated with the people closest to us. Regardless of where we physically were, any time I was with my girls from growing up or my dear friends from college, it felt like home. And shortly after I met my husband many years ago, he became home to me. 

 

After a while, my profession of teaching felt like coming home. Quite by accident, I happily found my place in advocating for kids with developmental differences. I was passionate about the services I was providing for families within the world of special education.

 

But after marriage and the birth of our first child, I knew that my passions had shifted towards family.  Gratefully, I was able to step away from my career for a bit to raise our daughter. And, relishing in the beauty of life with my new little family, every day felt like coming home. 

 

Life was good, and I felt invincible. 

 

Until I was completely blindsided.

 

As we prepared to welcome our first son into our family, we were devastated to learn of a birth defect he had on his abdominal wall. After close monitoring for the remainder of my pregnancy, we were prepared to deliver at Children’s Hospital Colorado and expected a short NICU stay while Henry recovered from a surgery he’d have to repair his Gastroschisis. 

 

But we’d soon learn that Henry’s Life would take a very different – a foreign and utterly terrifying – path. After an emergency surgery at birth, he was left with only 10% of his digestive tract. The 20 cm that remained were very dilated and did not function well. We spent the first three and a half months of Henry’s Life living at the hospital. It was during this time that our beautiful baby boy taught us how to courageously fight. Although we were slowing learning that Henry’s broken body was not created long for this Life, his wise and gentle soul wasn’t finished with us just yet. When Henry was well enough, we transitioned home with support from a truly incredible palliative care company. After sharing 6 months at home of joyous adventures and wondrous love with one another, our families, and our supportive community, Henry’s body grew tired. One Sunday morning in January, before the sun rose, we held our baby boy in our arms as he took his last breath.

 

My world had completely imploded, and the Life I knew and loved was instantly gone.

 

* * *

Service and advocacy, reflection, community, spirituality and prayer: these are all important components to living a meaningful Life. While they are not novel to the CVV community, often times these elements can be buried and forgotten as Life, simply, carries on. It is vital that we remember to connect and reflect, especially when we feel isolated and discontented. 

 

After Henry died, I was inherently shattered; the core of my very being irrevocably changed.

 

And it’s taken – literally – years for me to uncover a desire to rebuild myself and create a new Life of which I can be proud.

 

This month marks Henry’s 5th birthday. While the ground beneath us softens and greens and the first flowers bud with the promise of new Life, I will be reminded of the joy and certainty of rebirth. We are constantly growing and changing; parts of us die while others are born.  

 

Only recently have I been reminded that – along with returning to a comfortable physical place or spending time with special people or doing something I enjoy – to find the most important meaning of “coming home,” I have to look within.

 

To quiet the noise around me and listen to that voice in my head. To sift through all the distractions and decipher what’s truly on my mind. And to unpack and interpret what is written on my heart. 

 

For me, coming home has been, and will continue to be, the difficult process of finding myself again after the death of my son. 

 

I’m eternally grateful to have had the last several years to devote solely to my family. However, in that time where the highs and (extreme) lows of motherhood were raw and all-consuming, I lost myself. In giving Life to three beautiful children, I forgot all about mine. And holding one of my babies while he took his last breath completely decimated whatever was left of me. 

 

Now, over 4 years after Henry’s death, it seems I’m ready to be found. I am feeling called to something bigger: a different kind of meaningful service. A personal resurrection is beginning to bloom in my Life, in Henry’s memory and honor. I’m finding that my son is giving me the strength to forge my next steps in the areas of death and dying, pediatric palliative care and hospice, and bereavement. I’m committed to supporting families like mine, being a similar beacon for others that we have been so blessed to receive.

 

I am fully listening like never before, letting my heart guide this new path I’ve been so desperate to find. Digging deep within, and recognizing all the ways that Henry leads me from the other side, has created a newfound fervor for the future, and a general sense of peace and comfort within.

 

I feel as if I am finally coming home again.

 

Stability and Spirit

Haley Todd, CVV Year 16, was a part of the first year of two communities.  Coming from Ohio, Haley, served at Urban Peak during her CVV year.  Currently, she is in administration at Emily Griffith School in Denver.  When Haley is having fun you can find her in the mountains or in the city but she will always have her puppy, Bella, with her.

 

A few weeks ago I ventured back to the midwest, to a monastery on a hill in the farmlands of southern Indiana.  Since 2003, Saint Meinrad has been a place of meaning in my life, and I returned for a short 48-hour trip for the first time in three years to celebrate a good friend’s Solemn Vows.

As a freshman in high school, I attended a summer conference at Saint Meinrad. Throughout college I spent the summers living on the Hill in intentional community with 20 other young adults, leading these same One Bread, One Cup conferences, welcoming high school students into the rhythm of monastic life while learning about the Liturgy.  I have returned time and time again over 16 years, and this visit I was struck by the gift of the juxtaposition of stability and Spirit.

At Saint Meinrad, when the bells chime, manual labor ceases, the candles are lit, and the Gregorian chant begins. Every day. Every time. Stability. To ground.

And yet the faces of the monastic community have changed, the guests who are welcomed vary day by day, and as for me, my prayers and encounters in the same place over the years have been those of joy, sorrow, gratitude, mercy, and even loss. Spirit. To guide.

On most past visits, as I rounded the final corner and the monastery and arch-abbey first came into view, I found myself craving a re-creation of such deep experiences – of the same community of interns, living in the same hallway, sharing the same days of learning and serving and nights of laughter and relationship building.  This visit, however, as I rounded the same corner and first glimpsed that same view, I felt a different response. I was struck during my visit that while that time and space can never exist again exactly as they were, the Spirit continues to guide and stability continues to ground.

During the very first line of Midday Prayer, I was reminded how starkly different my rhythm and pace are in my life today.  As the monks began, “O God, come to my assistance…” I had finished my response before the monks had even begun theirs!  What an immediate reminder of how unstable I was and how different my automatic pace is in my day-to-day!

I share about Saint Meinrad because my experience there and my year at CVV undoubtedly serve as two of the most foundational and transformative encounters of my life.  Much like Saint Meinrad, we can never re-create our year at CVV. And yet, returning to WoHo and CoHo, connecting with alum, or sharing a conversation with Bill and MF, invite us to reground in our experience and challenge us to witness the Spirit’s guidance in our lives today.

Still living in Denver and serving a population similar to those I served during my year with CVV, I witness the Spirit’s guidance and also realize how easily I can lose my groundedness and stability when caught up in the “to dos” of the work.  My visit back to St. Meinrad reminded me of how important both stability and the Spirit are in the role of CVV in our lives after our year on Pearl Street.  

For me, CVV brought stability through a message of companionship with those on the margins that grounds my language and lens while serving my students.  It’s also clear to me how the Spirit has guided since CVV, shifting the population I serve, now both students and staff, and calling me to reflection and action in new ways over time.  Yet, how easy it is for me to become consumed and un-centered, losing my groundedness and unable to hear the Spirit.

Especially considering the transition ahead for the CVV community in its 25th year, I witness a beautiful community that keeps stable, grounded in the vision and mission, while trusting in to the Spirit to guide.

As alum, what from your own CVV experience stabilized and grounded you? In what ways has the Spirit guided and taken new shape in your life throughout the years after your experience? I invite you to share, reflect, and reconnect with our groundedness and our Guide, as we journey together.

 

A Solid Foundation to Build From

Jenny Jordan, CVV Year 8

 

In the months following my year of service with CVV, I was keenly aware of how that experience put me ahead of my peers.  I was hired on for an entry level part-time position.  Before completing the two week orientation, I was offered a full-time position doing work that directly impacted people in need and representing the agency to the general public.  I excelled in that position and continued to build my resume, while other college friends were working in coffee shops or other entry level positions, not necessarily putting their degrees to good use.  I have no doubt that the experiences I had at the Samaritan House Clinic and as a Case Manager for a few families catapulted my career.  I am eternally grateful for the work experience that CVV afforded me. 

I am now in my tenth year in management at my current company and have had a hand in training, supervising, and establishing procedures.  I have come to awareness that CVV prepared me for management; but not in a way that was immediately obvious.  

Mindfulness seems to be all the rage right now within the professional growth or ‘advance your career’ self-help books.  Much of it seems to boil down to slowing down, taking time to reflect, and being thoughtful in whatever course you take.  To any CVVer, this concept may seem such a logical strategy that it may seem strange that there are volumes of books sharing this simple wisdom.  Being that we were regularly invited to reflect, both as a community and as individuals.  CVV emphasized devoting time to processing one’s day; considering what was challenging, and what could have been done differently.  We were also routinely invited into a space of vulnerability.  We considered our own shortcomings and fragility as we companioned others who were often experiencing brokenness and pain.  This practice of reflection and introspection is steeped in mindfulness practices.  Could there be a better place to learn/practice these lessons than while being devoted to prayer, committed to serving others, and invested in community? 

As an introvert, I am inclined to quiet and self-reflection, but I believe that my time with CVV helped me to develop an awareness and intuition far beyond my own consciousness.  I believe that being exposed to these reflective practices have helped me cultivate my skills as a manager; again affording me the inside track to my peers and others who are navigating the challenging waters that being in management brings.  By no means do I know it all, or have it all figured out.  If anything, I am aware of how much I have to still learn and develop.  However, based on the practices ingrained during CVV I have a solid foundation to build from, and a comfort level with introspection, vulnerability, and thoughtfulness that makes for fertile soil upon the seeds of mindfulness and personal growth to flourish.

I am struck again by intense gratitude for CVV and the role it has played in my life.  I am so glad to be part of this amazing community and for the opportunities I have had because of it.  I wish to thank the incredible group of individuals who were my companions in CVV Year 8; and to express deep gratitude to those that embraced and nurtured us along the way.  This especially includes, Bill and Mary Frances, whose wisdom and gentle prompts helped cultivate skills and practices that will be used for a lifetime.

Chris growing hope with his companions.

 

Hope in the Incarnation

Chris Morgan, CVV 17

Where do you find hope these days?

In overthrowing the other political party in the next election?
In supporting your local economy?
In effective law enforcement?
In nations around the world making an ambitious agreement in relation to climate change?
In your own ability to work hard to achieve your goals?
In your retirement account?
In your church as an institution?
In a belief that these are the “last days?”
In packing your schedule with things that seem productive?
In staying out of the fray?

Maybe these aren’t the places that inspire hope in you, but they are for many people. For you is it…

In your routines that help life go more smooth?
In the people you see taking courageous stands?
In a miraculous healing?
In the mission of CVV?
In Our Lady of Guadalupe?
In your own conversion story?
In a relationship?
In your child?

By now, you might be thinking that there are many
places and
people and
stories that give you hope, but I really wonder what you’d say if
your uncle or
your neighbor or
your coworker asked you,
“How can you seriously say you have hope when you see what’s going on in the world these days?”
As it turns out, this seemed to be a pretty important question for the author of First Peter.

“Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone
who asks you for a reason for your hope…”
(NABRE 1 Peter 3:15b)

Whereas the audiences of this letter may have been suffering in ways you don’t, I wonder how it might change your life experience this year to come up with an explanation for your hope. I’m talking about your ultimate hope, the one that gives ultimate purpose and meaning to your life. One option you might consider: How about God becoming human?

It’s a wonder Mary survived childbirth, let alone that she conceived by God’s will. So here’s God’s plan for salvation after the fall: Choose a single young woman of simple heritage to bear her and God’s child. Support her through running through wilderness for fear of her life and the life of her child. Have the child raised as an everyday tradesman grow into a teacher of that community’s faith. He gathers a small following, gets killed, and rises from the dead.

This story inspires people for millennia. This is the story of God’s success in restoring all creation into right relationship with God. I believe this is the ultimate Christian hope. That God’s Word will be the last word, that chaos will not prevail. This is a story about God’s will being done, that even what seems like the final enemy, death, cannot thwart it.

That’s what gives me hope. It’s not some human campaign for the next brightest idea. What gives me hope is that God, the creator of all that is, wants all creation to be made one, to return to that original union. This is not my work, or your work, or the Church’s work. This is God’s work (which one may or may not cooperate with at various points), and no matter how much we can be implicated in falling short, it remains God’s will.

And it’s done. When God became flesh and dwelt among us, this ultimate hope was made real for all of creation. God was no longer separate or apart from God’s creation. In that moment, all of creation, you included, became one with God. I can’t emphasize it enough that this is God’s work. It’s true we have free will, but God never stops giving us reason to hope. My hope rests on my faith that God’s Word will be the last word and that it’s not finally up to me to get it right or mess it up. I’m called to do the best I can with what I have.

It can be hard to see, to imagine God’s Beloved Community in these times, so what gives you hope?

God Within

Jeff Peterson CVV 3

It is a testament to CVV that twenty years after leaving 1732 Pearl St, what I experienced and learned continues to shape the decisions I make for myself, my family and my community.  Sometimes these are small, daily decisions like when I make a point of taking a route in my home of Portland, Maine that leads me down the street where many of my homeless neighbors live.  I live a life of privilege. Heading down Preble Street requires that, at least for a moment, I see the face of someone struggling with food insecurity, addiction or mental illness. CVV reminds me that I must look into these faces.  Sometimes my trips past Preble Street remind me that my life of material comfort also insulates me from the joys of community as I watch these neighbors laugh and sing together, eat together, and support one another, while I, alone in my car, head home, pull into my driveway, and nod to my neighbor if I see them at all.

CVV also continues to shape larger decisions in my life.  I suspect that I am part of a relatively small group of CVVers that is not Catholic and never was Catholic.  I was raised in a Pentecostal Christian home and now am a practicing Quaker. Quakers believe that there is “that of God within everyone” and that “the Light” can be found in everyone and in all of creation.  For Quakers, truth is ever unfolding as we listen to “that of God” within, in the lives of others, in artistic creation and in the natural world. This is a spirituality that flows from what I experienced at CVV.  

My daughters attend a Quaker school here in Portland, and for several years I served on the board of the school.  During my time on the board, the school was faced with needing to move from it’s lovely island location just off the Maine coast.  The board was tasked with finding a new home for the school. During the process of relocating, I found myself feeling very passionately that the school move into the city of Portland.  Maine is a very white state, and the only place of any real ethnic diversity are in its downtowns. A move like this would have meant that the children would have spent much less time in the outdoors, but my experiences at CVV taught the absolute need, as followers of Christ, to be among –physically among – the poor.  Being part of a private school was already an exclusive experience and, I worried, that moving even further would increase that separation. For many important reasons, the school is now not in the city, and instead on 25 beautiful wooded acres. But I remember feeling a tightness in my chest and a lump in my throat as we made that decision.  I believe that sensation was God within, reminding me of the testimony of the poor that I heard while at CVV.