Colin McDonald, CVV 19

First week of Lent

As a current fourth year medical student at the University of Missouri, the past four years have been a whirlwind of meeting new healthcare providers, struggling to learn new procedures (let alone the physiology of the entire human body) and interviewing a diverse, multitude of patients. Everyday has brought an immense amount of hardship but also allowed me to witness the face of God in the pages of daunting textbooks and in the spoken words of a laboring patient. Most evenings when I head home from a long day at the hospital, the Holy Spirit is burning bright in my heart as I offer up thanksgiving for the privilege of being a minister of medicine.

But some days, the rigors of the healthcare field weigh heavy on my mind and my prayers are filled with only desolations. I struggle to find God’s light in individuals who repeatedly lose their battle with alcohol, patients who are resistant to life-saving medical advice and pronouncing a patient dead despite all medical interventions.

I recently attended a Family Medicine physician conference that focused on medical student education in Austin, TX and this theme of mounting emotional stress resulting in rising numbers of physician burnout was discussed during one of the mainstage lectures. The speaker repeatedly asked throughout the talk, “Who ministers to the minister?” This question still lingers in my mind, especially since in a few months I move from medical student to physician and know many more desolations are in my future.

I also was reminded of my time in CVV as I, along with my housemates, grappled with self-doubt and frustration at our respective service sites as we came face to face with the bleakness of the cycle of poverty. There were days when we got back to WoHo and all we wanted was to be alone and sit in our despair. We could do nothing to change the circumstances of a homeless youth at Urban Peak or find some way to better assist a family of eight who could still not provide enough food for their kids after a stop at Metro Caring.

On those difficult evenings, I witnessed the power of community. The simple act of being present for someone who was processing their confusion and emotional turmoil over dinner or through a one on one discussion in the kitchen nook, always stands with me as what true community looks like. We each were ministers at our Denver service sites, but my nine fellow housemates were my companions and support system on the year long journey of CVV. 

As I prepare for Easter and my impending medical school graduation this May, I pray that I am able to strengthen the community I have surrounded myself with. The healing ministry I have ventured down has only begun, but as I learned during my time in CVV, I need to prepare and allow myself to be vulnerable to my fellow physicians, wife, family, friends (that includes you, CVV 19, near and far) and God. Even Christ called out for aide as he was put to death. I too must humble myself and ask for support as continue to encounter desolations and heartbreak from caring for patients. I challenge you this Lenten season to ask yourself, “Who ministers to me?”  

 

Casey Sharp, CVV 18

Second week of Lent

“Hope Above Optimism”

We often abuse the concept of hope. Despite the complexity and absurdity of the English language, we have certain words that we lazily throw about in too many situations to the point where they lose all meaning. “Love” is another one. I love my family. I also “love” burritos. I hope that good ultimately triumphs over evil in the world. I also “hope” I do not get stuck in traffic here in Atlanta (that is usually a vain hope). We often quote our English translations of one verse in particular, which wraps the weightiest words into one easily ignored package. “But now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Truly, “love” is the greatest, but in this 2018 Lenten season we would do well to pause for a moment on hope.

Hope is subtle, and it easily gets lost in the noise of faith and love. Pundits on network news weaponized faith, and we wage cultural wars – or literal wars – over the defense of whatever dogmas we bundle together under the banner of faith. This is not unique to religious folk either. Atheism or any of the non-theisms of the world have their own faith, and it has its own value even if defined by what their faith is not, and all the faiths of the world have done violence to one another. Still, faith good and beautiful when properly managed and expressed. Most people act out of motivations they are ignorant of themselves, and they use “faith” after the fact to justify them, but when properly attuned and built “faith” constructs the profound actions of our greatest leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., and its force is unstoppable. Faith then serves as the scaffolding that structures our love, which is the greatest of the three. Likewise, love is very loud. Love is an action. Otherwise, it is not love. Speaking of love without action is a misnomer which only refers to a chemical reaction within the brain. That may feel good, but if love does not manifest itself in the world – in the way we live our lives and treat others – then it is not the love referred to in our English translations of Corinthians.

Pope Francis said, “It’s best to not confuse optimism with hope. Optimism is a psychological attitude towards life. Hope goes further. It is an anchor that one hurls towards the future. It’s what lets you pull on the line and reach what you’re aiming for.”

Hope is faith plus expectation. It isn’t necessarily rational either. Optimism is rational. I have seen and experienced good things, and my brain has calculated the probability of more of the same. Hope exists without clear evidence. It is faith reaching out and expecting love, which is always tangibly manifest in the world, if it is real love. I spent some years living in the Holy Land after my time at CVV, and I continue to work with groups that promote dialogue in the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. I am not optimistic about the outcome of that conflict. Rationally, I expect a third Intifada sooner rather than later, and many innocent people will die. Still, I hope that the work I have done there has some good impact on the region, even if it only changes the lives of a few individuals. That is of infinite worth. I hope in some goodness, even if I cannot rationally see it.

Turn on the news, and you have little reason to be optimistic. You are not obligated to be optimistic either. If you are chronically pessimistic to the point of morbidity, we can help that psychological state with proper community, professional therapy, and maybe even medication. Some shred of optimism – a psychological state – is important to survive, but it is not the same as hope. Some days I have little reason for optimism. I see a President embraced by millions for his hatred of others and vulgarity. I watch an economy driven by the worst greed in a country with a widening wealth gap with no signs of stopping and wages that have not risen for most Americans since the 1970s. I see lost young men recruited by hate groups here in the US or Jihadi groups and violent nationalist movements around the world. I even see the alleged champions of morality within our churches abusing the dignity of women and LGBTQ people made in the image of God. In some sense, it is our responsibility as informed and compassionate people to stare into the abyss of current events, though on occasion we need to delete our Twitter accounts and turn off the onslaught of tragedy bolstered by ad revenue (another depressing fact) and make what room we can for hope before diving back into the fray of society.

I have little reason to be optimistic when I calculate the probable results in many headlines, or even difficult situations in my personal life, but – this might sound strange – I am very hopeful. I see incredible people rising up out of nowhere to stand against these waves of violence, hatred, and inequality. They are the underdogs, and they may lose, but I have hope in them. I also have hope in myself – that I will not fall victim to morbid despair. I’ve seen Israeli and Palestinian children embrace across divides that are seemingly impossible to bridge. I hear of a neo Nazi who abandons his path of hatred and embraces love for others. I see workers organize, and I even read of a very wealthy CEO who recognize the injustice of his gross advantage and uses his influence to advocate for something better. I see a hateful President repeatedly rejected. I see refugees welcomed by good people. I see gay couples celebrated in my Catholic parish. I may have little optimism, but I see the beginning of a pendulum swinging back in the other direction, and I am hopeful.

Hope is the anchor thrown out into the ocean where we cannot see the bottom. In the Koine Greek of the New Testament the usual term for hope “el-pē’s” carries a connotation of expectation. It is knowing something is around the corner. In the Old Testament, the usual Hebrew word for hope is “yä·khal’” or sometimes “kä·vä’,” which are both used in the context of watchful waiting. Hope is not quietly patient. It waits, but it is constantly looking out the window for what it expects. Hope is eager. Sometimes our faith becomes stale. Sometimes love and charity appears lost for a time. In those spaces hope remains.

 

River Simpson, CVV 22

Third week of Lent

 “Living Out Lent”

 Entering Lent, we often feel called to give up some bad personal habit, some unnecessary thing in our lives, essentially we feel called to prune off the actions and stuff in our lives that hinder our relationship with God.

Admittedly, this is something we all find very hard to do as we can easily choose something so small that we forget about it or so big that we feel overwhelmed by our sacrifice and give up. Lord knows I have often chosen to give up dessert and then been bogged down in questions as to whether cookies count as dessert if eaten as a snack. The answer is no, but it takes all my will power and reliance on God in order to make it through Lent keeping that answer the same.

All this interior frustration self-denial is worth it, though, because by journeying through our own spiritual desert of temptation and purification like Jesus did, we may prepare ourselves for the joy of Easter at the resurrected Christ. For, by recognizing who we aren’t and by taking away what we don’t need, we realize who we truly are and what we truly need. That is, we come to realize that we are beloved children of God who are in desperate need of His love and redemption. By accepting this great truth, we may look earnestly at our lives and alter them for the better because now we finally know who to turn to in order to be who we are and get what we need.

However, this personal pruning and realization of our true selves is only half of what Lent calls us to do. We now need to act on it. Look at Jesus. He entered the desert to find His true self, but he didn’t just stay there or said, “That was just a good thing to do for 40 days.” Firmly assured in His personal identity, He left the dessert as the man He found there in order to begin His God-given ministry on Earth. As followers of Christ, we must do the same to honor our God. For, as St. Irenaeus once said, “The glory of God is man fully alive,” and we humans have no greater goal than to give God glory and we are no fuller alive than when we live true to ourselves and act out our vocations.

As such, let’s begin this Lent in the same spirit of openness and dedication to God’s will as Jesus did, so that we may find and become our true selves. Knowing that if and when we fail, we will be found, redeemed, and set aright by God ever nearer His path for us.

 

Magda Hernandez, CVV 5

Fourth week of Lent

“Community First!”

“Housing will never solve homelessness, but community will.” -Alan Graham

When does your heart swell with love? Lately, my heart has been leading to the Community First! Village here in Austin, Texas again and again. Most recently the coordinator for the Genesis Garden shared with us how this vision unfolded over the last 20 years. She described how Alan Graham and his crew delivered meals with Mobile Loaves and Fishes on the streets of our city. These simple interactions created opportunities for making connections human to human and evolved into friendships. There was still something more to this mission – a desire to get the chronically homeless off the streets. The purpose become more profound as he received guidance from his friends that were formerly homeless. There was one key piece to this vision. Community. C-O-M-M-U-N-I-T-Y. Community. Graham explains it this way, “The single greatest cause of homelessness is a profound, catastrophic loss of family, whether by forces like death or divorce, or institutional failures in the criminal justice and foster care systems. When the family unit is dissolved, the remaining members can become adrift and vulnerable, with no one there to pick them back up if and when they fall down.” 

From the outside, onlookers might think the physical design is beyond measure. While it is beautiful, there is more to this setup that makes it sacred. You see, residents actually get together frequently to share a meal. They have no indoor plumbing in their tiny homes so they must take turns in the community bathrooms/showers and they even share an outdoor kitchen.  Missionals also live on the grounds with the intention of checking on their neighbors and building relationships. I think this is the part that keeps bringing me back. The fact that brothers and sisters are spending their energy building relationships. This reminds me of the quote, “When all basic human needs have been met. What humans long for the most… is to be witnessed, to be loved, and to be heard.” 

Part of the mission reads “We provide food and clothing, cultivate community and promote dignity to our homeless brothers and sisters in need.” You can see the endless effort being put into cultivating community with the way the village is taken care of by volunteers and residents. “Promote dignity” reminds me of one of our activities with Mary Frances where we had written what we thought were our 7 core values. Slowly she had presented circumstances that caused us to lose one core value at a time. When it came down to the end, I distinctly remember being left with only my dignity. In that activity I remember thinking how awful it would feel to be treated as invisible. I could see myself shouting at passersby, “I’m still here! I used to be you. I’m still here!” 

So what does this mean for us in our daily lives? Where can we have compassion outside of our circles in order to build community? Are we really in tune with the needs of our community members? My friend shared with me that our society has this habit of asking, “How are you?” Most of time we get responses like, “I’m fine,” or “Good.” We all know that there has to be more to those automatic responses. She said that in other cultures it would translate to, “How’s your heart?” Our society likes to be busy and that has pushed us into being disconnected. Imagine how relationships would change. And when you really don’t have time to listen, simply acknowledge the person and say, “It’s good to see you.” While we are at it, how about we learn people’s names and use it when we see them at the grocery store, on the bus, at our workplace from our boss to the custodian, and even our neighbors. After all, we are ALL significant because we are One Body.

 Community First! Village – A New Movement

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=7&v=27XDnHnzdck

Alan Graham: The Man behind Mobile Loaves and Fishes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X44I_8Kbp9g

 

Chris Morgan, CVV 17

Fifth week of Lent

Our relationships bring our values into focus. They ask us to show our priorities. They can hold up a mirror to our lives. What is your relationship with God calling you to do this Lenten season?

Abraham’s relationship with God called him to move into a foreign land and to be willing to give up his only son. Moses’ relationship with God called him to speak truth to power. David’s relationship with God called him to repent. Jeremiah’s relationship with God called him to lament. John’s relationship with God called him to proclaim the coming of the Messiah. Paul’s relationship with God called him to travel the world preaching. 

What is your relationship with God calling forth from you in this season? What act(s) of faith is God placing before you that would realize that relationship in the world?

When I was in CVV, a housemate and I tried so hard to live well together but would inevitably trigger the other into conflict, even as we tried to repair what was broken. One day during Lent, we were scheduled to cook dinner together. We had our predictable conflicts, and I found myself saying, “I have no idea what to do with you. I’ve tried everything I know, and I still come up short. I don’t know how to go forward.” She said the same, and that’s exactly what we needed. My relationship with God at that point called me to continue to return to life with this person. It called forth honesty, and God made it fruitful.

This process never ends. Relationships are always asking something from us, so live in the moment. What is that one thing God has placed before you this Lent, today? What is the next right thing? May God show you your next step in relationship and give you the courage to step out in faith, trusting God will provide for you.

 

Maura Martin, CVV 10

Holy Week

 “Blessed be, Ashia”

 My morning is beginning, as all mornings do, with the preparation of breakfast.  Most cooking is done outdoors here in Cameroon, so although we are one of the few families with an indoor kitchen, it lacks some things that, if I had planned it, I would have included.  The most necessary is light.  It has one very small window and a lightbulb that hangs from the corner of the narrow room.  Often the electricity is out and even with it on, I prefer to have the back door open to flood the room with fresh air and sunlight.

This tiny room has become one of my favorite places, which is good considering how much time I spend here.  I think it is because of the back door, though, that it has won a place in my heart.  As I cook, I can look out over our communal yard.  Often our children play here with the children from the quarter below.  From this place I can see our neighbors’ outdoor kitchen. The space between my stove and their fire is not far. We share greetings and laughter daily.  In the evenings, dinner prep and dish cleanup is done with the beauty of the sunset through the banana and eucalyptus trees with the city lying in the valley below.

Life here has been challenging.  We came to live in solidarity, and even with the luxury of a stove, we have met some success in this desire.  Although “success” is not a term that many would attach to our experience.  We now know what it is to go without water and electricity for days on end. We have experienced illness, malaria and infection, without the “Urgent Care” that I took for granted at home.  We know the trauma of threatened violence, and the grief of the fetal loss of our miscarried twins.  We have suffered and my heart has been broken.  I had wanted to bring the “Joy of the Gospel,” yet I know I am more closely related to the wounded Christ, than I am to Christ the healer, in this moment.  Christ’s passion has taken on new meaning.

Some of the suffering has been excruciating, and yet, in this suffering, we are not alone. The crosses, although heavy for us, are minuscule in comparison to what our neighbors have carried. Although we came as missionaries, more often than not, we are on the receiving end of the Good News.  And yet, Jesus promised that this is where we would meet Him, with the “least of these.”  Which leaves me wondering, who are the “least of these,” me or them?

This morning is ordinary in my doings, but it is extraordinary in its revelation. As I am preparing my family’s breakfast, the song of my neighbor meets my ears.  It occurs to me as I listen to her voice lifted in song that everyone sings here.  Everyone dances.  The statement “I can’t sing, I can’t dance” so commonly heard at home, is never uttered.  If you can give voice, you sing, if you can move, you dance.  I hear the Good News.  We never talk of Christ’s passion, without his resurrection.  My neighbors know the Truth of this, they live it.  The courage of their song and dance hits me.  Their faith is a lived one. 

In the beginning, every time we met some struggle, we were offered this word “ashia.”

We had been told that it meant “sorry.”  It wasn’t long before I came to find irritation with this word.  One day I expressed my frustration to my husband Ryan over the inadequacy of this expression. I was surprised by his response, “I don’t think it means ‘sorry.’” He explained that although it was used for great suffering, our neighbors often offered it to each other during work, and work is a blessing.  We sat a Cameroonian friend down to get a clearer definition.  She explained that although it offers consolation, it also offers courage.  “I see your struggle, but have courage, this struggle does not have the last word.”  I am told that the “Blessed be” in the beatitudes was put there because there is no English word for the word that Jesus used “ash rae.”  It was explained to me that “Ash rae” means “I see, I witness your struggle, but have courage this struggle does not have the last word.”

Ashia, Ash rae, those who mourn, they will be comforted.

Jesus’ words from the cross “My God, My God why have you forsaken me” Psalm 22, which is immediately followed by Psalm 23 “The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I lack.”

There is never passion, without resurrection. This is the courage to dance and sing.

 

Blindness

Jennifer Gordon, SCL – CVV 4

I had the opportunity recently to attend a performance of Stomp at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts.  It was a remarkable experience to watch a percussion troupe create music for both the ears and the eyes.  In the performers’ skilled hands, everyday household items – brooms, lighters, PVC pipe, kitchen sinks, buckets, garbage cans, newspapers and plastic bags – became sources of endless delight and fascination.

As I walked home from the show, I was reflecting on the percussionists’ ability not just to use something differently but first to see it differently.  In my traditional way of seeing things, brooms are for sweeping, newspapers are for reading, and bags are for carrying things.  But these men and women saw something different.  They saw – and heard – potential, and syncopation, and laughter.  And they helped us, the audience, to see and hear it, too.

I like to think that I have pretty good vision – at least when I am wearing my contact lenses – but the Stomp performers reminded me that I am, in some ways, blind.  I am, at times, blinded by what I think I know.  My eyes see the broom just fine, but without the performers’ insight and vision, I couldn’t see that it could be used for something other than sweeping. 

In Mark 10, when Jesus asks a blind man what he wants Jesus to do for him, the man responds, “Rabbi, I want to see.”  In these Lenten days, I believe that we, too, are invited to ask Jesus for the same grace.  Help us to see not just with our eyes, but with our minds and hearts and imaginations, too.  Through that lens, matchboxes and brooms – and everything else that makes up the ordinariness of our daily living – can become instruments of joy.

If you are an alumni of CVV interested in the upcoming CVV Blind Cafe Experience on April 7th, learn more on our Upcoming Events page.  Spots are limited so register soon!

I Protest

Jenna Carbone, CVV 12

I protest because so many of our brothers and sisters in this county are scared right now, and they need to know that we are behind them, that we will fight for them. They must know we will speak loudly and protect fiercely on their behalf. I protest because I am horrified that refugees who have already endured so much- famine, war, violence, political unrest- would be turned away from this county when they are in their most dire need. They must know we will fight to provide a safe haven for them and reassure them that they are needed, wanted, and welcomed here.

I protest because the world needs to see that America is not a place that believes all of what President Trump does. They must know that we believe our diversity is our greatest strength and our communities are beautiful because they are filled with different cultures, customs, and histories.

I protest because walls only serve to separate and divide us. We hold tightly to the belief that our neighbors are our greatest allies, and empathize with those seeking to enter this country as they give up everything-family, friends, familiarity- in some small hope of finding a better life. I protest because I will not be a part of fear mongering, hate, and discrimination. We refuse to let history repeat itself under our watch.

I protest because I feel a great responsibility to the world and believe that to those whom much is given, much is expected. We cannot sit idly by while injustices are being committed to our brothers and sisters, as we are all one body. I protest because I believe that people can change.

We march and rally in hopes that those who see or hear our movement may be moved as well, that their hearts are opened to see the value that all people have.

I protest because as Elie Wiesel said, “Wherever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must- at that moment- become the center of the universe.”

I believe that moment is now.

 

Called By Name

Katie Kerr, CVV 13

“The measure of our compassion lies not in our service to those on the margins, but in our willingness to see ourselves in kinship.  And that means the decided movement towards awe and giant steps away from judgement.”  -Greg Boyle, SJ

A few weeks ago, I walked into a documentation room at the hospital where I work in order to speak with a physician regarding a patient.   The patient had landed on our doorstep, homeless, vulnerable, and with some behavioral challenges that made caring for him and getting him to engage in treatment quite difficult.  As some staff had requested assistance identifying resources and an appropriate care plan, I re-introduced myself to the fairly new physician.  “Oh, are you here to talk about Darth Vader?” he asked, referring to a rather distinct tattoo that the patient had on his body.  

I took a deep breath and asked, “Oh, did he ask you to call him that?”  Pausing for a brief second , I added “I heard he likes to be called Bob.”

I work in mission integration in a small Catholic hospital in New England.  Charged with ensuring that our Catholic identity permeates throughout the organization, I find myself responding to patient issues, modeling empathy toward challenging patients for staff at risk of burnout, and generally putting out fires all day long.  In a fractured and fragmented system, we aim each day to do healthcare a little… differently.  We work to make sure that we are living out our call to provide excellent care with special concern for the poor and disadvantaged.  One tiny way to do that?  To be a place where we call our patients by their chosen name.

I’ve been thinking lately about reverence.   As I have started thinking about ways to invite, remind, and challenge my colleagues to see the people we serve and serve alongside as just like us, I realize that I’m forgetting a piece of the puzzle.  And namely, that piece is a lesson from St. Vincent – that we invite people from all walks of life to join us in service.  We invite all people into kinship.  We introduce the person who preaches personal responsibility to the person who lost his job and has to choose between prescriptions and food for his kids.  I befriend the person whose political beliefs challenge me to the core.  And here – instead of dismissing a physician for an (inappropriate) off the cuff remark, I lean in.  Why is he comfortable saying that?  What is his experience?  Wonder why he is feeling so jaded so early in his tenure with us?  The beauty here is that I’m no longer a client advocate working on the outside for a tiny community health non-profit.  I work in administration at the hospital; I have a leadership role.  It’s up to me to effect some change here.  And leaning into the lived experience of another person?   That’s how we transition into fulling living the conviction that all people deserve our respect and our reverence, that all people are made in the image and likeness of God.

More kinship.  Less judgement.  Boundless compassion (borrowed from the title of Greg Boyle’s book)  just might be my phrase for the next year.  The world – and our health care system – definitely needs it.  Here we go, 2018.

God with Us

Maura Martin, CVV 10

An Advent reflection, I can do that.  It will be beautiful; all starlight and inspiration.  I clear my plans for the evening, no record keeping, grading or lesson planning, no dishes or laundry.  Inspiration needs quiet and time and putting the ‘to do’ list to the side.

I start . . . there something beautiful here. I can feel it. My mind seeks it.  It is just around the bend, a feeling. I have not found the words, but they will come.  The feelings will find the words.  They will draw them out from wherever feelings find the way to express themselves, to bring themselves into being, to become flesh. Oh, it will be beautiful.

Blissful silence, but then I hear a cough.  I am drawn back from the heavenly inspiration, the words just beyond my grasp, my feet firm on the ground of this earth. 

Another cough . . . my little one . . . I go to her.

It is not coughing; it is gagging, the stomach flu.  I find myself on my knees mopping the floor, bathing a child, changing the sheets.  I kiss a little head that my nose tells me smells suspiciously like vomit.  I tuck her in and say a prayer that this will pass.

I sit down again. Ready to do the beauty and mystery and longing of Advent justice.  The words begin to come, but I am not quite sure where they are going.  I just need time.  They will reveal some wisdom that I am not yet able to express.

The coughing comes again, followed by the vomit.  A little one needs to be held and reassured and loved.

Three times I begin this beautiful, heavenly reflection.  Three times it is drawn into the present of a sick child needing to be bathed and loved and tucked back in. 

I finally go to sleep, because I know it may be a very long night.

This morning I look at my page.  It is nothing, but some floundering starts.  Where is the beauty, the starlight, the inspiration? 

Nothing but mystery . . .

But . . . perhaps there is some Advent revelation in my failed plans. 

Heavenly inspiration and light, meets the mess and brokenness of earth, and it is holy ground.  You might miss it, except for the help of a little starlight, a crying babe, a stranger welcomed and angels entertained. What is Advent, but heaven drawing close to the mess of earth and becoming one with it, all for the sake of love. 

Sometimes words are not enough.  Sometimes they must become flesh.  Love spoken, Love lived:  “The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”  This is Advent.

Vincentian Virtues for Moms

Katie Cassady, CVV 12 and former staff

Katie’s reflection was featured in Catholic Mommy Blogs on the September 27, 2017, the Feast of St. Vincent de Paul. 

Admittedly I have been tremendously influenced by Vincentians in my adult life. Prior to that, I had known of the ministry of the Vincentians (read: I had heard of the St. Vincent de Paul Society) since I was little. Unfortunately, that probably remains the greatest association with this vast religious community, other than perhaps De Paul University in Chicago. Like many of the saints, this touchpoint is only the tip of the iceberg. It is like associating St. Francis with birdbaths and Mother Teresa with doubt. We do ourselves and their memory a disservice by reducing the scope of the Vincentian mission to thrift stores.

Like all religious orders, the Vincentians have characteristics, laid out by their founder which they try and live by. These are their guideposts, hallmarks and most-honored qualities. The Vincentian community refers to these as the ’virtues.’ They are:

simplicity, humility, meekness, mortification and zeal

When I look at these, there is a certain order of preference that I notice myself leaning toward. However, when I consider the number of lives St. Vincent impacted by leaning hard into these values, it’s tough to argue that I would not also benefit from embracing and exploring these lesser-known virtues. He is, after all, the patron saint of charity.

Simplicity

When Vincent refers to ‘simplicity’ he is focused less on possessions and more on the way we carry ourselves: Specifically in our speech with others. He suggests that what we say ought to be precisely what we mean, not any sort of speech that is convoluted, sarcastic or manipulative. How important is simplicity of speech, in my healthy relationships with my children, my spouse, and my friends?

Humility

As a mom, humility isn’t one that I gravitate toward, either. Although many days when I breeze by a mirror, I realize I have great cause for humility in that I have toothpaste on my shirt and hairclips from dress up still in my hair. This, however, is not the type of humility Vincent is describing. His is more of a posturing humility: how do I stand before my children, the lady in line at the grocery store, the person holding a sign at the stop light, the Lord in the Eucharist? Is there a reverence in my heart specific to each of these that suspects I will learn from all of them?

Meekness

Does anyone else associate meekness with doormats? That is my pavlovian response to this word for better or for worse and it is completely cultural. Is Vincent suggesting that following Jesus is best accomplished by being walked on by those around us? He’s not. His wish for himself and his brother Vincentians was a spirit that was meek enough to ‘win the hearts of the poor.’ Pope Francis demonstrates this beautifully. He embraces his faith and love of Jesus in a way that cannot be off-putting to anyone, regardless of their station in life. Imagine what moms groups (insert your own setting) would look like if we showed up in such an unassuming way as to win the hearts of those in our company.

Mortification

Who’s ready to embrace mortification (and what does Vincent mean by this!)? Vincent recognized that Jesus asked him to die to self, daily; to choose the good, even when a better offer came along. We may not like it but moms have a lot of these experiences and a tremendous influence on our children’s abilities to choose the greater good. In a recent homily our pastor shared that there is no inherent value in suffering unless we can make meaning from it. Vincent understood this and in turn attempted to ‘offer it up.’

…there is no inherent value in suffering unless we can make meaning from it.

Zeal

Zeal. Here’s a virtue I can get behind. Vincent encourages the community to ask for a heart that burns to serve the other. By remembering that the work is not ours, but God’s, we can nourish ourselves in a way that keeps us balanced so that we can live out of the place of zeal of one who loves God, fed by that which brings us joy. This is both permission to do the thing(s) that recharge us, and an invitation to have our hearts ignited within us.

St. Vincent de Paul, pray for us!

Lord Jesus Christ help me to show compassion so that there can be no on in need whom I meet without helping. – Adapted from St. Vincent de Paul

Living Fully

A Tribute to the “Pioneers” – Dan Paulus and Amy Rupiper Taggart

As I sit here and write this, I look out my window on this sunny day appreciating all of God’s wonders. It is a quiet day for me. I have the day off of work and my children are at school. I have the opportunity to not only get “caught up” on all of my daily tasks, but I also am able to reflect on where I am today. Not “today” as in this 24 hour period, but “today” as in the big picture. And I feel blessed. Three wonderful, healthy children. A career that I love. A husband that I adore.

 

Now I reflect back to August, 1995. I was part of CVV 1.  It was very exciting to be part of that first year!   “The Pioneers” included myself, Missy, Kieu, Chris, Mary, Mark, Barb, Daniel, Stacy, Colleen, Dan, and Amy.  We hailed from all over the country – and we knew we were part of something amazing that was just forming.

 

We helped Bill and Mary Frances put their Colorado Vincentian Volunteers dream into reality.  Within the first month, Daniel had left.  A few months later, Barb choose to leave. Our group of 12 was now down to 10.  These were losses. We were fearful. Would this first year of CVV continue to fragment? 

 

Luckily, these losses didn’t define our group and we grew together. As all groups do, we relied on each other. We formed amazing relationships.  That first year of CVV has been one of the most influential years of my life and shaped me into the person I am today. I am forever grateful to be part of the Pioneer group of CVV.

 

Most relationships I have kept up over the years. Some I see on a regular basis. Some relationships, as unfortunately does happen with the passing of time, have slipped away. (Remember that these were the years before Facebook and Instagram!) But the memories certainly have not.

Left to right: Colleen, Chris, Kieu, Mark, Missy, Amy, Dan, Tara, Stacy, Mary

 

Now fast forward to 2017 – 22 years later. Our original group has now dwindled to eight. Dan Paulus was killed in a tragic car accident in February, 2015.  Amy Rupiper Taggart died in June of this year of breast cancer. As I write these words and look at these pictures of our young 20-something selves, it hits me hard. Especially because I see that I am standing next to Amy and Dan is right in front of me.  How is it that I am sitting here on a beautiful day reflecting on this CVV year whereas they did not have this opportunity? How did I get so fortunate?

 

Dan’s death came as a shock. I can remember what I was doing when I heard the news. It was in the middle of my teaching day when I checked my email. When my students came in, I spent the first part of class talking about my memories of Dan and how people should live as fully as he did – unabashed, no regrets, and fun-loving.

 

Even though Amy had been sick for several years with various forms of cancer, Amy’s death was still a shock.  A fellow CVVer informed me of the news. Missy called me and said, “Have you read Amy’s CaringBridge site?” I felt like I had been punched in the gut with that one question, because I knew what was next. I sat there stunned. She was my first friend to die of cancer. Sure, I had known others with cancer – but not like I had known Amy. She was a force to be reckoned with. Amy would walk in a room and not only would she brighten it with her smile, things were going to get done! She was a doer and a woman of action. She was an inspiration. I think what hit me the hardest was that our lives were somewhat parallel in that our children were the same ages, we both lived in the midwest, and we were passionate about our careers in education. How could someone so determined and strong be gone?

 

I think about Amy and Dan often. With my work schedule, business, volunteer activities, and three children, I often feel overwhelmed. How are there enough minutes in the day? When my youngest asks me to have a drawing contest with her…when my son asks me to play football with him…when my oldest asks me to take her Homecoming dress shopping…my initial thought process is – “Oh boy – one more thing that I need to do….”  And then I think of Amy and realize what a blessing it is that I have these opportunities to spend with my children. What Amy and her family would have given to draw, play football, and prepare for Homecoming – not to mention attending their various sporting events, concerts, parent-teaching conferences, and hanging out on long summer days.

 

So what do I do with this now? Do I continue to feel guilty that I am here and Amy and Dan are not? Or should I just feel grateful for my health? How do I live each day to its fullest – as Dan lived his life? How can I be a “doer” and a person who inspired others – as Amy lived her life? If they were here in front of me, what would our conversation be like and how would they want me to live?

 

I have thought of these questions on so many occasions.  In the midst of running my kids here and there and feeling as if I have no time, I pray that I will appreciate these moments. My kids are growing so fast and you never know what God has in store for our future.  When I am going on a walk with my husband, I pray I will be grateful for the time we have together and the health we both have at this time. When I am feeling stressed at work because my day isn’t going like I had planned, I pray I will take a deep breath and think of Dan – knowing he would be joking about the situation. When I feel overwhelmed with all of my responsibilities, I will pray that I will stop and think of Amy to give me the strength to get it done – and with a smile on my face.

 

Losing people you were once close to is not easy. It brings up many memories and “what if’s”. For me, it has also helped me to focus on my blessings and how I want to live my life on this planet for the short time that God has given me. I pray I will carry on the legacy of those CVV “Pioneers” who did not have as much time on this planet as I did.  Amy and Dan – you will never be forgotten and I am so grateful that our lives crossed.

 

Dear Lord

Thank you for the people you have placed in my life so that I can become a better person,

Help me appreciate the big and small moments I spend with my family,

Remind me to take a deep breath and “enjoy the ride” when life becomes busy,

Help me live up to the legacy of the Pioneers who have gone before me, showing me how to live fully without fear – leaving the world a better place.

Amen.

 

Fruits of the Earth

Kristen Gittinger, CVV 21

Lettuce, peas, green beans, kale (…so much kale), parsley, carrots, peppers, spinach, tomatoes, struggling eggplants, spiders, weeds, bees, killdeer bird eggs, and butterflies — all of these find a home in my 10×10 community garden plot.

Although I watched my mother and sisters plant seeds every spring growing up, my curiosity for gardening didn’t begin until my year with CVV. At home, I watched community members tend to kohlrabi in the front yard and sprout their own tomatoes in the kitchen sunlight. I observed my supervisor at Senior Support Services picking weeds and spending time every Friday to engage clients with a garden activity. I walked through the garden with clients who were beaming with pride and eager to show me the flower pots they designed or their carrot seeds that finally sprouted. Being surrounded by caretakers of this wondrous earth, I was inspired to be one too. 

After CVV, I moved back to Ohio where the caretakers’ impact on me became tangible. My longing for nature was revealed to me when a friend joked that I had turned my grad school dorm room into a greenhouse. (I had a tendency to gather plant cuttings from around campus to fill the empty vases and pots in my room… I have not discovered a real need for scissors in grad school otherwise!) I craved connection with the earth in a not so subtle way. Soon after my friend’s observation, I stumbled on a newspaper article written about a community garden in my hometown. I inquired and that day I became a gardener! I figured gardening would be a new hobby, something fun to dabble in while fulfilling my desire to connect with nature. I had no idea a bed of dirt would become my sanctuary and the source of spiritual growth.

While there’s always lots of enjoyable work to be done, sometimes I visit the garden simply to be. To sit still in the sunlight. To hear quiet and feel peace. To admire the accomplishments and beauty of my neighbors’ plots. For me, gardening fosters personal reflection. It pushes me to better understand my relationship with God. Every morning as I tend to flea-infested eggplants, I am reminded that my friendship with God also deserves zealous attention and care. In the same way I practice patience with slow-growing spinach, I am challenged to be patient and trust in God’s plan for my life.

Gardening also invites me to step outside my personal reflection and build community. At Senior Support Services, I fell in love with the presence of elderly adults. There was never a dull moment amid their humor, honesty, and wisdom. Once again I find myself surrounded by older adults in the garden: grandpas with grandkids, married couples, widows, and single adults. We don’t talk all the time and often I am in the garden alone. However, I’m realizing that these individuals, who cross paths by chance, form a community. I’ve learned that what I do in my own garden plot affects others. If I don’t collect weeds, they blow all over and invade other plots. When someone forgets to shut off the hose, water floods the nearby gardens. Together we are responsible for creating a unified environment. We count on each other to turn the compost and clear weeds from the aisle ways. We combine our produce to give to the local food bank. We water for our neighbors when they are away on vacation. We celebrate life and express sad news via the memo board. We share tools in the shed and any seedlings we have leftover. The tremendous team work within these garden gates leads me to ponder: What would the garden be without community? How would it look and feel without the commitment to one another?

I’m nowhere near master gardener status (made obvious by the stack of gardening books I have next to my bed) and I’m not so sure I’ve been blessed with a “green thumb.” But I feel called to continue my journey as a gardener so that the seeds of reflection and community planted during CVV are nurtured and grown.

 

The Pile of Rocks: A Camino Reflection

Chris Morgan, CVV 18

I picked up a rock from the shore of Lake Superior to leave on a mountain in the north of Spain. That’s normal, right?

This wasn’t just any rock. It was the most-perfect skipping rock, and though Lake Superior produces many skipping rocks, this one fit my hand just right. It fit so well, in fact that I decided not to throw it. I held onto it. It was flat and smooth, and it fit perfectly in the space between my thumb and my curved index finger. I’m sure you’ve found one like this too, but I’ll bet you threw yours. Why wouldn’t you? Well don’t worry, because I let go of mine too, just in a different way.

At some time between that day I picked it up and the day I put it in my backpack, it seemed that I got around to writing “Go!” on it in black permanent marker. Now I can’t be sure when or why I originally wrote it, but it always reminded me of a certain message I received as a child. The gist of the message was that I was meant to go out into the world, to be sent, to take courage in the missions I would have. (My second name is “Paul” after all!) I’d like to say that I did the best I could to respond to this message, to this calling.

Despite my best effort (and sometimes because of no effort at all), I fell short of this calling in some pretty specific ways, and having just finished three years of graduate theological education this spring, I’d like to think that I had a grasp on at least one of the roots of these shortcomings. So knowing I would have a special opportunity at the Cruz de Ferro (the Iron Cross) on the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain to leave a rock representing something I wanted to let go, I put my skipping rock in my backpack.

I finally approached the Cruz de Ferro after three weeks of walking, and while it was emotional to say my prayers and let go of that rock and what it represents, what happened next was most meaningful for me.

Here I was, a pilgrim from across the globe who just set his rock on top of the huge pile of rocks from all the other pilgrims who did the same for ages. I sat in the shade a little way off to be silent for a moment and lift up my fellow pilgrims. It was that moment when I started to put it together. This isn’t just an individual practice someone does on the top of a mountain in the north of Spain. It’s an ongoing communal ritual of leaving our lives in the hands of God, who overcame death and so too will ultimately transform whatever each rock represents. As a symbol of that truth, we let go of our rocks while walking on other people’s rocks. Millions of pilgrims doing that along with the sun and rain, snow and ice, breaks down these rocks. We participate in God returning all of our shortcomings back into right relationship with God precisely through this act and whenever we have the chance to act righteously. I’m thinking about the Eucharist, the Beatitudes, and Works of Mercy among others. 

On that mountain in Spain, at the Iron Cross, I realized that being one of the millions that trample these rocks means that I’m contributing to break them down. When they break down, they can combine with organic material to make fertile soil for plants to grow. This tells me a little something about the Reign of God.

The Reign of God is like a pile of sorrows trampled by a million pilgrims, which transforms it into the fertile soil of New Life. May it be so.

 

Cathryn Dutton, CVV 18

I composed this poem thinking about the ties to service and those less fortunate that my service with CVV instilled in me. There are so many things in the world that try to pull us out of our purpose of being companions on the journey and so many circumstances in the world, especially as of late, that try to make the disadvantaged even more disadvantaged and would make it very hard for people who are committed to loving and walking with the poor to do so. I try, as a teacher and a servant of Christ and my fellow man, to do my best to serve others and remember always what ties me to my purpose and holds me fast even when other things get in the way. This poem is a just a small reflection of those feelings. 

 

Unbreakable

Like ropes anchoring a heavy boat, they tie me 

When swaying seas rock the vessel threatening to overturn it, spilling its goods from fore to aft

Pulling pieces of plank from the dock

Splashing salty signs of shipwreck for every sailor to see–to take note, to be wary of the danger that looms in the ocean below 

They hold fast

 

They are frayed

They are old and sodden and salt speckled 

They used to bear a honey hue and now they are brown, muddy, and crusted with years of sea lashings and heavy ships and hearts tugging relentlessly on them 

 

But they do not break

They will not break

The God that summoned the sea water and breathed fresh ocean air into dolphins and seagulls and crabs crawling across the beach

Once breathed determination into the fingertips of the men who weaved these ropes 

Whose intention was always for these ropes to hold to a vessel and keep it shore bound 

 

For that boat is not meant to be rocked on jagged waters

Tossed about mercilessly in the eye of a storm

It is to stay docked 

It doesn’t belong to the water

It belongs to the people

For at its helm is the heart of a woman who looks seaward

And sees what is to come

She hears the men and women and children on the shore she guards 

Hungry 

Hurt

Homeless

And knows that in the sea there is nothing for them 

 

It is too frequent that the sea touches the dock these days 

But on the shore, the God that brought dolphin and seagull and crab and the rough hands of men who just want to do something good into being, prevails 

He is King

A King who summons smiles

Decrees dancing 

And heralds hope unto the hopeless

 

Though the sea may lash and taunt the boat to venture out atop its waves 

The ropes that hold it fast will not give way

For they are God’s ropes

Tethers of love and resilience

And they will hold that boat securely on its people’s shore 

And will salvage the holy vessel until the time has come that what lies ahead and beneath has less teeth, less cold deadly pull, less opportunity to drown, devour, and decay 

Until then, the ropes will hold

And the people on the shore will smile amidst hunger, dance in spite of dread, and know that hope has walls thick enough to shelter anyone 

 

And I will keep watch

Tossed though I may feel

Bright and blue that the ocean may appear some days

I will keep my perch atop the eagles nest

With my heartstrings tied to the shore and my eye on the horizon