Thoughts on Environment

Posted on June 13, 2013 by

The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) defines “environmental justice” as the fair treatment and meaningful involvement of all people regardless of race, color, national origin, or income with respect to the development, implementation, and enforcement of environmental laws, regulations, and policies. EPA has this goal for all communities and persons across this Nation. It will be achieved when everyone enjoys the same degree of protection from environmental and health hazards and equal access to the decision-making process to have a healthy environment in which to live, learn, and work.

That this federal agency has such a definition is not a given. The term “environmental justice” came into prominence through the work of sociologist Dr. Robert Bullard, who 1370999421455delivered the annual Harriet Beecher Stowe lecture at Cincinnati’s Mercantile Library this week.  He is the author of 18 books related to the disproportionate effect of pollution on minority communities. Bullard didn’t seek out this area of expertise. By happenstance, in 1978 he was asked to produce data in support of a court case against the city of Houston to block the placement of a landfill in an African-American neighborhood.  With help from the ten students in his research methods class, he documented that 100% of city-owed landfills were located in black neighborhoods. At the time 25% of Houston’s population was African-American.

Today we take such mapping and analysis for granted, but in the pre-Internet days, it was pain-staking work to look up information in government offices and verify it in the field.  Basic zoning criteria for landfills that we now assume, such as distance from schools or homes, came out of Bullard’s work. They ultimately lost the Houston court case but in the process created a new research methodology and changed civic consciousness.  As Bullard emphasized in his talk, having facts is not enough to produce change. “What you need is a movement,” he said.

Bullard’s story points to the fact that movements take time and change is slow.  The EPA’s Office of Environmental Justice came about after President Clinton signed an executive order in 1994 requiring that environmental justice issues be considered in EPA rulemaking.  Meanwhile, 20 years later, a comment period is open until July 8 on an EPA document providing technical guidance to analysts on how to evaluate environmental justice concerns associated with rulemaking.  To observe the 20th anniversary of the executive order, a video series of activists from all over the country discussing their work has been created on the EPA website, illustrating the significance of local leadership for action on environmental issues.

1370999610840My experience of Bullard’s talk was greatly enhanced by the environment in which I heard it. The 175-year-old Mercantile Library is a true gem of our city. Stepping off the elevator on the 11th floor of an unassuming building on Walnut Street in downtown Cincinnati initially feels like a visit to the early 20th century.  The shiny wood floors dotted with area rugs, old-fashioned wood tables, groupings of rocking chairs and comfy upholstered and leather easy chairs with ottomans, high ceilings and large windows, as well as shelves and shelves of actual books, create an atmosphere conducive to deep concentration and intellectual engagement.  It’s a membership library, and I belonged years ago when I worked downtown.  Drawn to the idea of re-joining now, I felt the need to first ask whether there is Internet access and if computers are permitted!  The answer is yes to both, and a glance at the staff work areas revealed desktop computers in plain sight. I hope to visit again soon.

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Making Memories

Posted on June 5, 2013 by

This week we moved my father from an assisted living to a skilled nursing facility, and the process was not unlike sending a kid to camp or off to college — making sure he brings the proper supplies and clothing and that each is labeled with his name, acquiring decorative and practical items for the room, such as a comforter and pictures for the wall.  In a slight way, it also reminds me of enrolling my children in preschool, because as you size up each facility during tours and interviews with social workers, weigh the pros and cons, what you’re really looking for is people you can trust to care for your vulnerable loved one — who will recognize him or her as an individual, accept them as they are, and treat them with kindness and respect.

IMG_0330[1]A common suggestion for folks like my dad with dementia/Alzheimer’s is to create a book of photos to prompt memories of significant people, places and events in their lives. At the assisted living where my dad resided, a shadow box outside each room served this purpose. The new facility image1_0001requested a memory book, and I inwardly groaned at the idea of yet again pulling out my disorganized boxes of photos, poring over albums, and making multiple trips to Walgreen’s to pick up prints to create a representative album of his life.  However both times I’ve found that, while a photo project is the last thing I feel like doing in the midst of the admission details, it became a helpful invitation to slow down and take a longer view.

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I’ve liked looking at images of my dad when he was very young, long before he was a father, and contemplating the trajectory of his entire life, the ups and downs, joys and sorrows. Viewing photos of his parents at different ages, including their final years, places his present diminishment in a broader context. I also enjoy reliving fond memories of our family, especially vacations in Minnesota at the lake home where my dad also spent childhood summers.  This place stands out as an iconic image in his life, so I chose several lake scenes for the book and to frame on the wall of his room.

Even if the memory book elicits no response from my dad, like the shadow boxes in the hallway of the assisted living, it will be a visible reminder to all that he lived a full, productive life prior to this disease.

Definitely a worthwhile use of my time.

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Farm Farewell

Posted on May 29, 2013 by

“I will stay until the wind changes,” says Mary Poppins, with typical aplomb, when the Banks children beg her never to leave.  I love this scene in the movie.  It’s like saying that when the Holy Spirit calls, she will respond, a detachment that St. Ignatius would applaud.  This exchange between Mary Poppins and the children springs to mind whenever I make a decision that surprises me even though it seems right. 

“Well, the wind has changed,” I say to myself. 

1369406621823This week begins the summer CSA at Turner Farm, and I will not be there for the first time in nine years.  Although the decision to withdraw was implemented rather suddenly, it’s now apparent that it had been evolving over many months.  Finally I was able to admit that getting out to the farm – a place I dearly love — to fulfill my work hours and pick up our share seemed more and more of an effort.  The wind of my life has changed.  The unexpected opportunity to join a different CSA, where the pickup is just a mile away from our home and there is no work requirement, was like the weather vane in Mary Poppins switching from East to West with the blowing of the wind.  A clear signal for change. 

Even though it’s right, it’s sad to leave the people and the place.  But in important ways Turner Farm remains part of me. 

1368571194560I regularly prepare and eat and enjoy vegetables previously unfamiliar to me: swiss chard, kale, collard greens, variations of eggplant, daikon, pac choi, turnips, green garlic and garlic scapes.  In the past few years, I’ve even become the voice of experience to new CSA members, suggesting what to do with such seemingly exotic produce.  I have seen asparagus, romaine lettuce, broccoli and other everyday vegetables as plants in the ground.  Before Turner Farm, I had no idea how they looked, other than in bins in the grocery store. 

I am a more grounded person, both literally and figuratively. 

The years of harvesting and weeding and planting at the farm, followed by washing, prepping and cooking the produce at home, have bonded me to Earth.  At the same time, such ordinary, necessary, body-centered activities became a spiritual practice too.  While I often would rather just1368571032445 dine out or pick up dinner, the cache of local vegetables in the refrigerator invites me back to myself.  So many times, when Joe and I are standing in the kitchen at 5:00 pm trying to figure out a menu, inspiration comes from the vegetables and herbs.  “We’ve got tomatoes and chard and basil, let’s make a frittata.”  Or, “We’ve got all these greens, plus those chicken breasts, let’s make a stir fry.”  The growing season will continue to frame our meal plans, but I’m not sure how I’ll maintain an actual Earth connection apart from Turner’s work requirement, although volunteers are welcome there any time and I’ll want to visit the farmers, who I treasure as friends.  A few herbs (low maintenance) here at home are an option too, and the new CSA offers periodic work days.  I’ll see how the wind blows! 

1368570756637 My ability even to choose a different CSA is connected with Turner Farm, which was an early pioneer on the Cincinnati-area agriculture scene.  I am reaping the benefit of their more recent focus of training new farmers, as their apprentices move on to found and lead other CSAs including the one I’ve just joined. 

In the end, what I’ll miss the most is the beauty of Turner Farm itself, symbolized for me by the bunch of cut flowers that is included with the weekly share.  Flowers are prominent at the farm. They are cultivated in the front field, and you can even pay to join a flower CSA to receive a certain number of you-pick bouquets. Vases or jars of flowers are a common sight around the farm, on the counter in the shed, in the restroom by the sink, a decorative detail that always touched me in its simplicity.  At weekly pickup, the ritual of selecting the stems out of the white buckets they were gathered in — peonies, daisies, daylilies, zinnias, coreopsis, cosmos, gladiolas, sunflowers — then arranging them as soon as I got home, truly became my favorite aspect of the CSA.The colorful vase somehow linked home life with natural beauty, a quiet but eloquent evocation that ultimately they are one.

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Guest Posting: How We Spend Our Time

Posted on May 22, 2013 by

I’m thrilled to be published today as part of a guest posting series over at the wise and wonderful Mothering Spirit blog, on how we spend our time, which also shines a spotlight on my book, Embodying the Sacred: A Spiritual Preparation for Birth. Laura posed several thought-provoking questions that weave together writing, parenting, and the spiritual journey.  She offers a nice “thumbs up” to the book itself, and there’s a giveaway too.  Check it out!

IMG_0327[1]One might wonder how I’ve been spending my time of late with the infrequency of blog posts!  Coordinating elder care (of my parents) occupies more of my attention recently, and transitioning to this unfamiliar role, I’ve found myself unable to hone my thoughts and compose for the blog.  This distraction itself was distressing until a dear friend shared a helpful article from the Atlantic magazine that captures what I’m experiencing (although the author’s circumstances are more intense than mine).  Greater awareness seems to be breaking up the mental log jam.  On the other hand, less blog writing has permitted me to focus more on the specific assignments of my celebrant course, which I am eager to complete.

 

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Seeing with Eyes of the Heart

Posted on May 7, 2013 by

Camera phones and social media have combined to make instant sharing of images routine.  Reflexively we capture both the minutiae and grandeur of our daily rounds – a Eyes-of-the-Heart-199x300billboard, a latte, a sunset, a puddle, a flower, special moments with loved ones, more than 320 million photos each day with the iPhone 5 according to a recent commercial.  An inspiring new book by Christine Valters Paintner called Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Christian Contemplative Practice provides a transformative path for the digital age.  Christine is the founder and abbess of the virtual Abbey of the Arts, where she offers online and in-person classes and other resources for contemplative living, with an emphasis on the expressive arts.  From reading her blogs and newsletter and taking her free “monk in the world” e-course, I regarded Christine as a wise and compassionate teacher, and her new book more than lives up to this impression.

Eyes of the Heart is a rich and nourishing work; like a hearty soup or whole grain bread, it satisfies real hunger and is best when leisurely savored. The first two chapters introduce themes and practices that are carried through the rest. As someone who likes to write, I found it incredibly worthwhile to spend plenty of time here cultivating a visual awareness.  This kind of seeing, as Christine presents it, is a deep work of the heart.  A key practice is to begin “receiving” images rather than taking or making or shooting them.  Such a shift of consciousness bears fruit not only with regard to photos but life in general.

One exploration invites the reader to photograph just a single image per day for 5 days

This image was received during an exploration that suggested a single image per day for 5 days

“When we are receptive we let go of our agendas and expectations. We allow ourselves to see beyond preconceived ideas. Rather than going after what we want in life, or forcing, we cultivate contentment with what actually is. Similarly, instead of holding back and merely observing life or falling asleep to it, we stay awake and alert, participating fully in its messiness and we keep our eyes open for the holy presence in its midst.  Photographing in this way can become an act of revelation.” (p. 30-31)

This is just one example of how fully and meaningfully she develops photography both as a metaphor for spiritual growth and a tool to nurture it, through the act of receiving images and then later pondering of those images, a practice of “visio divina.” Subsequent chapters address themes like color, light and shadow, and reflected images, with informative and reflective content on the theme, a meditation, several photographic activities, and questions for journaling.  Each, if fully engaged, is like a mini-retreat for yourself, or as she notes in the introduction, small groups could use this book and meet at intervals to share images and experiences.  I am eager for further photographic explorations and insights with this book.
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These photos are a sampling from an exploration that was fun to do — 50 images of one object

*****************************************Reflected image of chapel windows - "a seeing within seeing."

Reflected image of chapel windows – “a seeing within seeing.”
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Sand and Sacrament

Posted on May 3, 2013 by

Every now and then, a reminder of my strong affinity for the principle of sacramentality – the idea that all of reality can be the bearer of God’s presence or action – affirms how irrevocably Catholic I am.  Beyond the official seven sacraments, the mystery of God can be discovered through the finite, the everyday.  These might be events in your own life or the larger world, or objects, rituals, symbols, or all of creation.  This week I’ve been IMG_20130426_144159savoring memories of our children’s sandbox, recollecting it as a kind of sacred space for us. especially during their toddler years.  The sandbox was a gift from my husband’s parents, delivered with bags of sand and a set of toys one summer evening when Michael was nearly 18 months old and I was six months pregnant with Kieran. My sister-in-law and Joe set it up in the shade of the cottonwood tree and there it remained for the next ten years that we lived there. 

I’m sure that the children squabbled over buckets and invaded each other’s space in the sandbox, but overall I associate it with peacefulness.  In my mind’s eye, I see each of them in turn, filling a bucket with sand, shovel by shovel, crooning wordless toddler tunes, or moving trucks up and down slopes or pouring sand back and forth from one cup to the other.  These interludes allowed me to glance through a magazine, sipping a second cup of coffee, a welcome break in the day.  But I also remember just quietly observing, breathing in the beauty of moments I knew even then would be fleeting, remembering to feel grateful no matter how tired I felt.

Although we weren’t quite ready to shed the sand box when we moved to our present home, it never got a lot of use here.  It has been languishing for some time now, forgotten and dirty, tucked in a corner of the back yard.  But on a recent warm afternoon nearly 20 years after its arrival in our family, Joe and I dumped out the old sand, scrubbed the bottom and top, and washed the toys that were salvageable. After a stop at Lowe’s for bags of play sand, we were delighted to bequeath everything to a second cousin’s family; they have a two-year-old and are expecting their second child in the coming weeks.  A couple days later the young dad texted me a photo of his son ensconced in the sand box, with the caption, “He’s very happy!”  So are we. 

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Fruits of Prayer

Posted on April 29, 2013 by

Increasingly I find it a spiritual challenge to reconcile the enormity of world problems with my customary practice of faith, both individual and communal.  How to pray or what to pray for in the aftermath of Sandy Hook, the Boston Marathon, Superstorm Sandy, the Steubenville rape case, just to name a few recent events that point to much larger realities of hatred, violence and intolerance, and disregard for the earth. Numerous other situations and events could be added — from the civil war in Syria to mountain top removal in Kentucky, as well as the sufferings of our own family and friends.  Always these matters lurk in the shadows, a backdrop of recurring worry.

Is it right to pray for rescue from God when so many circumstances are of human making, especially where the environment is concerned? Might some form of repentance or lament be appropriate?  I experience an urgency that seems to invite something different but have been unable to articulate just what.

A small way forward came via an online course on contemplative prayer through the Shalem Institute that I recently began at the suggestion of a friend.  A keystone of the class is to set aside 20 minutes a day for silent prayer, and much of the content is focused on how to be most open and receptive for that period of time.  In her welcome video for the first lesson, facilitator Carole Crumley offers a suggestion, almost as an aside, that really caught my attention, perhaps because allows me to name what is in my heart with few actual words:
“Know that you can dedicate the fruits of your prayer for the well-being of someone else or some place in the world in need of God’s tenderness and mercy. . . .To do this, offer a short prayer of dedication and let that prayer be carried gently on your breath.” 

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Taking It In

Posted on April 17, 2013 by

The rabbi who teaches my weekly “Dramas of Jewish History” class took a moment before starting our session yesterday to check in with us and acknowledge the Boston Marathon tragedy.  I was touched by her pastoral concern in the academic setting.  In the brief discussion that followed, she shared an exchange she had had the previous day with some visiting Israeli students as they watched footage of the explosions’ aftermath.  Of course, in Israel sudden explosions in the street are all too familiar, so she asked, “What do you do when this happens?  Do you stare at the TV all day?”  I sensed wisdom in their reply:  “We watch the screen.  We take it in.  And then we keep going.”

“Taking it in” has been difficult for me with this event.  I first learned about it on Facebook Monday afternoon when a Page I follow posted prayers for Boston.  Subsequent Googling led to a sketch of the basic facts; at the time, the estimated number of wounded was only 22.  I could not take it in enough to even share the news on my timeline, and I closed my computer.  When I checked Facebook again that evening after dinner, my news feed was filled with prayers and updates.  Buoyed by the communal presence, even virtually, I began to take it in.  The death of an 8-year-old boy, the serious injury of a mother and daughter who are relatives of a friend here, the selfless acts of bystanders, first responders and community at large.  Before going to bed, lacking words, I prayed in the heart on a block pose.

Eventually I received what many spiritual writers call “the gift of tears.” I said little in the opening conversation at class yesterday because I was choked up.  Reading in this morning’s newspaper about the trauma surgeons and the nature of the injuries they are treating, tears spilled down my cheeks.  I am glad for this.  It’s the only way I can really take it in.  I do not want to be numb. And I want to keep going.

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An Unfinished Project

Posted on April 12, 2013 by

3214488747_0164353085_mI attended another great lecture by a leading Catholic thinker last night here in Cincinnati.  Richard Gaillardetz, the Joseph Chair in systematic theology at Boston College and president-elect of the Catholic Theological Society of America, spoke on “Vatican II as an Unfinished Building Site” in connection with the University of Cincinnati’s newly established Catholic Studies program.  To illustrate the theme, an early slide showed an artist’s rendering of the 16th century St. Peter’s basilica being built right over the previous 4th century structure.  Likewise, Gaillardetz suggested, the pre- and post-Vatican II Church provides similar pillars for the building, but in different ways.  If there has been difficulty fitting it all together smoothly and completing the project, he emphasized that the previous pillars were constructed over 900 years, while it’s only been 50 years since the Second Vatican Council.  Hence the project is unfinished.

As one who grew up in the 70s, after the Council, I found his coherent depiction of the “old edifice” to be especially helpful background.  At the time, a clergy-driven understanding created the pillar of divine revelation as truth that “trickles down” successively from God, to the pope, bishops, clergy and then the laity in the form of doctrine, facts, and dogma to be memorized and obeyed.  The other three pillars are a monarchical papacy, an emphasis on the separate and special nature of the priest as one who confects the Eucharist and forgives sins, and a mechanistic view of sacraments that focused on proper actions and words by the proper person.  The concrete image of pillars in a building suits these ideas.

 In the “new edifice,” the pillar of divine revelation focuses on God’s desire to be in relationship with us, further developed in the pillar of renewed emphasis on the Holy Spirit as the way we all receive God’s word.  The priority of baptism pillar invokes a more ancient understanding and also encourages movement away from a clergy/laity split to highlight the Church as the people of God.  The pillar of pastoral leadership calls for a service-oriented, shepherding clergy, rather than a ruling, commanding approach, while the pillar of dialogue invites contact with the world, rather than walls to keep it out.  The final new pillar reframes the Church itself as pilgrim, not merely comprised of individual pilgrims, inviting an institutional humility and openness to possible reform.

 I felt an almost painful nostalgia listening to this part, as it viscerally transported me to my younger years when participation in the Church was uncomplicated and without reservation.  The long view, 900 years versus 50, keeps coming back to me though, and calls to mind the “dramas of Jewish living” that I’ve been learning about this year in Melton classes.  The Hebrew people’s long exile in Babylon provides just one example, and again we’re talking about hundreds of years.  When they were able to return to Jerusalem, not all of them did; they were established in the new place after generations there and going back didn’t fit.  Yet they continued their practice of faith, causing Judaism to develop in diverse ways in varied places, a dynamic repeated over and over again from Europe to Africa to the Americas.  Diaspora is a reality in their tradition.

Reflecting on the Vatican II pillars in this light, I feel that the building site metaphor falls short in portraying the Church’s struggle to implement Vatican II.  It’s too static.  After all, we’re meant to be a pilgrim people, guided by the Spirit!  The ideas of an emerging young thinker offer a more dynamic approach. In his 2010 commencement address at St. Xavier High School, Michael Conway used geometry to describe the relationship of the school’s graduates to the actual school building here in Cincinnati as they continue the lifelong process of developing the ideals of the “Graduate at Graduation.”  While the school uses the Long Blue Line to express the bond of alumni throughout the generations, Michael suggests a deeper, almost mystical, communion.

“Tonight marks the closure of our time living in the institutional St. Xavier and the commencement of our time bringing St. Xavier to others. . . . I propose the image of the Large Blue Circle to describe the sharing of St. Xavier as we go forth.  By definition, the radius of a circle is the distance from the center to any point along the circle, and this distance remains constant.  Similarly, we are all about to embark on different paths that may take us to opposite sides of the country or even the world, but still we share the common endeavor to live the Grad at Grad. This common endeavor stems from the fact that we are all equidistant from the center of the circle – St. Xavier High School.”

Vatican II marked the end of our time living inside walls and the beginning of our mission to the world.  Right now, there is much fragmentation among Catholics as many have left, especially young people, but the circle image offers comfort and hope for all.  Placing Jesus at the center and baptism as the radius, then no matter what, we’re still connected by our common endeavor to live the Gospel. 

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Stop Violence Against Women

Posted on April 5, 2013 by

IMG_20130404_195034Last night’s presentation by Joan Chittister provided a painful but important “connecting of the dots.” As the featured speaker at a symposium called “Stop Violence Against Women,” Chittister’s dry wit elicited laughter at points but her stark testimony just as often produced “OHHs” of dismay from the packed crowd of several hundred, nearly all women.  I was previously aware of the issues she discussed, but hearing them presented all together under a single theme, especially in the wake of the Stuebenville rape case that so sharply illustrated rape culture in the “civilized” United States, was at least sobering and even frightening.

Each shirt is a survivor's personal testimony about the effects of violence.

Each shirt is a survivor’s personal testimony about the effects of violence.

As co-chair of The Global Peace Initiative of Women, a partner organization of the UN, Chittister has traveled the world, listening to women in cities, deserts, mountains and refugee camps, many of which also are war zones.  In Congo, more than 400,000 women and girls have suffered not only the brutality of rape by marauding soldiers, but are now homeless, cast out by their families due to the shame that rape brings to the family.  Such numbers are hard to grasp, but the account of a particular woman, who offered herself to soldiers who were beating, torturing and stabbing her husband, and then afterward thrown out by her husband, along with their daughters who also were gang raped, breaks your heart.  In Mexico, impoverished women in desperate circumstances offer themselves to men in exchange for a few pesos, while in Morocco, rapists can avoid prosecution and prison by marrying their victims, a path forced upon many young women to preserve family honor. IMG_20130404_205152In many countries, women do the majority of agricultural work but laws that forbid them from inheriting property impede their economic advancement.  Such gender bias is an overlooked factor in malnourishment.  Women and girls carry heavy loads of water long distances every single day in areas where there are no pipes to transport it to villages. Other harsh statistics on women’s status include:

    • Young girls and women comprise 80% of the estimated 800,000 people trafficked annually, most for sexual exploitation.
    • More than 100 million girls and women around the world have experienced female genital mutilation, including in the United States.
    • Almost two-thirds of the world’s illiterate adults are women. More than 60 million girls worldwide are married before the age of 18.
    • In the United States, one-third of women murdered each year are killed by intimate partners.
All shirts in last night's clothesline display were made by local women.

All shirts in last night’s clothesline display were made by local women.

Chittister emphasized the attitudes that underlie these realities:  Women are less than human.  Women are uncontrollably sexual. Women ask for it. Women’s purpose is to serve men’s needs. The public arena is men’s domain; women are caretakers.  God wants it that way.  As I have written here before, such views disturbingly echo the mindset of the 15th and 16th century European witch trials, which are a cautionary tale for the 21st century.  I witness some of these attitudes first-hand in my own village, where the lone woman on the seven-person council is openly disrespected or subtly undermined on a regular basis, though her positive contributions to the village are obvious to any observer.

Lest those of us present at last night’s talk be tempted to rationalize away the horrors, in closing Chittister called for action:  “Privileged women have the responsibility to change things for other women.  Go ahead and soar to the stars, but do not fail to take other women with you.  Do not fail to listen to their needs.  Do not fail to understand that their needs are your needs.”

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