The sounds are different, too. Already there are some insect sounds along with the doves and the chickens. Maybe the sounds transmit differently when the earth is cooling than when the earth is warming in the morning but there is a softer kind of stillness in the air.

I notice that my own inner landscape is different in the evening as well. Instead of feeling full of plans for the day, I am more inclined to walk myself backwards through the events that filled it. It is a good time to breathe out and unburden.

Mostly on these evening walks I ask for the gift of being present to the One whose presence I might have missed along the way.  I try not to try so hard. Sometimes I feel that I am better able to let God tend to me as I walk in the evening. That’s what I hope for and what I need.  I know that I have surrendered some of the pretense of control that frames the day when gratitude begins to well up in me. I turn a corner and the sunset sky startles me and I don’t think about being grateful. I just am.

Some years ago I resolved that I would not subject myself to violence in “entertainment”. The film “Gladiator” left me feeling physically ill and I wondered what could be the benefit of watching such brutality? There is more than enough violence in real life.  Do we need to create more to entertain ourselves?  Most scripts minimize the real consequences of the fights, the car crashes, the explosions, etc. on the “good guys”- if they show them at all.  Maybe it comes from my experience in medicine, knowing how people struggle to recover from even relatively minor accidents. I find it very difficult to enter into the fantasy of trauma with instantaneous recuperation so that the character is ready to fight again in the next scene.

“War Horse” is set during World War I, “the war to end all wars” which, of course, it didn’t.  I found myself feeling more and more hopeless as the film wore on.  If we could not realize the folly of solving conflicts by the brutality of hand-to-hand combat as shown in the film, how will we ever come to that realization today when war is fought by drones and bombs activated half a world away from the targets?  This was what was going through my mind as I sat with my eyes closed and wondered how much longer the movie would last.

There must be another way to deal with the reality of evil. There is another kind of sacrifice than offering up our young people on fields of battle.  It is the sacrifice of those who say that they will wear down the enemy by their capacity to absorb suffering. Developing that kind of capacity, which is really the capacity of love, is worth our best efforts.  Would that the creative genius of our writers and moviemakers was put to such a project!

We also have the custom of beginning our liturgy with a time of silent vigil. It seems such a luxury when so many are still last-minute shopping, baking, wrapping, traveling, or still working. We began our vigil around 5:15 as darkness deepened in our chapel, lit only by the candles of the wreath and the tiny lights of the nativity scene. A little quiet music to begin…then “the world in silent stillness waits…”

At some point in the vigil Yessenia and Christopher joined us. He is now two months old. Our “silence” was punctuated by the little sounds that babies make: gurgles, yawns, sighs. No cries- just contentment. Without a word we all knew the wonder of the Incarnation.

God became human! Just like this! Just like Chris! The lights came on and we sang our first Christmas carol. We read the beautiful scriptures: The people in waiting in darkness have seen a great light…a child is born for us…Mary gave birth to her firstborn son…wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger…The angel said to them: Do not be afraid for I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people…Glory to God and peace to those on whom God’s favor rests!

Here is the light in our darkness, the light of God’s life within each of us. The little babe makes it all the more clear and wonderful. But God’s life is incarnate now in each one of us: old and young, broken and whole, powerful and powerless. Each of us were once as fresh and beautiful as this tiny baby. Life happens and it’s more difficult to discern the word made flesh in us and in others. As John’s Gospel prologue says, “The word was in the world and it knew him not.”

This is my Christmas gift: Can I discern the face of God and bow down to worship at the crib in my heart when what I see is the broken body, the homeless beggar, the undocumented immigrant, the frightening stranger, the “enemy” in whatever way name that one who is also word-made-flesh? I have a long way, still, to travel before I am able to see a savior in a poor baby wrapped in rags and lying in a feed trough.

O come, let us adore him!

So as I walked I determined to make a start of Advent, first of all by being aware that ’tis the season.  I hummed “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” as I walked along the dry irrigation ditch, looking at the harvested cotton fields.  I enjoyed the sunny morning after a long, cold dark night.  I noticed that several fields have been plowed and prepared for a planting. It raised a sense of patient expectation in me. We are still 3 weeks from the shortest day of the year so there is plenty of time to develop a longing for light.

Be aware.  Be available.  Be prepared.  Be willing to wait in darkness.  Be hopeful.  ’Tis the season.

To my surprise the plants were still producing. There were more chiles than would fit in the pouch of my hoodie- and the hoodie was peeled off quickly as I got to work. At one point I sat down to root through the weeds and leaves in search of cherry tomatoes and it occurred to me that I had sat in that very spot so often last spring and summer, sometimes in search of tiny weeds and other times in search of the dreaded tomato worms. I have watched the cycle of birth-life-death in this little patch.  The paschal mystery of the garden.

After picking the end of the harvest and pulling up the stubborn tomato cages–and somewhat reluctantly the still-green vines and plants–I approached the tiller.  I don’t have a very good history with getting engines going if there’s a pull-rope involved. Plus, the tiller was sitting where Joe had left it two or three weeks ago after giving me a little demo to show that it was indeed repaired. The first pull resulted in a little cough from the engine, but I smelled gas so I was encouraged. Several pulls later I was ready to quit but then I saw those beds ready and waiting so I adjusted the choke and tried again. Bingo!

I spent the next hour or so walking, pushing, dragging the tiller over the five beds. The ground is good and it was gratifying work.  The dead cornstalks from my “field of dreams” went into the compost before I churned up the soil. Finally I raked each bed smooth. It’s like tucking them in for a winter rest.

All the while I was aware of being so grateful: for the beauty and bounty of the earth, for the hours enjoyed in the garden this year, for the gift of being healthy enough to dig it by hand and to till it with the machine, for the wonder of life and its seasons. It was good work.

Now I’m ready to open the door on another Advent. The ground outside has been prepared.  It’s time to do the inner work- again.

At the sign of peace many of us ignored that warning.  How could we not?  How could we stand behind the orange danger cones when we saw the faces of friends the other side of that fence, waiting for us? Moments earlier when Bishop Ramirez prayed the words of consecration I looked across the divide and through the fence as he said, “This is my body, broken for you.  This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.”  We are the Body and Blood of Christ.  We, on both sides of the fence, are one Body, one Spirit in Christ.  ”What will separate us from the love of Christ?”  No one prevented us from crossing that stretch of sand and reaching fingertips through the fence. “Paz de Cristo!”

After receiving the Eucharist I heard the familiar opening chords of the communion meditation song and my eyes filled with tears.  ”You shall cross the barren desert and you shall not die of thirst. You shall wander far in safety though you do not know the way. You shall speak your words in foreign lands and all will understand. You shall see the face of God and live. Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come, follow me and I will give you rest.”  Here we were in a desert where many have died of thirst, where many have lost their way, where they have been misunderstood, where they have looked for the compassionate face of God and been refused.

We remembered those souls yesterday at the fence.  May they forgive us now as they rest in eternal peace.  And dare we ask them to pray for us?  Pray that we have strength in the convictions of our faith that call us to “be not afraid” as we advocate for immigration reform;  to “be not afraid” in admitting and treating our national addiction to drugs; to “be not afraid” in confessing that our economy runs on the sale of weapons and depends on the imposition of trade agreements that are anything but “free”.

May we remember the challenge of Pope Paul VI: “How then will the cry of the poor find an echo in your lives? That cry must, first of all, bar you from whatever would be a compromise with any form of social injustice.”

May these souls pray for us to “be not afraid” in raising our voices and crossing whatever borders divide the Body of Christ.

Christopher Joel, 10/29/11: 7 # 12 oz

Last Saturday, October 29, we had the privilege of welcoming Christopher into the world. Yessenia, his mother, has been a part of our lives for the past ten years since she came to the U.S. from Guatemala.  Of all the ups and downs of life that we have shared, the journey of this pregnancy has been the most joyful and the most peaceful. It was only in the last few weeks of the pregnancy that Yessenia returned to stay with us until delivery. We were able to share those days of waiting and wondering with her. We saw her making the last minute preparations- and through Skype we saw her husband Boris doing the same at their home in Anapra, Mexico.

Saturday morning was Yessenia’s due date. We had planned a Halloween party at the Santo Niño project in Anapra and before we left she was having contractions every 10 minutes. By late afternoon when we returned they were every 5 so we packed up her things and headed to the hospital. She was already four centimeters dilated on the first exam so we knew that this was the real thing. The birthing room had plenty of space for us and the laptops we had packed to establish Skype connections with Boris.

The sounds of the fetal heart monitor and Yessenia’s breathing through the contractions brought back memories of so many days and nights spent with other mamas in labor and delivery wards over the years.  I can’t say that I miss the feeling of hyper-vigilance, anticipating what might or might not happen with each phase of labor. Maybe that’s why so many doctors prefer to control the birth process with drugs.  When you choose a path of accompaniment, which midwives understand so much better than many doctors, you commit to being close at hand to read the signs that don’t show up on a monitor. The change in breath, the look in the eyes, the point of mysterious transition to a place deep inside where I can only imagine women through the ages have found the strength to endure pain and to push new life into this world.

Yessenia’s labor was classic.  It was like watching a perfectly choreographed dance and she knew the steps though she had never practiced them before.  Very little coaching was needed.  Just reassurance.  ”Can I do this?”  Yes, you can. Si, se puede. “Can I endure this?” Yes, you can.  She found her center and it was amazing to see her go there.

The room was prepared and the doctor arrived, like a technician. He was irritated that the patient had not accepted the epidural anesthesia. “Why not?” he complained.  It was not a proud moment for my profession. Yessenia was frightened.  ”She doesn’t need it.  She’s a strong Guatemalteca,” I said looking deep into Yessenia’s eyes.  ”That’s old-fashioned,” he growled.  Well, I thought, birthing is about the most old-fashioned thing on earth.

And so we closed our community circle tight around Yessenia as she began to push.  She made steady progress despite the grumblings from the physician. We filled her ears with encouragement and it wasn’t long before the baby’s head appeared. He was born.  Then the doctor quickly handed him off to the nurses to be cleaned and suctioned.  Except for one rather begrudging ‘congratulations” there was little reaction from the obstetrician.  He went about the business of the placenta and repair. But the rest of us were caught up in the miracle: Christopher is born!  The pain of childbirth overshadowed by such joy and relief and gratitude.

Soon it was just us again, with the mama and child- and the papa weeping on Skype- rejoicing together at the miracle we had witnessed.  Well done, Yessenia and Boris! Welcome, little Christ-bearer!  Birth is always a miracle, but so much more miraculous when those you love are at the center of it all.

]]> http://janetsc.wordpress.com/2011/11/01/always-a-miracle/feed/ 0 janetsc christopher http://janetsc.wordpress.com/2011/10/04/st-francis-of-assisi/ http://janetsc.wordpress.com/2011/10/04/st-francis-of-assisi/#comments Tue, 04 Oct 2011 22:40:32 +0000 janetsc http://janetsc.wordpress.com/?p=283 ]]> On the feast of St. Francis of Assisi I always have a flood of memories from Bishop Luers High School in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. The Franciscan friars of the St. John the Baptist province administered the school for several generations of my family.  It was so much more than a great academic environment. It was a community of faith. One couldn’t escape inoculation with the charism of St. Francis. We learned about peace and nonviolence when our country was at war- in Vietnam and in the inner cities and in the deep South. We celebrated the first April 22 Earth Day. The followers of St. Francis were on the cutting edge of the sixties and seventies!

But what most impacted me about the Franciscans was their community. The brotherhood of the friars was not just a great witness to the common life, simplicity and shared prayer but also to the possibility of putting your gifts and talents at the service of something much larger than yourself. The Franciscans awakened that possibility and desire in me. I knew that community life was no picnic, even with that joyful spirit of Francis! But they were men who were willing to work at it. And I could look at what they had and say, “I want that!” That desire eventually led me to college in Cincinnati (their provincial headquarters) and to the Sisters of Charity.

When I think of Francis I think of a romantic, impulsive, radical follower of Jesus. (I still enjoy Zefirelli’s “Brother Sun, Sister Moon” at least once a year!) In a conversation with my friend Fr. Bill today we talked about how Francis was able to live with detachment, not just in his personal life but also in regards to the project he started, his dream for how it would or should unfold. He might not have been happy about the direction things were taking, for example the moderation of his desire for radical poverty, but he had the grace to let go. He knew in a very profound way that God was God and he was Francis, beloved of God.

On this day I pray that each of us can have a deeper awareness of that truth in our lives.

We decided to head toward Sierra Blanca, site of one of the only downhill ski areas of southern New Mexico and found a trailhead in the Cedar Creek area. The serious hikers were way out in front but Romina and I stopped to admire the flowers (and catch my breath) on the steep uphill climb. Just being in the pine forest and cooler air was so refreshing after the oppressive heat of the desert where we live.  We caught up with the group at the top of the ridge and the sign said we had climbed just 1/4 mile! At that point I decided I was ready to find a quiet spot to sit and enjoy the beauty while others continued on the trail.

I picked my way through lots of fallen trees and stumps, trying out a few spots that were too sunny, too bumpy, too stickery until I found an area that was just right. I settled onto the pine needles and arranged my pack, my journal, my insect repellant and finally with a great sigh of contentment I looked up.  The vista took my breath away!  Sierra Blanca was framed perfectly from my place on the ridge. I sat and watched as the clouds created shadows on the mountain.  Favorite scripture passages came to mind, one after another: “I lift my eyes to the mountains from whence shall come my help…”  “Though the mountains may fall and the hills be shaken, the love of God endures forever…”  “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed you could say to this mountain “Move!” and it would be accomplished.”

The mountains have always provided an image of God’s fidelity, of the constancy of God’s love.  As I sat there I thought of Elizabeth Seton and her frequent admonition to her Sisters, her daughters, her friends to “Look up!” Whether to the mountains or the heavens, she was reminding them to rely on God and to trust in God’s care, God’s will, God’s love.

Finally I laid back on the pine needles, breathing deeply of the fresh air. I had a different awareness of the mountain from that perspective. Now, instead of the majestic vista in the distance, the mountain was a firm foundation beneath me. My mantra from Ecuador returned with my breathing: “No se preocupe. Don’t worry.”  I felt what it is to be “grounded” in the deepest sense of the word.

At some point I heard my name called and I knew the rest of the hikers had returned. I stood up and saw them heading down the trail, thinking that I was already down at the car. Later, near the bottom of the trail, I met Carol and Andrea running back up to find me.  “You broke the first rule of hiking! Don’t go off by yourself !”  I told them I hadn’t strayed far off and didn’t hear them call me except once…

I must have been in a particularly sheltered place on the ridge. And I was lost in my thoughts, looking upwards to the mountains and remembering God my strength.

Before beginning that experience, Tracy and I spent some days visiting the people and places she had served as a Rostro de Cristo volunteer from 2008-2010.  I had decided to just flow with whatever schedule emerged. Tracy had so many friends to visit and I tagged along on some occasions, enjoying the reunions and the chance to experience wonderful Ecuadorian hospitality. Other times I worked on our charism retreat outline and spent some time with the Rostro volunteers who were finishing their year of service.  I was deeply impressed by their commitment to simple living, ministry, community and spirituality.

In Duran, across the river from Guayaquil,  Tracy took me to the parish and clinic where Sisters of Charity Barbara Padilla, Ruth Jonas and Ann Dorenbusch had served twenty years ago.  The clinic, named for St. Elizabeth Seton, has her statue in the main hallway and several of the staff remember our Sisters with great fondness. I saw “Goat Hill” behind the parish where Sister Ruth climbed to find and form small faith communities.  In her last newsletter from Ecuador in 1989 Sister Ruth expressed her firm belief that the people would carry on the mission of Jesus in the ministries of preaching and healing.  It is evident that they have.

I went to Pedro Carbo a few days ahead of  Tracy and connected with the Korean Sisters of Charity. The town is a little more than an hour from Guayaquil/Duran.  Four Sisters assumed responsibility for the mission three and a half years ago and it includes a “clinic” and a “school”.  They live on the top floor of the clinic which is actually a mini-hospital, offering 24 hour service that includes emergency care and obstetrics.  The school serves seventy children with special needs. About half are hearing impaired and half have other physical and mental challenges. Needless to say, the Sisters have their hands full!

Communicating with the Korean missionary SCs our common language was Spanish which made for some hilarious conversations. At lunch soon after my arrival I received a draft schedule for my visit.  That was when I realized that I was going to be offering “health checks” to the school children, the teachers and their children, as well as some people out in the countryside. I wasn’t sure exactly what was expected of a “health check” but I remembered the words of Sister Blandina Segale, a great Sister of Charity pioneer in the days of the Wild West: “Do whatever presents itself and never omit anything because of hardship or repugnance.”  I decided that I would try to do whatever the Sisters asked. In the bedroom I would be sharing with Tracy was a little drawing of a Korean Sister sleeping in the grass. In Spanish it said “No se preocupe” and I assumed that the Korean letters below spelled out the same message. “Don’t worry.” That became the mantra for the rest of our time in Pedro Carbo.

The next surprise came at the conclusion of Mass in the local parish that evening. In the announcements the pastor invited all the youth of the parish to a retreat day that the Sisters of Charity were offering- and the date and time were the same as the retreat Tracy and I were planning! At each Mass we attended during the following week the priest encouraged “all the youth of the parish” to plan to participate in our retreat day.  Tracy and I just looked at each other: No se preocupe!

When the other Sisters from the U.S. (4) and Korea (5) arrived we began the schedule of daily activities at the school: arts and crafts, music, baking, and “health checks”.  We worked in little teams that usually were tri-lingual: English, Korean and Spanish. One day Tracy’s music team was assigned to the the class of students who are profoundly deaf.  The plan was to put the boombox on the floor and have them sense the vibration for some dancing. Almost immediately the teacher began getting messages in sign language from the students. They couldn’t feel the music! The teacher explained to Tracy in Spanish.  She looked at her co-presenter, Sister Sun Hiang, and tried to communicate that they needed to develop a new lesson plan. Somehow it worked and all was well. No se preocupe!

On two occasions we set up our medical “clinic” in little communities an hour away from Pedro Carbo. My experience as a family doctor in the colonias of Texas and Mexico helped me to be comfortable with wherever we set up shop and whatever was available for examinations, diagnosis and treatment.  Tracy and Sister Judy, RN were the receptionist/medical assistant and sent with each patient or family group a scrap of paper listing the medical concerns to be addressed.  Some of the little notes with commentaries from Tracy almost threw me into hysterics but I tried my best to maintain at least some degree of professional decorum ! Once I looked up to see a dog walking around in the area where a physical therapist was offering treatments to several people laying on mats on the floor.  Another time I glanced up as a random pig made its way down the road outside my door.  No se preocupe!

It rained steadily on the night before we were to go to the most remote area scheduled for our services.  I was sure that we would cancel. The rain and the mud would surely keep everyone away. No se preocupe. The people came.  On foot, on burro, on horseback, on bicycle…the people came! I started seeing entire families- sometimes with a few of the neighbor’s children as well- each with a scrap of paper and more of Tracy’s little messages. Sister He Chun, RN was my assistant. She did wound care and packaged little plastic bags of the simple medicines we had brought with us: ibuprofen, vitamins, antacids, tylenol… At some point in the morning everyone was offered soft drinks and sweet rolls.  I looked at the line in the reception area and never saw an end. Toward the later part of the morning the families came to us with various craft projects they had made with the other Sisters while they waited for the “health check”. No one complained about the long wait. The final tally for the morning was 86 patients. I was glad I didn’t know that ahead of time!

Tracy and I were also called upon as translators in various situations. We translated the homilies preached in Spanish by Fr. Herbert, a retired missionary from Austria.  Then another Sister would translate from the English version into Korean. If you remember the children’s game “telephone” you can imagine that we wondered how things were understood after the last translation.  The homilies were especially challenging when Fr. Herbert was delving into some deeper theological waters.  I was always grateful to be able to ask Tracy, “Did you get that???” No se preocupe!

The retreat was our last day in Pedro Carbo. We adjusted the format as best we could with the limited resources at hand, in case all the parish youth came! As it turned out, we had about 15 teens and young adults and another 15 staff from the school and clinic. The young folk added a lot of energy and enthusiasm to the group and were wonderful participants. The retreat introduced them to the life and spirituality of St. Elizabeth Seton and it was fascinating to see what elements of her story resonated with them and what inspired them. She truly is a saint with universal appeal: a daughter, wife, mother, widow, convert to Catholicism, teacher, religious sister and founder of the Sisters of Charity. Once again we had nothing to worry about.

As I packed for home I had some time to reflect on the Divine Providence that had directed each moment of my experience in Ecuador. I remembered each person who welcomed me with gracious hospitality, offered a meal or a cold drink, peeled an orange for me to sip the juice, gave me a hand into or out of the van. I gave thanks for the Sisters of Charity of Seton Hill who invited me to share in their Ecuador immersion and for the charism of Elizabeth Seton that we share.

Tracy and I with the Sisters of Charity of Seton Hill on mission in Pedro Carbo, Ecuador.

I know that I will be “unpacking” this experience for a long time. As I uncover more layers of meaning I promise to share them here with you. No se preocupe.

]]> http://janetsc.wordpress.com/2011/08/21/ecuador-no-se-preocupe-dont-worry/feed/ 1 janetsc janet at EAS clinic Ecuador no se preocupe Ecuador2011SukJah 214 DSC08583 Ecuador2011SukJah 556 Pedro Carbo SCs