We are endangered species, but Franciscan values could save us

At my new home in Chicago, I can visit the shore of Lake Michigan, and I like to go there to pray. From my spot on a concrete slab, all that is visible to me that is “natural” is water and sky. Everything else — the concrete, the fence, the shoreline — has been constructed by humans, not God. Humans inflict change on everything they encounter. Watching the water roll around the boulders at my feet, I realize my creaturedom carries a contradiction: No matter my will, my body is always impactful; with my smallness comes a might. I have effects on landscapes and other creatures just through my being and my breath.

Later, I go to Mass, tucked into a chapel around a table I equate with love, mercy and transformation. It’s a truly Catholic community. We’re sisters, priests, and married and single people with many shades of skin. Some are from nations I’ll never really know (South Korea, Ireland, Zambia). A woman’s voice proclaims the Psalm:

Let this be written for the generation to come,
and let his future creatures praise the LORD:
“The LORD looked down from his holy height,
from heaven he beheld the earth,
To hear the groaning of the prisoners,
to release those doomed to die.”

Centuries ago, before my religion found form, ancient words acknowledged us. The future creatures were…   [This is the beginning of my latest column for the online newspaper, Global Sisters Report. Continue reading here.]

O Come Emmanuel: Free us prisoners

Sitting next to me in another hard, plastic chair is a good-hearted man wearing brightly colored scrubs — colors that label him as guilty of a crime. We’re in a florescent lit room inside the county jail: bare white walls and glass windows, a camera overhead.

There are about a dozen of us in this circle, praying with Advent Scriptures. Messages of waiting, anticipation, expectation are read aloud. Then we discuss, consider: What does it mean to be people of hope? How does hope influence their life inside these walls, even while separated from their children? O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.

At a glance, most observers might assume that I’m the only free person in the room. That as a visitor and minister, I’m able to enjoy liberty and live as I wish, in ways that align with the Gospel. But in the following days, the Spirit reminds me I’m not free.

After visiting the jail, I…

[This is the beginning of my latest column for the online newspaper, Global Sisters Report. Continue reading here.]

The Pain of Climate Change

Last fall, I heard a story on the radio that caused me to have all sorts of physical reactions.

It was the end of a busy day of ministry, and I was cooking dinner for the sisters I live with, a group of Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration. I was casually listening to the evening news while I set the table. Then, I heard a story unlike anything I had ever heard before. For those four minutes, I was frozen, staring down at the empty plates while I listened. I was completely stunned. After the story ended, my mind and heart hurt from what I heard. I gasped and groaned and prayed out loud.

What I was hearing, what was disturbing me so deeply, was the news that a tiny island nation in the Pacific Ocean, Kiribati, (pronounced KIR-e-bass) is in trouble. Due to the stresses of rising sea levels, Kiribati is likely to be completely uninhabitable by 2030. The people must find somewhere else to go or they will not survive.

A nation is dissolving. A people must abandon their home. This was preventable and it is not their fault. It’s our fault. We have destroyed their community, their nation, their lives – and we don’t even know who they are. . .

[This is the beginning of my first column for the new online newspaper, Global Sisters Report.  Continue reading here.]

Photo of Kiribati from Business Insider

 

mercy, children of the earth

Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side.  –John 20:19b-20a

Christ is still showing us His wounds.

Christ is the energy of God alive and arisen in our midst. In my life, one of the most profound ways I experience that Christ energy is by communing with creation. The peace of Christ beats with the rhythm of an ancient drum in the depths of the woods and in the heart of the ocean. And earth is hurting. Like our brother Jesus, we have harmed the earth with our violence and sin.

Two examples: As highlighted in this film, the inhabitants of the Carteret Islands just north of Bougainville, Papua New Guinea, are running for their lives while their island is overtaken by the rising ocean waters. Climate change is causing the icebergs to melt at rates faster than humans have ever known. Christ is wounded among us.

Here’s a video highlighting what these wounds look like:

The ocean bears many of the earth’s wounds. This example is so unbelievable, it almost seems like a joke. Really, it is no laughing matter. Our pollution and waste have created enormous garbage “islands” in ocean currents, one of which is apparently comparable to the size of Texas. This week the United Nations is going to declare that these garbage masses in the sea have achieved “state status” because of their size. The nation shall be called Garbage Patch, the flag will be all blue and its population shall be 36,939 tons of garbage.

Garbage Patch Picture from LA Times Blog

Let’s have mercy, good people!

When Christ showed his wounds to his disciples he said “Peace be with you.”

As Christ shows his wounds to us, He also says “Peace be with you.”

We are privileged and blessed to be able to nurse the wounds of our earth, our Christ, during this holy sacred time. We can stop can using plastic, we can reduce our carbon footprint, we can teach others the truth and we can clean up the mess we have made. We can share the Christ of peace and be instruments of healing and blessing.

Let’s have mercy, Christ have mercy, peace be with you. Amen!