Tag Archive | wisdom

Finding God in Kinship 

Recently, as part of the Incarnate Word Foundation’s Project RECON, I was privileged to be present at a talk by Fr. Gregory Boyle, SJ.  I wanted to share highlights from his remarks.

Fr. Gregory Boyle, SJ
Homeboy Industries

Fr. Boyle: I am closer to God when I am with the people at our place.

What brings you out tonight is not me, but a ongoing need for an alignment to bring us to the dream of relationship. In the end it is about being in union with one another. We hope the day will come when we stop we throwing people away. No kinship no peace, no kinship no equality. The only way that makes sense is if we anchor ourself in the God who loves us without regret. St. Ignatius says we want to know that God is always greater, and so how do we arrive at that God.

One of the homies was reading a Psalm, and he said ‘The Lord is exhausted.’ Not exalted. I remember thinking at the time that is way better. I like the exhausted God, rather than a God who wants to spend eternity being exalted. It’s good to be exhausted if you are helping other human beings. It’s a good tired. That’s the God we actually have. A God who is loving you.

The God we settle for is a partial God. We always need to be on the look out for the God we actually have, not the God we settle for. When Dylan Roof killed those people in a Charleston church, a week later those families sat in his presence and said, ‘We forgive you.’ That is the God we actually have. But nine months later we settled for the partial God with the death penalty.

We can feel the tender glance of God and then exhaust ourselves in extending that glance to others. The depth of the God we actually have is this exhausted God who is inviting us to the margins to create a kinship with those who are out there. That is the God we know in the deepest part of us. We know that God only wants for us, not from us. We don’t have to measure up, we don’t have to perform. In asking us to create a community of kinship, God is not asking something from us, because it is in that community that the joy is. The joy for us.

Fr. Gregory Boyle, SJ
Saint Louis University
November 2, 2017

I was talking to Whoopi Goldberg, and she said, ‘That Pope Francis, he’s going for the original program.’ What does that say? We all know what the original program is. We know this. It is the God we actually have. We want this. It’s what Jesus wanted.

  • Inclusion 
  • Nonviolence 
  • Compassionate loving kindness

That’s the regular program. We want to role up our sleeves and be in kinship. It’s about exquisite mutuality, about relationship.

I was in the car with Manuel and he is texting with Snoopy. I realized that Manuel and Snoopy are from rival gangs. They used to shoot bullets but now they are shooting texts. They are in kinship.

In our services at Homeboy, we want to align ourselves with that, with the original program. Service is the hallway that gets you to the ballroom, where there is the exclusive mutuality of joy, kinship. God doesn’t want anything from us. God just wants us to be in that ballroom. When it stops at service, there’s a barrier—the service providers and the service recipients. But truth be told all of us are in need of healing. It is one of those things that join us together as a human family.

Dreamer is a super smart kid. He’s very intelligent though I don’t recall that he every went to school. He is in his 40s now and is doing well. But in his 20s he was a yo-yo, in and out of jail. I’d find him jobs, but he’d find himself eventually doing things of vague criminality. And then he’d wander back. He cam back after 4 months in jail and then he said this time it will be different.

So I called Gary at the vending machine place and he said Dreamer could start tomorrow. Two weeks later Dreamer is at my desk again waving his paycheck. He said, “Damn G, this paycheck makes me feel proper. My mom is proud, and my kids aren’t ashamed. And you know who I have thank for this job? God.”

He could tell I thought he was going to say, ‘You, Fr. Greg.’ And he said, “It’s a good thing we aren’t living in Genesis times because God would have struck your ass with lightning.” The two of us fell out of our chairs we were laughing so hard. And I defy you to say who is the service provider and who is the recipient. It’s mutual.

Homeboy started as a bakery. Then we started Homeboy Tortillas. We changed our name to Homeboy Industries. And things grow and evolve. We are the largest gang recently program in the world. We serve 55,000 individuals a year. There are 11,000 gangs in LA. We are healing people. Healing is what it’s about. They come with chromic toxic stress strapped to their backs, and they need relief otherwise they are living for survival. They find sanctuary with us, and then they go home and are a sanctuary for their kids. We promote kinship.

Diane Keaton comes into the Homegirl Cafe. Diane asks what the waitress, a former gang member, would recommend and the waitress responds with three things she likes. Then she says, ‘I think we have met somewhere. I think I know you.’ And Diane says, ‘Oh, I have a face that people just think they recognize.’ Then the waitress says, ‘No, I’ve got it. We were in prison together!’ Oscar winning actress. Attitudinal waitress. I don’t want anything from you. It’s kinship. That quenches God’s thirst.

Fr. Gregory Boyle, SJ & Bridget McDermott Flood

Go to the margins. As I have loved you, so must you have a special referential love for the widow, orphan and stranger. These are folks who know what it is like to be cut off and because they have been cut off in this way God thinks they can lead us to the kinship of God. They are guides and we follow. You are not called to the margins to rescue someone. When we go out there, we all find rescue. The measure of compassion is not in our service to those on the margins, but in our ability to see our kinship with them. The folks at the margins are our trustworthy guides to get us to the community of kinship that is God’s dream come true.

A woman asked me once, “How much time do you spend at Homeboy actually praising God?” And my answer was, “All damn day.”

Recommended Reading:
Tattoos on the Heart, Gregory Boyle, SJ
Barking at the Choir, Gregory Boyle, SJ

To learn more about RECON: Framing a New Public Discourse, an initiative of the Incarnate Word Foundation, please see our website, http://www.stlrecon.org #RECONSTL

Woman Testing a Balance

National  Gallery of Art

National Gallery of Art

2015 was a rough and tumble year. Too many meetings. Too many projects, Too many expectations and opportunities. Life no longer was a matter of putting on foot in front of the other and slogging through but had twisted into running two marathons in opposite directions simultaneously.

At the end of the year I had a business trip to Washington. The trip did not begin well. Lost luggage led to a hotel with no room ready. All I wanted to do was crash. The hotel lobby–hard sterile white marble walls, glass and chrome furnishings, black and white photographs, very uncomfortable chairs–propelled me out of the hotel and to the museum.

A brisk walk through crisp winter air brought me to the echoing limestone lobby. I was feeling a bit more like myself when the docent stopped me as I tried to brush past. Even though I had been to the museum many times common courtesy kicked in when she caught me at the information desk. And that’s when I heard that four Vermeers were in a small gallery on the first floor.

I made my way to the small gallery where visitors were taking selfies with the main attraction, a Vermeer from Amsterdam. Somewhat overlooked on an adjacent wall hung Woman Holding a Balance. At first glance, I was puzzled since it seemed like the woman was contemplating something unseen. It was only after reading the caption that I took a closer look and saw the delicate whisper-thin balance at perfect equilibrium, held by a woman ignoring the pearls and jewels tumbling out of the chest on the table.

I spent a few hours in the museum that afternoon and revisited the Woman Holding a Balance several times interspersed with intervals of reflection on benches in the neighboring galleries.

  • How do I find balance in my life?
  • What distractions should I look past?
  • Can I learn to pull back?
  • When will I achieve equilibrium?

I learned later that the painting is sometimes called Woman Testing a Balance.

That I understand.

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Moth Orchids: Broken Relationships Bloom Again

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My windowsill is filled with orchids. The challenge is getting them to bloom. In February I watch for the first signs, small green stubs that grow into willowy stalks with nodding lanterns that will unfold into the aptly named moth orchids.

I’m not organized enough to have proper labels on the pots and in late winter I wait for the buds to reveal the secret of their colors. Green velvet speckled with carmine, purple merlots, yellow-throated white ermine. All are eagerly anticipated.

But then a stalk was broken. The buds had barely unfurled. Someone had carelessly brushed it aside. I hadn’t noticed the stem hanging by a thread and I debated–should I snip it off or leave it dangling?  In either case the buds were withering. The next day I clipped it off, put it in a vase, and threw it away a few days later.

Our relationships can be broken. We can be careless and may not notice the brokenness until the relationship withers. The relationship is discarded.

Not too long ago, I received a call from someone I hadn’t heard from in many years. Our relationship had ended on a sour note a decade before. She had taken a chance in calling me and I took a chance in meeting her for coffee. We talked about our families, our art work, what new paths we were taking. A fresh start.

What opportunities come my way to rekindle a relationship?

How do I take a risk and begin anew?

Am I missing opportunities to reconnect?

Several months later when the orchids are dormant, a new shoot appears. The damaged orchid flowers prolifically, with perfect flowers of Naples yellow dancing on the window ledge.

When nurtured, broken relationships can bloom again.

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Astronomically High Waves: Reconnecting with the Soul

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This past week I spent at the beach reconnecting with my soul. The world had worn me down with unrelenting bad news. Inexorable waves of violence, bigotry, broken lives and relationships slapped me, rushing out from the screen; social media spawned the undertow.

One evening I stood on the quiet balcony looking out into the darkness. My daughter had told me the waves were astronomically high because the moon was so close.

All I knew was that I was spent.

I searched for the moon but saw only the faintest blush behind the clouds. The ocean was pitch dark and blended with the sky, only known to me by a deep rumbling cascade and faint whitecaps.

Overwhelmed, it was time to reconnect with my soul. Time to be guided by what I held to be most true.

  • What must guide me is the fundamental dignity of each person. The certainty that within us all is a spark of the divine. A spark that may flicker, be hidden, but remains deep within each of us.
  • What must inform me is the knowledge others possess as well as what I might know. An openness that wisdom can come surprising ways.
  • What I must recognize and accept is brokenness; the failings, pain and weakness of all of us. That the path to healing runs through each person I meet. That I cannot do it alone. It is through relationships that we are made whole.
  • What must motivate my actions is open compassion. Compassion in each conversation. Compassion without judgment.

A clear full moon broke through the clouds, scattering a path of diamond drops across the waves.   When faced with astronomically high waves, reconnect with the soul.

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Simple Gifts

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It had been a challenging week. An in-box boiling over with hundreds of messages. Frustrating meetings followed by meetings about the frustrating meetings. Everyone was rushing to tie up all of the loose ends before the holiday break and the the internal alarm clock rang–time to close the office a few hours early so that everyone could step back and unwind for Easter.

As I stepped off of the elevator after lunch to pick up a few things I was still multi-tasking, juggling loose papers from the car, an open purse, a trailing shawl and a ringing cell phone. It was my friend, Elizabeth. I was struggling down the dimly lit corridor toward the office while answering the phone, when I saw someone standing at the end of the hall outside the office–it was Elizabeth calling to see where everyone was.

She had taken time from her busy day to stop by the office with a gift, a beautiful basket of yarn that she had purchased at a fundraising event in Minneapolis. The rich garnet and woodsy teal mohair skeins were a soft nest for carefree turquoise cotton. And in the middle of all of it, sleek number ten wooden needles with a rainbow grain. I was already thinking of the relaxing knitting that was ahead.

My gratitude was not only for the simple gift, but for the joy of being remembered by a good friend.

  • How can I be a gift to my friends?
  • Can I take time to make a small gesture that can turn around a day for someone who is juggling work and family responsibilities?
  • What really matters in the long run?

A simple gift.

I thought the day could not be better until I sorted through the mail at home. Amidst the fliers for gutter repair and the electric bill I found a colorful card from my friend, Pat, and a small packet of Mexican sunflower seeds. We had each grown them the previous year in our gardens and she had taken time to track down the seeds and send those to me.

A simple gift that brought back memories of swallowtail butterflies and the promise of lazy summer days. No multi-tasking allowed.

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Blessed

The Bellerive bees in winter

The Bellerive bees in winter

Midwest winters can be hard. The last bit of green obliterated by the snow. The beauty of snow riddled with soot deteriorating into slush. Fierce nights. As I glance out window as temperatures hover around zero I see the bee hives buried in snow. All during the fall I had chastised myself for not getting around to taking the honey from the hives and now I hope that might be a saving grace.

The weather mirrors my life as I find myself in the role of caregiver while a family member recovers from surgery. Even though I know this will pass, patience is increasingly in short supply. Daylight is limited, but it is time to take a moment to see.

Sometimes I need only stand wherever I am to be blessed.
Mary Oliver

  • A handwritten letter arrives, bringing me back to an afternoon spent sitting with a nun in San Antonio who has generously become my friend even tough her days are precious, whisps of words carrying her strong spirit.
  • A blue heron flies over a lake at my friend’s new country house.
  • My daughters call, one during the day to invite me to a spontaneous lunch; the other near midnight just because she knows I miss her so.
  • Sadie gives me a sleepy Labrador wag from the sofa.  I dig my fingers into her rough coat and tell her the story of the first dog who comes to the first fire.
  • I pick up my knitting.

    Sometimes I need only stand wherever I am to be blessed.

    The next day the weather breaks and temperatures skyrocket to the 50s. And the Bellerive bees miraculously appear flying in and out of the hive.

    The Lake, Pat Thibodeau

    The Lake, Pat Thibodeau

    Knitting in the Round: Casting on a Circle of Story

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    Usually when I knit I use circular needles. Lighter than straight needles, circulars are flexible, nimble quick to the touch. Circulars make it possible to knit in the round.

    Recently, Mia, a young dynamic young social worker with sparkling dark eyes, asked me to teach her to knit. We had met on a social justice retreat where I was knitting socks on two circular needles. We briefly chatted over a lunch of mung bean soup and warm multi-grain bread, and I was pleasantly surprised when she e-mailed me several weeks later about knitting.

    We met for coffee and pulled out the needles. I started to cast on, knit one pearl two, create ribbing. Mia talked about her commitment to counseling women who struggle with poverty and abuse. I smiled at her excitement on becoming an advocate for justice for these women. As she reflected on what had lead her to that path, I saw her childhood in the crisp golden autumn of a Michigan upbringing.

    The conversation turned to my daughters so close to her in age and to Aunt Margie who gave me my first set of needles decades ago–to my story.

    Finally, we talked about faith.

    • What keeps the spark of the divine within us alight despite the failings of religious structures?
    • How do you get past rhetoric and dogma to hold what you know is true?
    • Where does integrity lie?

    At the end of the morning I wasn’t surprised that we had only completed a few rows. Instead we has created a circle of story.

    Next time, perhaps we will knit socks.