No excuses--Crucify Him

"We are obliged to fight injustice with every ounce of energy..." --Ignacio Ellacuria from a poster on a wall of the Holy Rosary Jesuit Community.

7th October 2010

Dear Kairos,

Greetings from South Dakota to you from Luke Hansen, SJ! Those who were at Sugar Creek will remember the cubic yard of popcorn he brought in the black plastic bag. Well, if you have ever wondered if Luke is actually doing anything at the Pine Ridge Reservation, I can confirm a few facts.

His official title at Red Cloud School is now Volunteer Coordinator, a position of responsibility that seems to be going to his head. "You're not going to believe this," he says, "I just made an executive decision, because that's who I am now, an executive."

He is a remote executive, who has in the last week has been in Chicago, St. Paul, and now types on his laptop beside me in a cozy coffee shop in Rapid City. Total hours driven this week, including the amount to "thirty hours." Actual office work: "five hours." And even as he makes a few final business calls before a four day vacation (Columbus day is known on the Res as Native American Day), he gripes aloud to Patty Gilger, SJ his predecessor "People have no idea what I do. "

We know he makes popcorn. Contrary to popular opinion, the secret of Luke's success may have been no more secret than his curious affection for corn. Every agent of nonviolent change must have his or her source of power right? At Sugar Creek it was thought that in order to get so much Luke must have popped corn for hours. He assured us this wasn't the case, and I would never have believed him until I saw with my own eyes the fact itself that at the Jesuit Residence, in a lair Luke calls his "second home," there exists a popcorn factory. There, in the bowel's of the building that has served the Lakota Sioux since its founding on October 6th, 1888... In between four stuccoed walls carved with hundreds of names dating back to the fifties, with notorious Jesuit signatories such as Ben Anderson, there is a home to a cage-like contraption welded together by Jesuit brothers five generations ago. Luke has been handed the torch to carry on the great tradition.

With a precision of word and deed, perfectly integrated, Luke enumerated each aspect of his nonviolent science. "Step one, open gas valve. Step two, take a match, put it in the prongs so fingers won't burn upon insertion. Step three, pour a cup of oil in. Step four, put three corn kernels in so I'll know when it's hot. Step five, pour in a wide brimmed bowl of kernels. Step six, add the half cup of salt.... And now we let it do it's thing." Here was the master's daily discipline, his own underground church.

The stove, or should I say "altar," hung from the cave's ceiling over a metal bowl one meter in diameter, the steel jawed hen eventually lays the goods. I watched as this man of genius performed the final touches of a culinary masterpiece. He gleaned the irons for the remnants, dusted the batch with a light layer of salt, and announced perfection. Transubstantiation? I was doubtful until I tasted the mouthful of his making. So this was Luke's alter Christi.

Yes, in the past week I witnessed a new man. In spite of late night tours of this idyllic basement cave, Luke woke early, already habituated to his new duties which begin at dawn. If I had to sum him up in one of his catch phrases it would be: "You're not going to believe this." I'm still started that he manages to rouse himself daily for 6:45 a.m. Mass.

In fact, he now has a Commercial Driver's License for a school bus and drives a morning route leaving at 5:30 a.m., several days a week.

In his new position of power, some of you might wonder just how does it feel? "I got eight hours of sleep last night..." he says to me on day two of the State Golf Tournament for which he served as "marker" while in support of his Red Cloud team, "why am I so tired?" I nearly sympathized with him, thinking of what some call compassion fatigue or in extreme cases, vicarious trauma...but no. I thought of his Jesuit formatores who must be proudly chanting "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

On my last day with him he answered himself at breakfast, reading aloud a cartoon: "Excuse #479. I'm tired because I got too much sleep last night."

n.b. It was not exactly 30 hrs driving time:

Eight hours mega bus to St. Paul

Nine hrs. St. Paul to Pine Ridge

2 hrs Pine Ridge to Rapid for State Golf(back and forth,4 total)

2 hrs in Rapid

2 hrs driving bus for Senior Retreat (back and forth 4 total)

Total driving time 28 hrs.

Hope in Spin City

9-17-10

Dear Kairos,

Last night when Amy taught us the meaning of the sermon on the mount…it was theory. Today it was practical when I went empty handed to the Laundromat. I had my backpack you see, prepared for the journey to sugar creek as well as for a quick trip to Spin City. Then a guest arrived at Voices. How could I leave without offering my hospitality?

An hour later we walked together out the door. He tried to reason with me that I had no time to make it to the Worker and also wash my clothes. But he presumed two things: first, that I was going to walk from Argyle to Devon and second, that the clothers would never finish in time. That is, I was expected in an hour at the Worker for a ride to Sugar Creek. How could it be done?

I laughed and admitted what a fool I am. He was right. Then I told him a story of a demonstration by favorite priest in high school.

He said to always put God first, the rest will take care of itself. He just so happened to have a giant jar in which he placed a magnificent rock the size of a football. Here’s God, he said, and then, taking out a bag of golf balls, he said, here’s the loved ones in your life. Next he poured in pebbles, showing us the good work of acts and finally the bucket of sand—straight from the beach—representing the thoughts of kindness (or shall we say nonviolence?). In the jar it all fit.

He took out a second jar and this time, put the thoughts first, then the acts, then the loved ones, and yet not all of them fit, golf balls were stuffing the top of the jar, a few bouncing out onto the wooden floor with hollow echo sounds. Where was the room for God?

I did not plan to test God with this experiment. The money lay at home where I left it (accidents happen). When checking my pockets for the change, I held out my debit card scanning spin city for an ATM, disappointed.

You might be thinking, how does idiocy have to do with last night’s Kairos reflection on the Sermon on the Mount?

The quest to put into practice the teaching of Jesus usually remains just that, a romantic exploration. To often, the framework of interpretation used in the Gospel thumping theologic community prefers the world of ideas to the world of the curb, street side. My friends, you came to my aide, lifted my soul from self-criticism. In memory of you I broke myself open in the assembly of Spin Cycle. “What language,” you say.

Yet how else can a poet describe his preaching when the begging I undertook showed me the Kingdom of God? Consider this.

First I went to the people, “Can you help me wash my clothes? Do you have any change?” Heads shook, lips tightened. I went to the curb outside after a few minutes of this. I had hope still because the Latina named Reina had introduced me to a staff member whose heart seemed to melt that she could not assist me. The Filipina (with posture of management) stepped in with English interrupting us “Can I help—what do you want?”

My bajita proponent said “He doesn’t have money.”

Blink, went the Filipina, “Then how are you going to wash your clothes?”

Out on the curb passer-byers made their excuses. Then one drove up and gave me a dollar! I rejoiced and made change in the machine, showing the Filipina my trophy. “The smallest load is $2.00” she said.

Conjectures of a Guilty Lakesider

Prophets, Civil Rights, & Commitment
by: The Boat Czar
“I hate and despise your feasts, I take no pleasure in your solemn festivals…But let Justice surge like water and goodness like an unfailing stream.” (Amos 5:21, 24) Listening to the mighty words from Amos in my humble lake chapel two weeks ago I felt my soul rise and move with energy. My heart wanted to cry an “Amen!” as I imagined the rallies that I had been reading about during the civil right struggle where this very passage was read. These words left me agitated and restless. I wanted to move, act, and do something.

A new prophet began this past week. The denunciations of Amos were left behind and the tender words of Hosea were heard talking of God luring Israel back like a lover. The unfaithful and unjust are not abandon by our tender God. It is said of Israel “She shall be called my husband…I will espouse you to me forever.” (Hosea 16, 22). The God of justice and energy is also the gentle lover who is ever faithful and committed to walking with the wandering people.

Reading more into the history of civil rights I am inspired by people I never knew about that followed God’s example. They are the minor characters of history who committed to the struggle of teaching and organizing everyday folks in the struggle for freedom. These are the likes of Ella Baker, who was the leg-work behind the Montgomery Bus Boycott, and who said once, “I have always thought that what is needed is the development of people who are interested not in being leaders as much as in developing leadership in others.” She, like Myles Horton and Septima Clark, cared for people and pushed them to develop not through stirring speeches but through questions and lives that made them think.

Bob Moses, another “hero” recalls that SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordination Committee) was invited to Mississippi to begin voting drives because people, “…saw in the students what had been lacking-that is, some kind of deep commitment that no matter what the cost, people were going to get this done.” These workers dedicated their lives to work with the poor of rural Mississippi to move a system in a small but significant way. Their commitment was both faithful and tactical. They burned for justice yet were patient so as to listen and walk with the people.

My restless soul that wants to act is soothed by these truths and stories. These “heroes” were deeply aware of their own particular reality and responded out of their courage and depth. This, I believe, is the invitation of God who walked as Jesus of Nazareth. He came to one small place to help and suffered with a particular people so that they might more fully participate in their salvation. God has chosen this world to work in and invites us to labor in our time and space.

Pedro Arrupe S.J. once said “Nowadays the world does not need words, but lives which cannot be explained except through faith and love for Christ poor." Arrupe is speaking of lives of commitment, sacrifice, and depth. It is a sacrifice because it is hard to let many things and causes go so as to dig in with a community. It is hard to take the necessary time to pray, grow, and develop your skills so that you may have the depth to respond faithfully and effectively. This is all part of the struggle, invitation, and gift that we have been given.

I pray that my peaceful and restless time on the lake may help to move towards these ideals. I pray for all of you responding now that God may give you the grace you need to further walk this road of salvation.

Some of the books that inspired this:
We Make this Road by Walking: Conversation on Education and Social Change Myles Horton and Paulo Freire
Parting the Waters: American in the King Years Taylor Branch –(a must read, many pages but reads like a novel)
I’ve God the light of Freedom: The Organizing Tradition and the Mississippi Freedom Struggle Charles Payne

America, Be Beautiful

“Perhaps we chose to come to this country, or it was our parents or grandparents, or even further back that family came here with hopes and dreams and determination. For others among us, being here is directly related to forbearers being brought here as slaves. For many of us there are a variety of situations and circumstances that have led us to where we are today. The best way we can acknowledge the freedoms that we enjoy is to work to assure that they will not be eroded for the generations that follow us. We also must be vigilant that these freedoms do not encroach upon the freedom of others. Without justice there is no freedom. Even as we give thanks for what we have, we realize we are part of a larger world where in many places there are people longing for the same freedoms that are ours. May we pray and work for the freedoms that recognize the dignity of all our sisters and brothers.” -Father Grassi, St. Gertrude’s Church (emphasis added)

I felt so grateful for Father Grassi’s words this Sunday, the 4th of July. It has been interesting experiencing the approach of this holiday surrounded by this beloved assortment of activists and anarchists who view it with such antipathy. Interesting, and at times frustrating. Ambivalence, I can understand. How can one take an honest look at all the blood that has been shed, and all the injustices committed in the name of the Nation, for the sake of “Freedom” and not feel the need for repentance and critique as well as thanksgiving and celebration? Yet, we are a people of great privilege. That word too though is one that, amongst those of us who desire to remove from ourselves the mantel of power, can be seen only in a negative light. We are people of privileges that ought to be acknowledged and celebrated because they are privileges that we would desire for all people. If we ignore these unmerited gifts, there is the risk that we may begin to think that we’ve earned them, that we deserve them and that those who don’t have them must not have earned them, must not deserve them. There is the risk that if we ignore them, we will obliviously swallow them in excess. Neither enjoying them nor sharing them, all while others are deprived, waiting, working, struggling.

Mass ended with “America the Beautiful” as our closing hymn. I felt the influence of the afore mentioned ambivalence creeping in as it was announced. “Really?” I thought, “this is what we want to end with?” While singing, I realized I’d never learned any lyrics beyond the first verse. Here is the second, for those who might be in the same boat as I:

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

Singing the first few lines I thought about how little most of with the legal label of “citizen” can relate to the struggle indicated here. How many of us bear the blisters and burns and calluses of “pilgrim feet?” How many are familiar with the wilderness? My mind immediately recalled images of the desert, that sun-scorched scape that blurs the boundaries between the United States and Mexico. I thought about the pilgrims I met there. I thought about the “stern impassioned stress” that drove them from their homes and families; that burdened them along their treacherous trek; and that enveloped them as they were branded “illegal,” put in cages, processed through courtrooms, shipped away to unfamiliar cities full of unfamiliar people and promptly forgotten by those who can cross borders with barely the flick of a passport because of where they were born.

I feel fortunate to amongst those born here. But that fortune weighs heavy. My mom has often said, “From those to whom much has been given, much is expected.” I’ve long felt the truth of this as an individual. I feel it now also as a resident of the United States.
“America! America (incidentally, when we use this word, do we forget that we are only North America? There are South and Central nations that share our name!)! God mend thine every flaw; confirm the soul in self-control, thy liberty in law.

This was published in the St. Paul Universal Local Progressive Non-Violent Reader:



Chicago Resistance Group Meets in St. Paul
by Nebby Davidson
Published Sunday Edition, May 30th, 1a



On a usually hot Minnesota Saturday morning a group of young adults met in Day-by-Day Cafe on West 7th in St. Paul. Reminiscent of the original recovery group that founded the cafe, these young people shared, drank coffee (actually only one, but he drank a lot) and supported each other for a couple of hours. They were members of Kairos Chicago, a group of folks in Chicago that resists faith and justice.

The four people were; Claire Wiltse, Ben Anderson, Emily Anderson, and Annemarie Barrett. After catching up on the recent events they all ordered their meals and got down to business. Barrett shared about her brothers wedding and how she was still pondering her existence in St. Paul. Wiltse talked about a conversation she had with a priest from India about woman's ordination. She reported that he saw the church as a family that he wishes he could change but must respect as a parent. Anderson (Ben) shared about his trip to Kansas City where he visited a work place for Catholics. His animated hand gestures showed his excitement for working Catholics.

Answering where they found hope for the summer, Wilste enjoyed her ricotta cheese pancakes and talked about family/friends and their openness to watching depressing documentaries with her. Barrett and the Andersons swapped stories about wise grandparents they recently saw. Barreet, with a profoundly deep look on her face, shared a story of an intense yet productive conversation she had with a family member.

Eating her granola with yogurt, Anderson (Emily) shared how she is moving to Chicago next year to live in in a post-volunteer school called Amelia's House. This sparked a long discussion about community, as all four will be residents in communes starting this August. Anderson (Ben), having finished his breakfast burrito and four cups of coffee, shared stories of previous alternative multi-person living situations he had participated in. The other three inspiring young resisters were distracted by the cute kids playing in the pond and the stray cats.

After a couple of hours the group decided to call it quits. They left energized and embraced each other. All were committed to continue their lives of non-violent faith resistance in the manner of the Cafe's name, Day-by-Day.

Resistance Gardening

By Julia Walsh, FSPA and Amy Nee

In a land of concrete and cold stone, restlessness for New Life stirs and shakes.

We fumble through work in an urban landscape. We speak to the oppressed and vulnerable, saying they are empowered to free others; they are powerful and rich beyond measure; they need to contribute to the betterment of the world. Yet, how can this sink in or resonate when they are overwhelmed by their own needs and struggles? We don’t have an answer, yet our voices ache from trying to obey the Spirit, to share convictions, to offer hope and healing.

This paradox mirrors what bruises the world: we who decry it are a part of the system of oppression. We are oppressed by our own participation in the torture, in the violence, in the poverty and discrimination. We are seeped in the things that we despise because we are a part of this world.

Yet we resist. We stutter and whisper “peace” while the world cheers “Fight! Fight!” The chant is global and it’s in the microcosms of high school hallways. We are conflicted by conviction, shadowed by shame. We have been socialized to believe that we are the best, or at least better than those who are different than us. We walk forward and proclaim that we believe in equality and justice in the ways that God has dreamed. Then, haunted by hypocrisy, we cry in confessionals with the realization of our own racist tendencies.

And, we look for cracks in the concrete; in the system, in ourselves, in the land that surrounds a school, broken like a battlefield. We don’t wait for permission and we find our own ways to be generous to the earth and people who we love. We drive through violent neighborhoods and buy seeds at Home Depot, stir up sick soil and pray over the life we try to plant.

Then, we step back and trust that God will guide the seeds to life. God will shed the Light and shower the water. We’ll have the strength to weed and pull out garbage that blows in. Along the way we are awed and surprised with the transformation and affirmation. Others shall be supportive, generous, and we’ll find Jesus hidden under tarps around corners that seem abandoned.

This is the story of the Genesis of the Hales Franciscan High School garden. It is also part of the larger story of the Truth of this earth that has God placed us on together.

(Cross-posted to: http://youngadultcatholics-blog.com )

Brick walls are coming down.

At the recent "Cost of War" Catholic Worker Retreat, I heard numbers, figures, and estimates of the cost of war. Frida Berrigan's talk contained endless amounts of numbers and explanations- which were helpful in grasping the big financial picture- but I found myself most struck by the title of her speech. The Cost of War. Or, maybe, the costs of war. What are the real costs of war? Loss of human dignity, compassion, love- my mind swirled.

Chris Hedges's presentation was also striking, and contained more information than I could ever process in one evening.

And again, I sat wrapped in the idea of what war means for us. Not us-Americans, or us- 'Global Citizens', but us- the living, breathing, even gasping- Body of Christ.

And for a while, all I could think of was my friend Paul and the costs of war for him. At the center of Paul is a beautiful, devoted desire to follow the will of God in his life. And now Paul is in Iraq. Even as I type this, I struggle to really grasp what that means. What war is costing Paul. This war is not an act of love, or the will of God-- yet Paul is there, and Paul is struggling- living, breathing, gasping.

When I sit with the idea of war, and when I pray and converse with Christ about war, I can sense how deeply war has seeped in and affected me. I can feel the walls of fear war has built around my heart, and I can see those walls of fear in the eyes and actions of others. I can see those walls in the Body, how we've segmented ourselves from each other. The white picket fences that keep well-intentioned neighbors at an arm's length, the privacy that rarely invites others in, and the literal walls America has built to blockade the world.

Christ's love has not always been apparent to me through others. My mother has an exclusive love that I'm in or out of and my father has a harshly conditional love. My extended family does not operate as a whole; it looks out for the good of the individual members. However, love through community has torn down the brick walls of fear in my heart. However we separate ourselves in the Body, we remain united in love. The love of Christ in community creates a tangible beauty that overcomes fear. This love enables us to reach our arms out towards each other instead of wrapping them in a barrier around ourselves. This love seeks to heal wounds, to breath new life into the broken, gasping Body.

In this love, Christ challenges me to continue to reach my arms out. I am challenged to have faith that another set of arms will reach back and catch me, or I will learn something valuable in falling.

"This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely." -Thomas Merton

Our work is to unite Merton's points of light, to build the Kingdom through love of each other. War has cost us a great deal, and continues to... but we know a unity and love through community that evaporates the walls of fear war has built. My hope in Christ, in the Body, in community sustains me amidst all that strips humanity of dignity. Amidst all the costs of war.