(Hasta La) Victoria

New Blog Site

2007-04-09T11:04:00.000-05:00

I'm moving my blog to WordPress:

vicwelle.wordpress.com

Check it out.

mardi gras memories

2007-02-23T13:28:00.000-06:00

The only thing better than celebrating Mardi Gras in New Orleans is celebrating your birthday during Mardi Gras in New Orleans. And the only thing better than celebrating your birthday during Mardi Gran in New Orleans is celebrating your birthday during Mardi Gras with a group of relief volunteers who have become dear friends who pin dollar bills to your shirt and decorate the house with dozens of post-Valentine's roses liberated from a dumster. (The dollar bill tradition supposedly dates back to a time when a New Orleans law required people pay a tax on their birthday, so friends and neighbors would chip in to help cover the tax.)

My Mardi Gras experience was different from what most tourists experience, and I'm very glad for that. New Orleans is not Bourbon Street, and I kinda feel sorry for the tourists who spent all their time there, thinking they were getting an authentic experience (I've talked to a lot of locals who won't go near the French Quarter this time of year).

The Zulu parade on Tuesday morning was my favorite part of Mardi Gras. My friends and I went to the start of the route, a residential area where the police barricades weren't up and there were lots of families lining the street. I snapped this picture of a father holding his son who was now the proud owner of a rare Zulu coconut, which is the thing to get at the Zulu parade. It's easy to get a dozen strands of beads thrown your way during the Zulu parade, but it's much harder to get one of the special hand painted coconuts.

Going to Mardi Gras outside of the Quarter also meant that you couln't ignore the ongoing need for relief work and rebuilding. The Zulu parade passed by dozens of vacant houses, many still untouched since Katrina, and still in need of gutting and repair. Now that the parties and parades are over, we go back to work.

Respect Your Elders

2007-02-12T15:17:00.000-06:00

I think a lot about my grandparents down here.

A lot of the people who come to our office needing assistance are elderly. They are often unfamiliar with automated phone systems, and many have never used a computer (so much for those "convenient" online application forms for aid). They are often the most in need of health care, housing, and financial assistance, and they are often the most overlooked.

On Saturday a 75 year old woman came to our legal clinic. We had a difficult time at first understanding what it was she needed legal advice about, because she'd sort of ramble or her mind would jump to another subject without us realizing it. It reminded me a little of my Grandma D, who has lapses of memory and will sometimes relay the same story several times over, only with different embellishments. I have to admit I don't always listen attentively.

It would have been easy to do the same with the woman who came to our legal clinic. She had a couple of issues to deal with, and as her stories overlapped in the telling it was difficult to follow what she was trying to tell us and how we could help. Fortunately she was able to sit down with a patient lawyer who listened to her story from beginning to end. Her story is so outrageous, it could easily be dismissed as the ramblings of an old lady. I wish it was.

During Katrina, she was with a group of people trying to evacuate the city. They came upon a commercial truck that was getting ready to drive out, and climbed aboard. The truck was stopped by law enforcement in St Charles parish, and they were then held at gunpoint and taken to jail. They were charged with robbery and attempted looting, and held for 15 days. 15 days of awful food, terrible conditions, and a great deal of fear, confusion, and anger.

Take a moment to think of one of your grandmothers, or an elder you hold in high regard. Imagine her being held at gunpoint by stressed-out, sleep deprived law enforcement agents in the midst of a disaster zone. Imagine her in a jail, after losing everything to a hurricane and flood. Imagine her more than a year later trying to find legal assistance in order to get restitution so she can put her life back together.

When I'm assisting elderly clients I often think of my grandparents. I try to imagine how they would cope with something like this. If our extended family was scattered all across the country during the evacuation, without the money or resources to return, much less take care of them. Would they be OK? Would they get lost in the system? Who would come to their aid? It's thoughts like these that motivate me to stay another day here, to try to be patient with the client who keeps rambling on and on and won't get to the point of what they need. If it was my Grandma, I'd hope someone could do the same.

Crazy

2007-02-04T19:42:00.000-06:00

Last night I went to my first Mardi Gras parade, put on by the Krewe du Vieux, one of the newer groups, but apparently also one of the more bawdy and dedicated to the old-style satire and decadence of Carnival. It was great fun, especially because my companions were people I volunteer with who were also in need of a break. The Krewe decided on the theme Habitat for Insanity for their parade, "given that the whole damn city is foaming at the mouth mad … given that the inmates are obviously running the asylum (and the mayor obviously is not) … given that we gotta get our kicks before the whole nuthouse goes up in flames or sinks forever into the swamps..."

Many people here maintain that the only sane response to life in New Orleans is going crazy. There's no other way to deal with the constant sight of destroyed homes, the heartbreaking stories (remembered or relayed) of Katrina, of the ridiculously corrupt and/or inept behavior of city, state and federal agencies. Last night was a wonderful chance to laugh at all the craziness, to poke fun of all that normally infuriates or demoralizes.

The King of the Krewe du Vieux parade was Chris Rose, a local journalist who had his own run-in with madness. He wrote a very moving and insightful piece about his post-Katrina depression that you can read here. Last night he put seriousness aside and fully embraced his craziness by dressing as the Mad Hatter on an Alice in Wonderland themed float.

This city is a great place to be crazy.

Time Out

2007-01-19T08:56:00.000-06:00

I'm spending a few days as a guest of Contemplatives In Action, where I'm catching up on sleep, enjoying hot showers, and taking a much-needed break. Common Ground is going through a lot of transition as an organization, and when added to the everyday stresses of relief work in New Orleans, it can really become a lot to handle. I'm also hoping to catch up on writing and updating this blog while I'm on this mini-retreat, but I may just end up taking another hot bath or curl up with one of the many wonderful books in their commons room.

In the meantime, there's a great website that you should check out: Vashon Go South
Nick and Logan are two of the awesome volunteers I work with, and when they left their home on Vashon Island, WA, they created this website to document their work in New Orleans. It's got lots of great pictures and blog entries about life in the Ninth Ward (and you might even find a quick shot of me being silly on camera).

Housing is a Human Right

2007-01-15T19:48:00.000-06:00

Lack of access to affordable housing continues to be one of the biggest obstacles facing displaced residents of New Orleans who want to return home. Thousands of families are still locked out of their homes in public housing buildings--buildings that could be reinhabited if government officials would be putting the needs of the people first. To give you an idea of how sturdy these structures are, this is one of the buildings at the St Bernard housing complex:

Today some of those families and their supporters decided to take matters into their own hands, in honor of the Martin Luther King Jr Day holiday. The fence surrounding the St Bernard housing complex was broken through, and volunteers helped families clean and gut the homes they've been locked out of since they were forced to evacuate after Katrina.

This is from a press release sent out to explain the action:

“'Our homes are livable, and we are cleaning them out so that we can live in them,' says Sharon Seans Jasper, a St. Bernard resident and organizer. 'We will not let the city destroy them.'

'The residents who will be cleaning their apartments have current leases and therefore have a legal right to enter their homes,' says rally organizer Endesha Juakali of Survivors Village. 'However, the police may not honor this right. Therefore public housing residents will be evoking the spirit of Dr. King on this Martin Luther King Day.'

HANO and HUD plan to demolish over 5000 units of affordable public housing, housing that is desperately needed for families that wish to move back to New Orleans. In a market where rents have increased between 70 and 300 percent since Katrina, inflated rents and the lack of subsidized housing has been a major factor in preventing evacuees from returning to their homes. Finding private landlords that accept housing vouchers is extremely difficult, and finding affordable housing without subsidization is nearly impossible for public housing recipients."

You can read more about this action and see more pictures at the Survivors Village and Common Ground websites.

An advocacy letter I wrote

2006-12-11T20:06:00.001-06:00

One of the issues I'm helping work on down here in New Orleans is access to affordable housing. Below is a letter I sent out regarding the unfortunate role that Catholic Charities in New Orleans is playing in demolishing public housing.

"By virtue of their human dignity, all persons must be guaranteed housing…"
- Pope John Paul II, June 1996

Dear Friend,

I am writing as a concerned Catholic who is currently doing legal advocacy and disaster relief work in New Orleans. I am very dismayed at the role that Catholic Charities Archdiocese of New Orleans is playing in supporting a public housing plan that is keeping thousands of New Orleans residents locked out of their homes over a year after the Katrina disaster. I am calling on other Catholics and people of good will to join me in asking Catholic Charities Archdiocese of New Orleans to live up to its professed mission to "foster a more just society" by 1) immediately withdrawing support from Providence Community Housing's planned demolition and redevelopment of the Lafitte housing project, and 2) publicly supporting the immediate re-opening of all public housing so that residents may finally return to their homes.

After Hurricane Katrina, the public housing buildings of New Orleans, including Lafitte, were virtually undamaged. But instead of allowing the 5,000 lease-holding families to return to their homes, fences were erected around the buildings and the families were refused entry. To make matters worse, Providence Community Housing, a Catholic Charities program headed by Catholic Charities' CEO James R. Kelly, entered into a redevelopment agreement with HUD and the Housing Authority of New Orleans (HANO) to demolish housing units, beginning with Lafitte, and replace them with "mixed income" properties. Catholic Charities has already allocated at least $2.5 million to this plan, which, if implemented, would only provide homes for a small fraction of former public housing residents. If Catholic Charities and Providence continue to support this plan, they will not only be playing a role in locking out thousands of families from their homes, they would also be complicit in permanently displacing low income residents who cannot afford the skyrocketing post-Katrina rent prices in New Orleans.

I urge you to call, fax, email and write Catholic Charities Archdiocese of New Orleans and Providence Community Housing with your concerns. Remind them that their moral obligation to perform the corporal works of mercy means sheltering the homeless, not creating more homelessness. Urge them to stop the demolitions and allow residents to return to their homes!

Catholic Charities Archdiocese of New Orleans
1000 Howard Ave.
New Orleans, LA 70113
Gordon Wadge, President
Phone: (504) 523-3755
Fax: (504) 523-2789
ccano@archdiocese-no.org

Providence Community Housing
1050 S. Jeff Davis Pkwy
Suite 301
New Orleans, LA 70125
James R. Kelly, President
504-592-5683
jkelly@archdiocese-no.org

In these days leading up to Christmas, we remember the gospel story of the Holy Family's journey to Bethlehem, and of the innkeepers who refused them shelter. Please urge Catholic Charities Archdiocese of New Orleans and Providence Community Housing to not play the part of the innkeepers, but to instead help welcome families back to their homes, perhaps in time for Christmas.

Sincerely,

[signature]
Legal Advocate, Common Ground Relief

For more info, please visit:

www.survivorsvillage.com

www.justiceforneworleans.org

whac-a-mole

2006-11-14T13:54:00.000-06:00

"So what is it you do on the legal team?"

I get this question a lot, and depending on the day's events, I give a different answer. We have all sorts of projects going on, from individual advocacy for people facing any number of legal issues, to bigger campaigns that we do in conjunction with other legal and community organizations.

Sometimes working in the legal office feels a lot like playing Whack-a-Mole, the arcade game where you hammer down the plastic moles as they keep randomly popping up. New issues pop up everyday. Someone stops in needing help filling out the complicated application for "Road Home" state funds, or just getting help finding a notary. Phone calls come in about trying to stop a home from being demolished, or someone being evicted from their homes because their post-Katrina rental assistance is being discontinued before they have a chance to appeal.

It's a lot to take in. You do the best you can. You try to keep an even pace, and try not to get flustered when five things are happening at once and tensions run high. You try to remember that you can't do it all, so that what you are able to do is effective.

And you also really come to love what you're doing. I work with so many amazing people. We laugh a lot, we teach another new skills, we inspire one another, we drive eachother crazy with our pet peeves and personality quirks, we make each other coffee and fight over the bathroom. We carve out a new way of living and working and serving in a community recovering from a disaster. We say goodbye to volunteers who have become close friends and welcome new people wanting to do something to help. And when we're so tired we can barely lift our mole-whacking mallets, we go out for a couple of beers and sit back in amazement at our crazy existance in this amazing city of contradictions.

Home and Office

2006-11-07T20:19:00.000-06:00

My home in New Orleans is a Catholic elementary school called St Mary of the Angels, located in the Ninth Ward. It's been temporarily converted into the volunteer center and main dormitory for Common Ground. Volunteers worked out an arrangement with the parish to clean out the building in return for using it as housing until the school would be ready to reopen as a school. During the storm the school was one of the tallest buildings in the area, so residents took refuge on the roof of the four story building and waited for helicopters to bring them to safe ground.

The classrooms serve as our bedrooms, with 10-12 cots or sleeping mats to a room (some folks have also set up tents inside the classrooms for added privacy, since privacy is hard to come by here). The gym serves as the dining area, and the kitchen is outside in a makeshift set of screened tents. It's amazing what the kitchen crew can put together with mostly donated food.

The former cafeteria has become a lounge (The Coucheteria), with such lounge-y items as old sofas, books, and board games that are all missing at least one vital playing piece. There's a decently well-tuned piano, a TV in a far corner (facing away from the main gathering area so it's not too distracting), and a row of rehabbed computers that usually work and usually have a live internet connection for email.

Right now there are around 80-90 volunteers at St Mary's, most here for a week or two to help gut houses. There are a lot of young students that come through, but people of all ages are here, including a group of grandmothers who spent a week here gutting houses. People come from all over to volunteer--in my short time here I've met volunteers from Australia, South Africa, Great Britain, and even Iowa.

The "office" I work at is located at the House of Excellence (in its pre-Katrina incarnation it was a house converted into a daycare center called "Kids of Excellence"). It's on loan to us until January, and the search is on for a space that can house all the projects that go on here. The tech crew and media team work out of here, and there's a computer lab that's free and open to the public. The legal collective is set up in a corner of the large back room, so it's not really an office, more like some desks and computers arranged in a three-sided square.

The front office at the House of Excellence is like most front offices, with a reception desk and fax machine and copier. This is also where all of Common Ground's mail is delivered, including donations of all sizes and descriptions. Last week a freight truck pulled up outside and unloaded about a dozen pallets, each pallet holding dozens of boxes of books. Nobody was expecting the delivery, it seems some good folks somewhere just decided to hold a book drive and thought it would be good to send thousands of children's books to Common Ground. Which it was, since most schools have entire libraries to restock. It just took a little extra effort to figure out where to quickly store a driveway full of books before the next rain shower.

And on the subject of donations...if you're considering a donation of used clothing, please rethink your decision. Especially if the clothes are ones that you yourself would never be seen wearing in public. With the exception of using them to make outlandish last-minute Halloween costumes, they serve little purpose, but to take up space. Warm blankets and coats would be very welcome, though. At night temperatures will be dropping down into the 40s and lower, and there are many people who no longer have proper insulation or even utilities for their homes.

Week One in New Orleans

2006-10-29T11:50:00.000-06:00

I'm nearing the end of my first week in New Orleans, volunteering with the Common Ground Collective. I'm working with the legal team, putting to use some of the skills I learned back when I was doing legal support for activists. I still have a lot to learn about, like how to help residents file for FEMA funds and appeal insurance settlements--it's an enormous mess of red tape and complicated jargon.

Some thoughts and stories from my week...

This week I was reminded of being in the city of San Cristobal in Chiapas, Mexico a few years back. I remember realizing that there were tourists there who could spend an entire vacation enclosed in that beautiful city, oblivious to the fact that just a few miles outside of it there were military checkpoints and thousands of solidiers illegally occupying indigenous land. Here in New Orleans there has been a huge effort and much money spent to make sure the downtown is looking beautiful and back to normal, so much so that a tourist could enjoy a lovely stay here without seeing the thousands of still-destroyed homes and miles of garbage-filled streets.

I cannot stress enough how badly racism has and continues to hurt people of color in this city.

In the shuttle van from the airport to the volunteer center, the radio played the song "God Bless the USA." I don't know how many residents of the Ninth Ward would find this song comforting or uplifting.

I'm fairly well-informed about police misconduct issues, and I've witnessed police brutality in major cities like Oakland, New York, and Miami. Yet I've found myself speechless with disbelief many times this week as I learned about law enforcement abuses in New Orleans. The level of racial profiling and selective enforcement is staggering. As part of my legal support duties, I interviewed a young black man who was arrested while walking down the street. He was charged with "improper use of a motor vehicle" and spent 60 days in jail.

The rationale behind these numerous arrests on dubious charges is that the fuller the jails, the more federal dollars will roll in for law enforcement. Sadly, the money isn't going toward improving the overcrowding and horribly unsanitary conditions inside the jails. Cells with backed-up toilets overflowing with waste are common complaints of the inmates.

National Guard troops are still stationed here for policing duties, and as is the case with other uniformed people with weapons, many people here are a bit nervous around them. So when a man dressed in olive green fatigues walked into the Common Ground office the other morning, folks were a little wary. Turns out he was a local and stopping by in a civil(ian) capacity: some Common Ground volunteers had helped gut and clean his home, and he wanted to offer his thanks. He came bearing a gift of several kegs of beer, courtesy of his connections with a bar. At first glance this seemed to be a happy stroke of luck for a bunch of overworked volunteers, but accepting the donations posed a number of problems:
1) there was no room to store so much beer in the cramped office space,
2) the Common Ground facility that did have enough room to store that much beer is on loan from a Catholic grade school and has a no-alcohol policy,
3) the kegs needed to be returned within a week, which gave a small window of time to consume it, and hung over volunteers are not necessarily productive volunteers.
4) throwing a large party would run the risk of the police showing up and arresting anyone leaving on charges of public intoxication (yes, it really is possible to be arrested for being drunk in New Orleans). This would in turn add more work for the understaffed legal team, and take much needed time away from the community members that Common Ground is trying to serve.

In the end, two kegs of beer were accepted, and discreetly consumed.

The Common Ground project that brought the biggest smile to my face this week is called R.U.B.A.R.B. The folks at Rusted Up Beyond All Recognition Bikes have set up a shop where scavenged and donated bikes and bike parts are rehabbed and recycled. Kids from the community are able to do a work trade where they earn a bike by fixing it up with the help of the bike shop volunteers. I stopped by the shop this week to see if I could find a cheap bike that would get me from the housing site to the office and back every day. I paid an incredibly small amount of money for an incredibly nice bike in wonderful condition. I was especially happy to make my purchase using money I gained from cashing my shares of a fund set up by my Aunt Deb. When her son Shane died ten years ago, she created the fund for all of his cousins, using money left from his savings. Shane was an amazing athlete and loved working with kids, so I thought it was a fitting way to use a small part of the money he left behind.

This week I learned what rat urine smells like. I'll spare you the story on that one.

I'm relearning the precious value of water. Tap water is not safe to drink unless it's been properly filtered. Hot water for showers is a luxury. Showers period are a luxury. I'm getting used to the fine layer of dust that covers every surface, no matter how much it's dusted or washed.

Another chapter of "Victoria's Best Laid Plans"

2006-10-13T22:25:00.000-05:00

When last we saw Victoria, she had plunged headlong into a theology graduate program in the hopes of becoming a [cue superhero sound effects] Master Of Divinity. Alas (or, perhaps, thankfully), our brave protagonist discovered instead that she was all too human, and that mastering divinity would best be left to other souls. So, bidding farewell to the school on Holy Hill, she sped off on her bike and, well, had a bit of a crash. No bones were broken (what with it being a metaphorical bike and all), but internal injuries ranged from pangs of doubt, heartache, and a yellowing of the belly.

Feeling quite disoriented from the fall, she returned to the Midwest to nurse her wounds and rest a bit. She was welcomed into the home of her brother, her sister-in-law, and her 6-year-old niece. She spent the summer months riding her bike (the real one) all over town in search of the Perfect Cup of Coffee, and played fantastical board games (a Land comprised of Candy?) with her niece.

As the summer drew to a close, Victoria figured it was time to head back West. But what would she do when she got there? Would she return to Holy Hill? Would she resume her battles against the political forces of darkness? She wasn't entirely sure, but she began to pack anyway, figuring she'd find an answer soon enough. It was during the packing that she heard The Voice.

The Voice really wasn't a voice, more like one of those hard to pinpoint feelings somewhere in her gut. It said, "You're going South."

"South?" she asked. "South," replied the Voice.

"But where South?"

"South."

"South America, South? Deep South, South? What do you mean, South?"

"South."

And so went the conversation that wasn't really a conversation with The Voice that wasn't really a voice, until Victoria realized that even if the The Voice knew where she was supposed to be going, it had a pretty limited vocabulary, and she'd have to fill in the blanks herself.

So now we come to the present day. Victoria has managed to figure out that South, at least for now, means New Orleans. She's still not entirely sure what she'll be doing there, but she'll be volunteering in some way with the Common Ground Collective, and will most likely spend her time in their office, using her skills gained doing dreary temp work for a much more noble purpose. And maybe by going South she'll figure out which direction to go next.

Stay tuned.

on leave

2006-07-11T19:42:00.000-05:00

I'm on a break from blogging. Most of my previous posts are hidden for now, especially the ones that contained personal stories.

Pass it on

2006-03-25T13:56:00.000-06:00

I saw this idea at the Slacktivist blog. Pass it on.

"When you see this, post an anti-war song."

Who Would Jesus Bomb?
David Rovics

I've seen you in the markets
I've seen you in the streets
And at your political convention
Talking of your crusade
Talking of your nation
And other things too terrible to mention
And you proclaim your Christianity
You proclaim your love of God
You talk of apple pie and mom
Well I've just got one question
And I want an answer
Tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

Maybe Jesus would bomb the Syrians
'Cause they're not Jews like him
Maybe Jesus would bomb the Afghans
On some kind of vengeful whim
Maybe Jesus would drive an M1 tank
And he would shoot Saddam
Tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

I've seen you on the TV
And on the battleships
I've seen you in the house upon the hill
And I've heard you talking
About making the world safer
And about all the men you have to kill
And you speak so glibly
About your civilization
And how you have the moral higher ground
While halfway around the world
Your explosives smash the buildings
Ah, if you could only hear the sound

But maybe Jesus would sell land mines
And turn on his electric chair
Maybe Jesus would show no compassion
For his enemies in the lands way over there
Maybe Jesus would have flown the planes
That killed the kids in Viet Nam
Tell me, who would Jesus bomb

Yes I hear you shout with confidence
As you praise the lord
And you talk about this God you know so well
And you talk of Armageddon
And your final victory
When all the evil forces go to hell
Well you'd best hope you've chosen wisely
On the right side of the lord
And when you die your conscience it is clear
You'd best hope that your atom bombs
Are better than the sword
At the time when your reckoning is here

'Cause I don't think Jesus would send gunships into Bethlehem
Or jets to raze the towns of Timorese
I don't think Jesus would lend money to dictators
Or drive those SUV's
And I don't think Jesus would ever have dropped
A single ounce of napalm
So tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

(Copyright David Rovics 2003, all rights reserved)

All Saints

2005-11-01T22:13:00.000-06:00

The following is something I wrote in August, when I was giving a eulogy for my Grandpa. I post it today in honor of the Feast of All Saints and the eve of All Souls (Day of the Dead).

~~~~~~~~~~

Over the past few days I’ve been taking more time to notice Grandpa’s carpentry work. I think over the years I started to take it for granted—I got so used to seeing it everywhere. But now I’m taking a closer look, and in the works that Grandpa has left us, I feel like I’m learning more about Grandpa and more about the person I want to be.

Grandpa’s most obvious creations are the bigger things, the entertainment centers, the big bookshelves, the chests of drawers. Even this lectern that I’m standing behind. Grandpa made some really extraordinary pieces of furniture, and he had an amazing talent and shared that talent with all of us.

But besides the big pieces of furniture, Grandpa also made some really simple and ordinary things. It’s these little things I’ve been noticing more and more. The candy dispenser (that last night at the wake provided enough sugar to keep some of the great grandkids good and hyper!). The picture frames. Even the toilet paper holder and laundry hamper in my family’s bathroom! And again, in this church, it’s not just the lectern that he made, it’s the little things…[visual aid]
This box holds the numbers for the display of songs for the service. I remember when the container was a cheap cardboard box, and Grandpa instead made this elegant little box that most people never even noticed. Our whole family has these little things, these everyday objects that we could’ve bought at the store, but instead of a mass-produced piece of molded plastic or fake wood, we have little handcrafted works of art.

As I look at all these ordinary objects that Grandpa left us, I see a lesson that he’s also leaving behind for us to learn. It’s as if he’s saying: “Don’t overlook the little things, don’t go about your ordinary day to day life as if it’s not important.”

As I’ve listened to and talked with my cousins and aunts and uncles these past few days, I’m seeing that it’s the little things that matter the most when we remember Grandpa. It’s the everyday events of Grandpa’s life that stand out the most. Yes, he had the grander, more momentous events, like his travels to places like New Zealand and Venezuela, or catching a 7 foot sailfish off the gulf of Mexico. But in the end, we remember the ordinary things that made up the routine of his life. Teaching us grandkids how to play crazy 8s and cribbage. Baling hay on the farm. Going out to the lake to fish. It was in the ordinary routine of his life that we got to know him best. We knew that with each spring he’d be back to the farm and helping out in the fields, with each winter in his ice house fishing, with each Sunday afternoon a chance to play cards. Or that we could stop by the house at any given day and find him in his workshop, busy with another new creation.

Most of us don’t live grand lives and become famous for what we do, but we make our mark (to paraphrase Mother Theresa) in the ordinary things that we do with great love for the people around us. In every one of his creations Grandpa leaves us a reminder to look for beauty in ordinary things. How wonderful that we have these reminders of Grandpa as we go about our day to day lives!

I like to think Grandpa was a lot like the wood he worked with; it’s as if the wood was an expression of who he was and who he wanted to be. Especially the wood that came from the farm, the oak that was sturdy and strong (you might even say stubborn!). In the workshop it started out a bit rough around the edges, maybe needing a little extra sanding, or sometimes there was a knot that made the wood hard to deal with. But a Master Carpenter was able to transform the raw wood into something beautiful. After a lot of hard work and a great deal of love, we’re now left with a beautiful gift of loving service.

And maybe we’re all a little bit like the wood: works in progress, on our way to being shaped into something beautiful.

May we all keep doing our own version of woodworking: sanding away our rough edges, doing all we can to serve others with whatever talent we’ve been blessed with.

See you in the woodshop!

Rainbow Sashes and the Body of Christ

2005-05-15T23:28:00.000-05:00

A week ago I heard about Archbishop Flynn's new orders (passed on down from the Vatican) that anyone in the St. Paul/Minneapolis Archdiocese attempting to wear a rainbow sash would be denied Communion. The Rainbow Sash Movement is a loosely organized group of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Catholics who, once a year, wear a rainbow sash to Mass as a celebration of their God-given sexuality. They do not speak out against Catholic teachings. Their core principles are a call for the Catholic Church to "honor our wisdom and experience, to enter into public dialogue with us, (and) to work with us for justice and understanding."

After reading and talking with people about the issue throughout the week, I knew I needed to go to the Cathedral in St. Paul, where the sash-wearing action was going to take place. I was unsure of exactly what I would do, but I knew I wanted to at least be there to support those wearing the sash and be a witness to whatever happened. What I witnessed and experienced at the Cathedral reduced me to tears and made me ashamed of my Church.

A friend of mine and I gathered this morning with other Rainbow Sash supporters and members outside the Cathedral before Mass. We were given a choice of a sash or small rainbow ribbon to wear. I chose a small ribbon, and pinned it onto the Dignity button I brought, which displayed a bright pink triangle and the word "CATHOLIC." The organizers also made sure that everyone had a copy of the guidelines for the day, the first being an agreement to remain nonviolent, "no matter what happens." (The last time this action took place at the Cathedral, sash wearers were physically blocked from proceeding to the altar by people kneeling in the aisles, so there was reason to expect tensions.) There was a fair number of cameras and reporters interviewing people as we gathered, and I was approached by a journalist from the Catholic Spirit, the local diocesan newspaper, who took down a few quotes.

The time came to go inside, with many people singing "We Shall Overcome" before entering the Cathedral. I was amazed at how many of us there were: I later heard nearly 130 people wearing sashes or ribbons!

The opening song of the Mass was based on one of the Scripture readings for the day, 1 Corinthians chapter 12. Some verses of note:

Joined together by the Spirit/ Every person brings a gift.
Every life is full of merit...
Joined together all-embracing/
Yet our separate selves we bring...
Joined together as one body/ Knit together we are one.

Sadly, this theme of unity in diversity was proclaimed, but not practiced. Instead of a Body of Christ in which each member's difference is celebrated and valued as essential to the whole, the message became one of pretending that difference doesn't exist, or that it should be swept under the rug in order to keep up appearances.

Before the Communion Rite, the presider asked all those wearing a rainbow sash to remove them as a "sign of unity" and respect for the Eucharist. Instead of acknowledging, as the Scripture reading proclaimed, that we were all many different parts of the same body, we were essentially being told to become the illogical body that Paul warned of: "If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be?" Instead of modeling Christ's unconditional love, the presider, at the urging of the Archbishop and Rome, was telling us that in order to merit Christ, we must first meet a set of arbitrary guidelines and conform to a forced notion of normalcy.

[Let me pause here for those of you needing a crash course in Communion 101: The Eucharist (or Communion) is understood by Catholics to be the Real Presence of Christ. We're not receiving a wafer and wine, we're receiving Jesus. It is a Big Deal to receive Jesus, and a Big Deal to be denied Jesus. Church teaching says that any Catholic who is not in a state of mortal sin (say for example, guilty of murdering someone before coming to Mass) is able to receive. It is extremely rare for a person to be denied Eucharist, largely because it is quite nearly impossible to know the state of another's soul by simply looking at them.]

When it came time for Communion, I wasn't sure what was going to be happen, but I knew what I was going to do. After speaking with some others beforehand, I had already decided that if I was given Communion, I would share with others who had been denied. If refused, I would join the others, standing at our seats, hands open and extended to receive what had been denied us.

It was my turn. I presented my opened hands to receive as I do every week, and to my surprise, I was given a host. Did he not see my ribbon? Did he have a change of heart? I didn't have time to think about why. I broke the host in half, and stood next to the other Eucharistic ministers, ready to offer Christ to anyone who wanted to receive. I didn't last long. The Deacon saw me and made a beeline over to tell me I could not be there. I calmly told him that I was a Eucharistic Minister (which I am--fully trained and commissioned for any of you legalists out there!), but that did little to sway him. He took the pieces of consecrated host out of my hands and sent me away with the generic blessing given to all who were denied Eucharist. I was stunned. I stood there, my hands suddenly empty, and slowly made my way back to my pew. My friend had not gone forward to receive and was there waiting for me. I told him what happened: "They gave me Communion, and when I tried to share it they took it away from me."

After Mass, the Catholic Spirit reporter found me and asked some follow-up questions. I guess she saw me during Mass and wanted to know why I did what I did. I explained to her again that I didn't think it was right for anyone to be denied Eucharist simply for what they wore. She asked about the charge that we were using the Eucharist as a form of protest. I tried to explain that I engaged in an act of prayer, the same as any other Sunday. She pressed further, and I finally said, that even if it was protest, I was not aware that protesting was a mortal sin and worthy of denial of Communion.

On the drive home I listened to a mix CD that included the song "One" by U2. I heard the words as my angry love letter to the Church:

You say Love is a temple
Love a higher law...
You ask me to enter
But then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt
One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should
One life
With each other
Sisters
Brothers...

I got back in time for the late afternoon Mass at the TEC Retreat Center. What a relief to be welcomed into what felt like a truly Catholic community, in the "universal" sense of the word! It was such a contrast from the Cathedral: there was no domed ceiling, no ornate stained glass. Church was instead created in an old gymnasium, where instead of a majestic raised pulpit, the presider stood on a milk crate to be seen. No grand old pipe organ for us—the musicians here could have been mistaken for a jazz combo in another setting. Instead of the priest sprinkling us all with holy water to renew our vows of baptism, we blessed one another as equals, taking turns to trace a sign of the cross on another's forehead and have the same done for us.

Here I was not denied Eucharist. Here I was called by name and given Jesus. Here I again felt proud to call myself Catholic.