En Solidaridad - In Solidarity

Baseball is Social Ministry, Isn't It?

2008-07-11T11:41:00.000-07:00

Just in case you needed another reason to like baseball, Major League Baseball is supporting an organization that is trying to raise funds to do things for Veterans that our government is not.

While I didn't make it to any baseball games in Denver while attending the North American Ignatian Social Ministers Conference a few weeks ago, I did catch a Tigers game vs. the Twins to start my short (4 day) retreat in Detroit yesterday. My boys lost in 11 innings, blowing what was a five run lead but down to two run lead in the top of the ninth. Too many veteran injuries and rookies playing that make heart wrenching mistakes. Still it was a good day in Downtown Detroit and we cruised around Belle Isle after the game to cool off. Also drove by old Tiger Stadium at Michigan and Trumbull and took in the active destruction of the North side. Shed a little tear as I stared at a gapping hole where the seats behind left field used to be. I saw my first Tigers game back in '84 from left field.

I love working and being on the Rez, but it's always healthy to have time away. Detroit is always good for me. I've been fortunate to travel quite a bit in my life and I can say with certainty that in my heart I will always be a Detroiter, though my bones may reside elsewhere ;)

Anyway, I wrote some friends about my weekend in Denver and have been thinking I should write something for my blog that would include what I have learned about social ministry; how my experiences and loves are finally seeming to integrate themselves into my life and world view.

Denver was great and I met a lot of very cool people. I was affirmed that I am headed in the right direction with my life and doing the right things, despite the difficulties I have met along the way. I'm on the "good red road" as my Lakota friends would say. The weekend was capped off with a short visit with a Jesuit from Slovenia who is kind of "the guy" for all Social Ministries in Eastern Europe. He stopped me to say he liked my shirt. It says: "WAR is not the answer" and has a picture of Marvin Gaye. Of course, he didn't know the song but he did ask if I was involved in anti-war movements. It was a short conversation, in the noon-day sun of a 90+ day in Denver, but it was a wonderful way to cap off the weekend. We talked about my involvement in the U.S. Air Force, the war in Kosovo. He wasn't afraid to ask questions and though I was not detail oriented with my answers, I know he understood that my description of seeing horrible violence up close, the chaos of war and the horrible things that one human being can do to another was enough for me to have a conversion experience that drew me to Ignatius and the Jesuits. The conversation ended and we parted ways with a hug that is just as important and common among East Europeans as among Latin Americans; the kind were cheek touches cheek. I had to smile thinking inside my head how much that kind of hug would have been uncomfortable for me a few years ago, when I was still very much protective of my personal space. The military had trained me that all public display of affection was inappropriate and it took me awhile to let people into my space after that. Then there in this hug, I was pleased to notice how I've managed to integrate the experiences of my life and see their connection. My experience of the salty taste of sweaty flesh in the embrace and kiss of Salvadorans was suddenly integrated with my experience of the same sort embrace from a Slovenian Jesuit who reminded me of, and thus helped me integrate, the experience of horrible violence in the Balkans and the importance of intimate human touch in both cultures.

When I look back at what happened in my life that set me on a path to serve others and not just myself; to see myself as more than an individual but one who necessarily lives in relationship and communion with others, it was my experience of war in the Balkans. I was reminded throughout the weekend of just how important my military experience is to me and to my ministry. So it was good that just before climbing into the car for the long drive back to the Rez, I had such a wonderful conversation with the Slovenian Jesuit. Good for both of us I think.

I hope you see some baseball this summer and when you do, maybe remember to say a prayer for veterans.

Salvador Mundi, Salva Nos

2008-03-21T14:15:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday was Holy Thursday; the start of a very sacred time for Christians. The time between Holy Thursday and Easter is called the Triduum; the sacred three days. So, good Catholic girl that I am, I went to Mass in Pine Ridge at my parish; Sacred Heart. I've missed Mass with this parish the last two weeks because I was traveling in Wyoming and Colorado (yeah, I know I should have blogged about those adventures). I've noticed that I really miss the people at Sacred Heart when I am not there. I've had this experience with other parish communities; like the parish in the colonia Las Palmas near the UCA in El Salvador, or with my university community when I was student. Good to feel so much a part of a community that you miss it when you can't be there, no?

Anyway, a very cool thing happened during the Mass of the Lord's Supper that brought a number of experiences of my life together. Lately, I've been struggling with whether I should stay on the Rez after my contract ends in June. A number of things have happened that make me question if I am in the right place and doing the right work. But there are so many people here that I love and I can't possibly imagine leaving them, not yet. Then the washing of the feet. I was too shy to go and have my feet washed, but I sat quietly in my seat (at least as quietly as I could while trying to tune out one of my cowboy buddies who was nagging at me to have my feet washed). One of the reflection hymns near the end of this part of the Mass was something familiar to me. Most times, we sing in English and Lakota, but sometimes in Latin. Last night, the choir was singing in Spanish. A simple phrase repeated over and over, maybe a Taize prayer.

Salvador Mundi, salva nos.
(Savior of the World, save us.)

Made me think of El Salvador. Also made me rest in the thought that I am where I should be, even if it is a rough ride.

Somebody Else's Poetry

2008-03-06T11:24:00.000-08:00

Still finding myself pretty tired these days and not motivated to much writing. I do read though, and I've found a few good poems that keep kicking round in my head. Good to view the world through the eyes of a poet, just gotta remember when waxing poetic becomes a dangerous form of escapism and pisses people off around me.

Here is a poem I've become rather attached to lately:

The Wish to Be Generous

Wendell Berry

All that I serve will die, all my delights,
the flesh kindled from my flesh, garden and field,
the silent lilies standing in the woods,
the woods, the hill, the whole earth, all
will burn in man's evil, or dwindle
in its own age. Let the world bring on me
the sleep of darkness without stars, so I may know
my little light taken from me into the seed
of the beginning and the end, so I may bow
to mystery, and take my stand on the earth
like a tree in a field, passing without haste
or regret toward what will be, my life
a patient willing descent into the grass.

Grace Upon Grace

2008-03-01T16:43:00.000-08:00

Wow, that last post was really flowery. Makes it sound like all my days are good. They aren't.

I read something this morning that has particular meaning as I wonder what I'm doing here on a Indian Reservation, working my way into the lives of people that I will eventually leave. I left El Salvador, England, Detroit and yet all of them were places I called "home." In some ways, each of those places will always be home. Why do I continue to go places and fall in love with different people and cultures when I know there will come a time to leave? This is my choice, but is it fair to the people in those places that love me?

Fr. Dominique Pire, OP, (1910-1969) ...worked tirelessly through WWII and after to better the lives of refugees, for which he was awarded the 1958 Nobel Peace Prize. This excerpt is adapted from his Nobel lecture.

Let us be wary of mass solutions, let us be wary of statistics. We must love our neighbors as ourselves. To be sure, helping persons individually naturally implies that one cannot help them all, at least not directly.
After all, who in one lifetime can give himself completely to everyone? But what one person cannot do alone, the will of many may yet achieve. There is perhaps no surer road to peace than the one that starts from little islands and oases of genuine kindness...
And so it is that each of us can remain exactly and humbly what he or she is, doing whatever task God has set before us; this in my case is to continue with love, initiative, tenacity, realism, and patience to plow my little furrow in the interests of displaced persons. We not only can, but should, stay each of us in his own place, not cutting ourselves off from the rest of the world, but working for peace wherever we may be.
(Living with Christ, March 2008, 24)

I don't know if my choices are fair to the others I involve in my life. Wherever I find myself, I hope I can love and remain genuine to the people I am with. I also hope that I know where my islands and oases can be found so I can return to them when I find myself on seas too difficult for my little boat.

A Day of Life

2008-02-28T19:15:00.000-08:00

So, I've been out of commission for awhile. Truth is, I've been pretty sick since Christmas. Finally got a diagnosis though, after a battery of tests and several trips to the doctor (which is 100 miles, one way). I'm on the mend, but it will take some time. I will try to post when I feel up to it.

I had some grandiose plans about writing more on the Shepherd & Sheep line of thought but I've lost them now. I'll just write about one day in my life on the rez.

I think it was Tuesday. My Mom has not been well and was staying in a hospital in Detroit after surgery on her back. She'd been there for a week. She was due to be transfered to a nursing home where she'll have to stay for a bit until she can get stronger and learn how to take care of herself. My Dad and sisters have been very distraught about all of this and I've been feeling pretty helpless to do anything for them. I'm not very strong myself right now and they are all far away (funny because South Dakota really isn't that far, considering other places I've lived).

So I was teaching on Tuesday, but left my cell phone on in case any important calls came . My sister called during my fifth grade class and I felt the need to explain to my students why I needed to answer the phone before I actually did so. I quickly got their attention and told them my Mom was very sick, had been in the hospital for a week, had surgery on her back, was in a wheel-chair, and needed to go to another medical place where people could take care of her full-time. That's a lot for a 5th grader to take in, but these kids are tougher than most and the payed close attention to what I said. My voice cracked, which rarely happens and the students know this about me. I've seen them listen like this before - it doesn't happen often, but they know when to be gentle with me. They are accustomed to me being strong and they know they can lash out at me and I will take all the anger that is balled up inside them. They know I will tolerate a certain amount of joking around, but they also know when they've pushed me too far. I know enough about my students lives to know that life is not easy for them and school is often the most playful time of the week. Hours away from school can be tough. I try my best to give them time to play, but they also know that they have to work in our computer classes (at least I like to think they do). Tuesday was a bad day for me, I told them ahead of time that I needed them to work and not mess around; I was in no mood to tolerate horseplay and anyone who tested my word was likely to get a detention or be sent to the office. So they listened and when I said what was going on with my Mom, they understood why I was short-tempered. They may be young, but they are smarter than they are given credit. I think they deserve to know how adults feel and why we act the way we do with them sometimes. It may be my imagination, but I think the students trust me more with the details of their lives because I trust them with mine. I ask for their prayers for my health and my mother and they appreciate the trust and respect I have given them. It's delicate to know how to do these kinds of things and still maintain some privacy; to let the students into my life while still being their teacher and not their buddy. Let me put it another way; I don't need to tell them everything about me, but it helps them to know I have the same sorts of problems that they see in their families.

Maybe it's just one style of teaching, but I'd rather be a teacher who shows emotions and weaknesses than the stone faced dictator who rules the classroom with an iron fist.

I stepped out of the computer lab to answer the call from my sister and I watched the 5th grade through the window. They did their assignments as I asked and their was no stepping out of line. After class, I took them back to their classroom and started back down to the computer lab. One of the "holy terrors" of the 5th grade came running up behind me and tugged at my sleeve. Sometimes, I think the only reason why I get any respect from her is because I coached her during basketball season. She's been particularly troublesome lately. I hadn't quite turned to see who it was when I heard her voice. "I hope your Mom gets better, Sarah." Then a couple of other kids chimed in. But I turned to see that one little girl's face. Her normally devilish grin was gone and a look of seriousness I've never seen before was on her face and in her eyes. I think it is a cultural thing, but it is rare that any of my students will look me directly in the eyes for any length of time. She did though and I knew she really felt for me and wanted things to be okay.

Doesn't happen everyday, most blessings aren't so obvious. If I look for it though, each day of my life carries a blessing - especially on the Rez. In the eyes of one 5th grader I saw the eyes of so many other children in other places I have been. Some say I'm lucky, but it's more than that.

My life has been grace upon grace.

Shepherds and sheep

2008-02-12T04:17:00.000-08:00

From what I understand, my ancestral name; Shaffer, has roots in Bavaria and comes from the word used to describe shepherds in the German language. Perhaps I had ancestors who were shepherds way back when. Anyway, that was a somewhat random factoid, but seems a good way to lead into this next bit:

Thus says the Lord God: Shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings; but you do not feed the sheep. The weak you have not strengthened, the sick you have not healed, the crippled you have not bound up, the strayed you have not brought back, the lost you have not sought, and with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered, because there was no shepherd; and they became food for all the wild beasts. My sheep were scattered, they wandered over the mountains and on every high hill; my sheep were scattered over the face of the earth; with none to search or seek for them." (Ez 34:2-6).

This passage has been with me for the last few days since I read it while on retreat with other volunteers from the Rez. We spent a weekend at Storm Mountain in the Black Hills. The mountain lived up to it's name as it snowed steady for nearly 24 hours straight. I wasn't feeling quite myself; nagging health problems, so I stayed inside reading most of the time and gazing at the snowy scene outside the windows. The scripture passage reminds me of my relationship as a U.S. citizen with the world. But in an even larger sense, it makes me think of the relationship that all of us who are shepherds have with sheep who are entrusted to us. I don't know why some of us are shepherds and some sheep. Sometimes we are both and I think we need to just accept these roles; be aware of them and move on as gracefully as we can. I've spent way too much time being bitter about being a shepherd, but that is what I am most of the time. To maintain a healthy sense of humility and sanity, I also know the times when I am a helpless lamb who must entrust myself to the care and security that some other shepherd can offer (these times offer welcomed rest for me).

To be continued....

It's okay to be angry

2008-02-04T19:49:00.000-08:00

My experience of the world has tested my faith, however; my wrestling match with God has also helped build the foundation that I believe is key to my effectiveness as a minister. It is not easy to be in love with the world. I have labored to find God in the dark places. It has been my fortune to travel and experience the realities of humanity in such varied places as England, war-torn Kosovo, Southern Africa, and El Salvador. The world is flawed and constantly disappoints, often reducing me to tears. I love the world deeply and regardless of my shortcomings, I am graced to be loved in return. The more capable I become of love for the world as God loves the world, the greater is my awareness of my own faults and failings and those of humanity. But it is a blessing to love those faults and failings and realize that they are a means of bringing me closer to the God I long to be with and know intimately. It is through both the joys and the heartbreaks of this world that I find God.

I grew up not far from the city of Detroit in Michigan. I come from working-class roots. My father slaved away building Cadillacs all his life but never owned one. Funny that he prefers to drive a truck and that's usually been a Ford. If my sister comes over with her BMW M3, she has to park it on the street. Dad won't allow foreign cars in his driveway. But are there really any "American" cars anymore? I was raised in a town heavily invested in the auto industry. People work hard there and they fiercely defend what is theirs. I love Detroit, but it is not an easy place to be. Detroiters pride themselves on being tough - cold as the steel that used to help them build cars. Some Michiganders like to distance themselves from association with Detroit - not me, I always say I am from Detroit. My students here on the reservation know that I am from Detroit and they must share this with their parents. I run into parents at the grocery store or at a pow-wow and a little conversation starts up with someone who seems a stranger to me, then they ask one of two questions: "So you're from Detroit, are you?" or " You were in the Air Force?" Both questions make me feel good because I realize that my students actually remembered something I said. I seem to earn a certain amount of credibility because I come from working-class roots and a city with a reputation for being tough. Then there is my status as a veteran - that means something to the Lakota people. I'm still a little confused about the respect I am given, but it does help me in the classroom. The kids seem to know that I respect them and know a little bit about how hard their lives can be.

The adventure continues, unabated!

2008-02-03T21:41:00.000-08:00

I will try to record here some of my journey and express how my life has taught me that Bosnia, Sub-Saharan Africa, Central America and certainly the Badlands of South Dakota are a lot closer than one would think, if we just tried to get to know the people that reside in those places. I don't think we can ever really know someone else's reality, especially when our culture, socioeconomic class and history are quite different from the people we are trying to understand. I do think it's important that we try though and that's where solidaridad comes in handy. If we allow ourselves to be open to surprise, we may find kinship in unexpected places.

Sometimes the only way to understand something is to be brave enough to walk in someone else's shoes for awhile or at least be willing to take their hand and walk with them ... for however long that may be.