Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 16

On a lighter note…

This week our diocese held its fourth annual Concert for Vocations, which has become a favorite among the faithful. More than 600 people turned out at St. Pius X Church in Loudonville for performances by Bishop Scharfenberger, clergy, religious, seminarians, and lay people. Yours truly was among them. I brought the honky tonk. What a great night. I have so many talented co-workers! Here’s my performance of Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight.”

The post On a lighter note… appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Miscarriage: Love and loss 20 years later

My annual tribute to the baby I lost 20 years ago today, the baby I call Grace:

For the past few days I’ve been looking at the numbers on the calendar, growing more and more introspective as we inched closer to August 6. It was 20 years ago today that I learned the baby I was carrying, my second baby, had died 11 weeks into my pregnancy.

With a mother’s intuition, I had known something was wrong during that pregnancy from a couple of weeks before. The day Dennis and I — with Noah in tow — went to the midwife for my regular check up, I didn’t even take the little tape recorder with me to capture the sound of baby’s heartbeat, so convinced was I that I would hear only silence. I went back for the recorder only after Dennis insisted. But somehow I knew. Because when you are a mother sometimes you just know things about your children, even when there is no logical reason you should, even when they are still growing inside you.

When we went for the ultrasound to confirm the miscarriage, we saw the perfect form of our baby up on the screen. I remember Dennis looking so happy, thinking everything was okay after all, and me pointing out that the heart was still. No blinking blip. No more life.

With that same mother’s intuition, no matter how busy or stressed I am, no matter how many other things I seem to forget as I race through my life at breakneck speed, I never forget this anniversary. It is imprinted on my heart. As the date nears, I feel a stillness settling in, a quiet place amid the chaos, a space reserved just for this baby, the one I never to got hold, the one I call Grace.

In the past, I have talked about the ways Grace shaped our family by her absence rather than her presence, and that truth remains with me. I am very much aware of the fact that life would be very different had she lived. She managed to leave her mark on us, even without taking a breath. She lingers here, not only in my heart but around the edges of our lives — especially the lives of our two girls who followed her. I know them because I did not know Grace. What a sorrowful and yet beautiful impact she had on us.

So thank you, baby, for all that you were and all that you have given us without ever setting foot on this earth. The power of one small life.

The post Miscarriage: Love and loss 20 years later appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

McCarrick scandal proves to be a tipping point #timesup #reformthechurch #whoknew

Typically, I post my monthly Life Lines columns here without comment, but there is nothing typical about this column. I wrote it in the wake of the McCarrick abuse revelations. Running up against my deadline — as usual — I knew this one probably needed to be seen by a few extra eyes before it appeared in Catholic New York, the newspaper of the Archdiocese of New York. I am grateful for the encouragement I received to say what I needed to say, even if it is uncomfortable for some. Here it is:

“Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock of my pasture, says the Lord…You have scattered my sheep and driven them away. You have not cared for them, but I will take care to punish your evil deeds.” (Jer 23:1-2)

When I heard those opening lines of the first reading at Sunday Mass a few weeks ago, I snapped to attention and clung to the hope that perhaps my pastor might hinge a homily on them, so desperate was I for words to soothe the sense of betrayal, shock, outrage and sadness I’ve felt since news broke of Cardinal Theodore McCarrick’s alleged repeated and long-term sexual abuse of at least two minors and multiple seminarians. He was my first bishop boss; I went to work for the Communications Office of the newly formed Diocese of Metuchen, N.J., fresh out of college in 1984. I was the only reporter covering then-Bishop McCarrick. I soaked in countless homilies, received Communion from him many times, conducted personal interviews, followed him around, and, yes, met at least one of his “nephews” along the way. (That’s how he introduced the young man to me.)

Now I find myself shaken to the core in a way I haven’t since the original abuse scandal broke years ago, perhaps even more so. As I sat in Mass that Sunday of the Jeremiah reading, I looked around and marveled at what can only be pure faith that keeps us “regular” Catholics coming back week after week, even as we wrestle with inner conflict over the news, even as we read stories that horrify us to the point that we have to pause in our reading just to get through them.

We faithful in the pews have suffered much in recent decades. I have heard from many Catholics who are struggling. Some continue to hang onto their faith, some have drifted away, and some—already separated from the Church—say this is one of the reasons they won’t return. As this latest scandal continues to unfold, we wonder how much more—how much more can we take, how much more is still to come, how much more before we finally can’t bring ourselves back to church out of sheer exhaustion and disgust and, sadly, the gnawing realization that disbelief is creeping into our souls, because if one of our most powerful and respected leaders in the hierarchy could be so corrupt and the people surrounding him so willing to turn a blind eye to his immoral and destructive deeds, is all of this just a mirage?

I am so grateful that Cardinal Timothy Dolan had the courage to do what others refused to do and brought this horror into the light. And I am grateful to my own boss, Bishop Edward Scharfenberger of Albany, who has been so forthright and transparent in bringing information into the open. They both give me hope that all is not lost.

Quite frankly, Catholics want leaders to talk about this, to acknowledge the horror and pain, and to ensure that what is happening now never happens again, because with each new revelation, the Body of Christ takes another blow and a few more parts drift away.

I will tell you that, personally, I am grappling with this in the deepest of ways. Not only am I disgusted by the knowledge of what Cardinal McCarrick has done, but I am devastated by the realization that friends and co-workers I respected and trusted there had to have known and kept silent either out of fear or ambition or plain old weakness.

Martin Luther King Jr. once famously said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” Those words feel truer than ever to me. It is time to shine a light on everything, every last corner, and finally drive out the last of this darkness, this pure evil in our midst, at every level. We cannot be afraid. Only the truth will set us free.

This column originally appeared in the Aug. 2, 2018, issue of Catholic New York.

The post McCarrick scandal proves to be a tipping point #timesup #reformthechurch #whoknew appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Shoes tell a story. A love story.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, I think feet may be the doorway to all understanding. That revelation came to me recently when I was in the front pew of my parish church in upstate New York. I was kneeling after Communion and didn’t want to look toward the altar as I prayed because doing so would have felt intrusive to those receiving Communion just a few feet away. So, I looked down at the floor in front of me.

After a few minutes, I began to realize that this view was perhaps even more prayerful than any other because watching people’s feet—more specifically, their shoes—as they shuffled or walked by told me a story, a love story, about people connected to each other across years and challenges, fashion taste and physical necessity, all there for the same reason, all hungry for the same thing.

Clicking high heels went by, so narrow and pointed I wondered how the woman could walk but knew without lifting my head that the rest of her outfit and demeanor would be just as stylish and “together.” Then came the rhythmic smacking sound of flip flops on young feet, the soundless stride of wingtips on an older gentleman, sneakers of every kind, orthopedic shoes, glittery shoes fit for only a very tiny princess, shoes with lights that bounced along just behind the sensible shoes of a mom used to running after toddlers, then two sets of shoes moving slowly, side-by-side—one of the few that made me lift my head to catch the sweetest scene of an older man helping his wife back down the aisle. I couldn’t help but imagine them doing the same on their wedding day many years before.

With each passing set of shoes, I felt love and understanding deepening over the seemingly superficial but obvious reminders of our shared human condition, and how fragile and fast-moving this life is. How quickly we go from skipping along next to a parent in carefree, bright orange sandals to shuffling along slowly in protective shoes with the aid of a cane and a spouse, if we’re lucky. It was a beautiful parade of commitment and determination, joined together in our spiritual home, receiving our Lord in the Eucharist, together as the family that we are, unrelated by blood in most instances but bound to each other by the waters of our baptism and the indelible words written on our souls, “I have called you by name; you are mine…” (Is 43:1)

Too often we see our differences first, the things that separate us, whether it’s a political view or our choice of church attire, but the truth is that we are united at our core, on a soul level, to the One who loves, heals, forgives and draws us to himself for all eternity. We belong to each other, but it’s easy for that truth to get lost in the din of a world set on convincing us that anything different from who we are and what we believe is deficient, maybe even dangerous.

“We are obliged to love one another…If we wait for some people to become agreeable or attractive before we begin to love them, we will never begin,” writes Thomas Merton in “No Man Is an Island.” “…love implies an efficacious will not only to do good to others exteriorly but also to find some good in them to which we can respond.”

The classic idiom maintains that before we judge someone we must walk a mile in his or her shoes. I would suggest, however, that we don’t have to go that far; we simply need to watch the feet filing by us at Mass to know that, whether in heels or flats, sneakers or flip flops, we are all on the same path to the same God who does not care what’s on our feet but what’s in our heart.

This column was originally published in the June 6, 2018, issue of Catholic New York.

The post Shoes tell a story. A love story. appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Appreciating the masterpiece that is your life

When we returned from a weeklong family trip to Rome, several friends asked me to name the one monumental moment from the trip, the standout thing that made the visit.

Was it seeing our son, Noah, for the first time since he had left months before to study abroad?

Was it bringing our entire family to the pope’s Easter Mass?

Was it taking Olivia and Chiara to view Michelangelo’s masterpiece in the Sistine Chapel?

Surprisingly enough, although each of those moments was special for different reasons, the things we will remember most, the real monumental moments, were the smaller, unplanned twists and turns, as is so often the case on this journey called life.

I can tell you for certain that one experience that will stay with all of us for years to come was the day we started at the Colosseum and trekked our way across Rome; nine miles to be exact. As we left behind the quaint, twinkling lights of Trastevere—Rome’s version of Greenwich Village—we turned to Google Maps to get us back to our hotel. Already tired from hours of walking, we found ourselves staring up at a steep hill, followed by a steeper staircase. We trudged along, finding moments of joy in the unexpected overlooks, lapping water from a gurgling street fountain, our adventure spirit still intact. But, as we walked along the edge of a winding road with fast-moving traffic only an arm’s length away, we began to question ourselves, and Google Maps. We finally reached our destination, exhausted and sore, but with an experience that, in hindsight, made us laugh. It’s a far cry from standing under St. Peter’s dome, but there was something even more magical and memorable about that day because of our unexpected detour.

From the little restaurants we discovered down narrow cobblestone alleys, to the afternoon spent in a park where we were mistaken for native Italians, to the crazy traffic jam on the way back from Pompeii, we created memories out of mundane moments that ended up surpassing the spectacular scenery. It can be difficult to find those same kinds of everyday miracles in the midst of the daily grind back home.

We’re usually busy just trying to get things done—work, family responsibilities, chores and more. It can feel like nothing particularly special is going on. We need a vacation to do that, some gorgeous destination where the memory-making is obvious and abundant. Stop and think for a minute about the things that have left lasting impressions on your heart and soul. Not only are many of those things probably right there in plain sight, but some of them may even be not-so-happy memories that linger with a bittersweet force you wouldn’t trade.

My mother’s death is one of those memories for me. Sitting at her bedside and holding her hand as she took her last breath is the single most powerful moment I’ve ever experienced. In that moment, when my mother exited her earthly life, I felt as though I was touching the other side. It’s a monumental memory that will never leave me, and yet it happened on the saddest day of my life.

Look around and notice the amazing events playing out right now before your eyes. The flowers blooming, the baby crying, the grown children spreading their wings, the co-worker making you laugh just when you need it most, the unexpected card that arrives in the mail, even the sorrow that weighs on your heart. They are all single strokes that make up the masterpiece that is your life. You don’t need to stand before a Michelangelo, as fabulous as that might be, to appreciate the wonders of this world. Sometimes you just need to step back and breathe in the glory of now in all its messy and sometimes-painful beauty.

This column originally appeared in the May 10, 2018, issue of Catholic New York.

The post Appreciating the masterpiece that is your life appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Cowering in the brambles

Right about this time in the Easter season, I begin to slip into complacency. The enormity of the resurrection starts to seem “ordinary,” one more thing I take for granted. Yesterday’s readings provide the spiritual equivalent of cold water thrown in my face, which is exactly what I need.

As I read the Acts of the Apostles, I am brought up short by one line, actually one piece of one line: “. . . who was I to be able to hinder God?” This is a beloved pastime of mine, hindering God, or at least trying to. I always think I know better. I tend to plow ahead with abandon, hoping God will catch up and follow along. Instead, I usually end up standing in the middle of nowhere, spiritually speaking, and wondering why I feel so alone. Enter the Shepherd of today’s Gospel.

Jesus keeps trying to gently—and sometimes not so gently—usher me through the gate, even as I look for a chink in the wall where I might slip through or hoist myself over, always attempting to bend God’s will to my own.

I wander, I stray, I beg God to bring me home, even as I hide in fear and shame, cowering in the brambles of everyday life. And still, the Master calls me by name in the darkness, beckoning me to scurry through the gate that leads straight to the place I have been so desperate to find. Who am I to be able to hinder God?

This reflection originally appeared in the April 23, 2018, edition of Give Us This Day, a monthly Scripture publication. For a free sample or to subscribe, click here.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

The post Cowering in the brambles appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

What kind of cage have you built for yourself?

A few weeks ago, I took my daughter, Olivia, to see a production of “Les Miserables” in a beautiful old theater not far from our home. The show had been a favorite of mine back in the 1980s, when I worked in Manhattan and had the chance to see it twice on Broadway, so I was excited to share the experience with Olivia, who has a bit of the Broadway bug.

As I sat in the darkened theater, watching as (spoiler alert) Javert stood on the bridge about to jump to his death, I suddenly felt as though I was seeing things as Victor Hugo must have seen them, if only for a flash. His words turned the stage into a swirling frenzy of water, darkness and desperation mixed into a deadly brew. Javert’s hopelessness sown from his own unwillingness to love was palpable among the hushed crowd.

A few days later, with the songs playing as background music in my head as I went about my cooking and cleaning at home, I could not help but to come back to the story again, digging past the French Revolution, unrequited love and untimely death to that scene and the heart of the matter: the prison we humans create for ourselves out of nothing more than our own thoughts, fears and desires.

Although he had not been shackled as John Valjean had been for his crime, Javert was imprisoned nonetheless, perhaps even more so. He did not wear chains, but he lived inside a cage built from his own fear and insecurity, from his inability to achieve what he most wanted—in this case, to punish someone else, to derail another person’s dreams and hopes, the worst kind of want. Conversely, John Valjean could not truly be imprisoned even when he was under lock and key, because he was motivated by compassion and a higher purpose.

We all live in self-made prisons of sorts, choosing things that cut us off and shut us in from the love and joy God longs for us to share. What forms the bars of your prison? What keeps you chained to a circumstance or person, an idea or fear, to the point that you willingly give away your joy and freedom in the name of an unattainable and unholy grail? Often the things that tie us down are not great evil but daily choices that, over time, chip away at our happiness.

In the final days before Easter, we watched as another man allowed his obsessions to overtake him. Like Javert, Judas lost sight of the truth, lost sight of the goodness in others, and, after his fateful decision to betray Jesus, lost hope. He chose death over mercy and dark over light, unable to escape the cage he crafted choice by choice.

Easter shows us the flip side of that equation—our chains loosed for no other reason than love, pure love, God’s love made manifest here on earth in the person of Jesus, who died so that we could be free. Jesus shows us what it takes to live in hope, even when circumstances around us say otherwise, to make choices day by day that build a ladder to heaven rather than bars that create our own hell on earth. With Jesus on the cross and in the resurrection that followed, we learn the power of unconditional love, the hope that comes with faith, and the power of forgiveness in the face of the most unspeakable injustice and hurt.

During this season of light and love, when we celebrate the ultimate sacrifice that has secured our salvation, let us try to look upon the crosses we bear for what they really are, not a path to sorrow and hopeless but a lesson to love in spite of it all. “Les Miserables” closes with these words: “To love another person is to see the face of God.” Love where you might otherwise feel justified to hate and watch the walls come tumbling down.

This column originally appeared in the April 12, 2018, issue of Catholic New York.

The post What kind of cage have you built for yourself? appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Have you hugged your colon today?

It’s mid-March, and that can mean only one thing on this blog: It’s National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. That means it’s also time for me to parade out a photo of my fine-looking colon to get your attention. Yes, that is my actual colon on the left, as photographed by my kick-butt (pun intended) gastroenterologist. (Be thankful I limit my coverage to still photos.)

Why am I so passionate about something that many people (wrongly) feel ashamed to talk about? Because I would rather talk about this disease and pay attention to this disease than die of it, which is what my mother did just about 30 years ago at the ripe old age of only 47. So, listen up, people.

If caught early, colon cancer is a curable disease. If not caught early, it will kill you. Sometimes very quickly. My mother had months not years, and not very good months considering what they did to try to save her. So, for your health, for your family, for anyone who cares about you, go get a colonoscopy as soon as you can if you are over 50 and have never had one, or if you are under 50 but have a family history of colon cancer or any diseases of the colon. It is not as bad as you would imagine. Really. I’ve had four so far and the advances they’ve made in the prep work that needs to be done is remarkable. The first two experiences were like night and day, and I can honestly say that I no longer fear the next one, which, I am happy to say, has been moved out from every two-to-three years to every five years, thanks to my sterling record.

In addition to getting a test to makes sure you don’t already have colon cancer or the polyps that can lead to cancer, you can also take some steps to try to prevent colon cancer. Increase fiber, decrease meat. Yes, that’s right. Cut down on meat. It’s something I need to remember. There was a time I was a vegetarian precisely for this reason, but now I’ve gotten lazy and complacent and pile on the animal fat with abandon. Not good. Red meat, especially, is no friend to the colon. Cut it out or at least cut it down. High fat diets aren’t so great either. Click HERE to read about dietary suggestions for colon health.

If you want more information on the signs and symptoms of colon cancer, testing, prevention and more, go to the American Cancer Society by clicking HERE. Now, go call your doctor and make an appointment before I put up photos of someone’s unhealthy colon just to scare you.

The post Have you hugged your colon today? appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

The end is the beginning; the mistakes are the lesson

This week we delve into our final chapter of Cravings, but that doesn’t mean we’re done with this topic or this journey. In fact, this is just the beginning. At least I hope it is. By this point, I hope you’ve made some peace with food and perhaps have learned to weave in some quiet time to eat mindfully, journal, pray, or just sit in silence now and then. Whatever you’ve started during this eight-week process, keep it up. Continue journaling, if that worked for you. Stay in touch with our community here or build community where you are so you don’t have to go it alone. But, more than anything else, take at least a few minutes every day to be with God. Even if the food habits slip or the mindfulness goes out the window now and then, just keep coming back to the God, to the beginning, and start again. There is no failing here. There is no wrong way to do this. We find lessons everywhere, even in the “mistakes,” even when we beat ourselves up because we didn’t measure up to our own expectations. It all takes us to the next place on the path.

From Chapter 8:

“When we live life in balance — bringing prayer, moderation, and mindfulness into our cooking, our eating, and other aspects of our busy lives — we discover what the monastics and other holy men and women have long known: Whether we are feasting or fasting or somewhere in between, food should have a sacred role in our lives. It can be something we sacrifice, something we savor, something we share, and through it all we can remain fulfilled because we are grounded in God, the only One who can satisfy our hungry hearts.”

Feasting and fasting… We are deep into Lent at this point. How are the lessons from this Cravings journey tied into this sacred season ? Can we pick one aspect of this journey and work at it more intensely during these last weeks of Lent? Maybe there’s something that has nothing to do with food that we now realize gets in the way of our happiness. Begin there. Our sacrifices during Lent don’t have to be food fasts. We can give up gossip or social media, too much TV or too much unnecessary work. Or maybe it’s food, plain and simple. You don’t necessarily have to cut out a certain food; you can add in more mindfulness or perhaps cook more simply. But whatever we choose, we have to weave prayer through it and give it a real spiritual intention. Remember, fasting without prayer is just a diet.

At the start of this Cravings reboot, I had hoped to weave in lessons from Everyday Divine. Well, that never happened, and I apologize. Life got in the way, but perhaps now is the time. I always say that Everyday Divine is about mindfulness, intention and prayer in ALL of life, painting with broad strokes. Cravings is the more narrowly focused plan that hones in on just one aspect of life. So, if you liked the Cravings journey, I think you’ll enjoy Everyday Divine, as it will expand on what we’ve done here and apply it to the big picture. Check back now and then for new posts related to that. I will tag those posts so they appear under the “Everyday Divine” tab at the top of the blog.

If there’s anything I did not provide during this journey over the past eight weeks in terms of support or feedback, please comment here or email me privately so we can talk about it further. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being part of the Cravings Tribe. I hope it helped in some small way. See you back here as we get ready for the next leg of the journey.

Our musical inspiration for the week: Touch the Sky by Hillsong UNITED:

“My heart beating, my soul breathing

I found my life when I laid it down

Upward falling, spirit soaring

I touch the sky when my knees hit the ground”

The post The end is the beginning; the mistakes are the lesson appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.

Seeking Easter hope amid Lenten sorrow

I stood in the upstairs hallway of our home recently, hugging my 12-year-old daughter, who was finally expressing outwardly the fears that must have been churning inside her for a day or so in the wake of the Parkland, Fla., school shooting. I held her and told her that it was okay to feel sad and scared. I wished I could tell her this was something she didn’t need to fear, but I knew that would be a lie, so I told her, “You’re safe here with us tonight.” Because the truth is I cannot promise her that she will be safe in her school or at the mall or at a concert. Those days are gone, and it stuns me to admit that horrifying fact.

When I wrote my first book, Parenting a Grieving Child: Helping Children Find Faith, Hope, and Healing after the Loss of a Loved One, back in 2002, I included a section called “When the Unthinkable Happens,” where I addressed 9-11 and what was then a much-shorter-but-still devastating list of school shootings. In 2015, a revised version of my book was issued by Loyola Press, in part because our world had changed so dramatically we needed to update several sections to help parents and other “helpers” who might be called on to calm the fears of the children in their care. What a sobering task, to comfort your children and know full well you can do nothing to protect them because the people who have the power to effect change refuse to do so.

The fact that my children regularly have to practice lockdown drills and learn how and where to hide if a shooter is on a rampage should not be business as usual. The fact that my workplace sponsors active shooter awareness training is depressing but necessary. That we have reached a point where any of this is “normal” and is addressed only through rhetoric with little to no action is irresponsible and perhaps even criminal. Our children are worth more than this; our country is better than this.

When my oldest left for his study abroad semester earlier this year, I had a swell of panic as I imagined all that could go wrong as he navigated life in a foreign city. Eight weeks later, I realize my two younger children may be in much greater danger in their suburban schools than my son is riding the bus line around Rome. How is that possible? How did we get here, and why aren’t we willing to stop this runaway train of devastation and death before one more child has to die?

It feels especially appropriate, given the state of our world, to be journeying toward Calvary during these weeks of Lent. The Scripture readings raise the same questions: How is this possible? How did we get here? We know the events that will unfold over the course of Holy Week. We know the horror human beings are capable of inflicting on one another, even on the Son of God. We also know that the pain and sorrow of that week will end in new life for all of us, and we cling to that hope even as we stare into the abyss. Darkness will not win.

It can be hard to remember that when my teenage daughter is in her bedroom crying as she reads news reports out of Parkland. We are better than this, made in God’s image, and God calls us to create a better world, to bring about His kingdom here on earth. We cannot do nothing and expect change. We must have courage and, like the women who stood at the foot of the cross on Good Friday and ran to the tomb on Holy Saturday, refuse to be paralyzed by fear, swayed by the comfort of convenience, or convinced all is lost. Love wins. We will celebrate it on Easter, but we must live it every day, for the sake of our children, for the sake of our world.

This column originally appeared in the March 1, 2018, issue of Catholic New York.

The post Seeking Easter hope amid Lenten sorrow appeared first on Not Strictly Spiritual.