Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 42

Pregnant Montana teacher deserves to keep her job

Either we’re pro-life or we’re not pro-life, and firing an unwed pregnant Catholic school teacher is not pro-life no matter how you slice it. I don’t care what her contract said. I don’t buy the notion that children will be scandalized. None of it washes. Let’s face facts. We are all sinners. Some of us, unfortunately, sin in ways that are much more public than others, and so we are called out while everyone else slides by with their private sins rolling merrily along.

Let’s look at one single aspect of this case: Okay, a single woman becomes pregnant, tells her superiors at her Catholic school that she plans to keep her baby, and is subsequently fired by “higher ups” in the Diocese of Helena after officials receive an anonymous letter, according to news reports. What do you think happens the next time a single Catholic school teacher finds herself pregnant with no husband? Yeah, abortion might be the obvious choice if she thinks she might lose her job otherwise. So much for that pro-life thing.

I’ve heard about the “right way” this could have gone down — a kinder, gentler firing of sorts, but the bottom line is that there is no scenario where firing this woman is right. It would have been nice if, instead, the school, the local parish, maybe even the larger diocese  rallied around her and gave her the extra help she might need — babysitting, dinners cooked, some diapers, whatever — to make her life a little easier once her baby is born. And I’m guessing there are individual people from that school or parish who are doing just that anyway because people are kinder and more understanding than the rules allow. Because most of us recognize that there but for the grace of God…

I am dumbfounded that the local Church would fire a pregnant woman no matter what her at-home circumstances. I think back to my life as a student and, to be honest, I couldn’t even begin to tell you about the personal lives of my teachers. It never would have fazed me if my teacher had been pregnant. I didn’t know their husbands, or if they had husbands. I just loved my teachers, plain and simple, exactly as they were — married, single, pregnant, not, young, old, man, woman. Little kids don’t really get into morality, and older kids, well, again, what are we teaching them about choosing life over abortion? Not a lot if they’re seeing their teacher fired for being pregnant and unmarried. That will do more to sway their future actions, I’m sure, than anything else they might have taken from their teacher’s situation.

If we want people to have their babies rather than abort them, we’d better be able to walk the walk, and firing a single woman who has the courage to bring her baby to term on her own in spite of the trouble she had to know she’d face at her job, isn’t walking the walk. It’s walking in the opposite direction. I keep trying to look at this from all sides, but I can’t see any side of this that makes firing the best answer. Did she violate a contract that said she had to uphold Catholic teacher? Yeah. Then let’s go through the lives of every other teacher and see where they did or did not live up to Catholic standards. My guess is they’d be firing the entire staff. We are all sinners. Everyone violates Catholic teaching in one way or another. Why should only the obvious sinners pay the price?

I believe Jesus said it best, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

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Oceans of grace: keeping my eyes above the waves

This is one of those songs that stopped me in my tracks. I happened to have on K-LOVE, when I heard these words sung so sweetly:

You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand

They had me at “oceans.” And so here’s the full song. Beautiful. (Don’t worry. You don’t have to hang in there the whole nine minutes. The second half is singalong/praise, beautiful but not necessary to get the gist.)

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Italy 2014: Quirky Italian ways

If you’re planning to join us in Italy this fall for the Feast for Body and Soul food-faith pilgrimage, start paging through books on Italian travel now. It will make the trip seem that much closer, and you’ll find lots of fun facts that will prove helpful when you’re actually wandering the streets of Florence or Rome or Sorrento (pictured here) or any of the other cities we’ll visit (Montecatini Terme, Siena, Assisi, Naples, Salerno, Amalfi Coast, Sorrento, Massa Lubrense, and the Isle of Capri).

You don’t have to spend a lot of money on books. In fact, on my last trip to Italy, I didn’t buy a single guide book. I sampled different books from our local library system, soaking up my favorite parts of each one. When it was time to travel, I borrowed two of my favorite guidebooks and packed them in my carry on. Now, as I gear up for this next trip, I’m doing the same. It’s a good way to get myself in the mood for all things Italian, while learning some valuable — or totally meaningless but incredibly fun — information along the way.

Here’s a tidbit from Italy: The Essential Guide to Customs & Culture, which I’m reading right now.  Even though I don’t plan on giving gifts or visiting anyone’s private home when I’m in Italy in October, this entry made me laugh and reminded me why I love Italy so much:

If invited to an Italian home, gift-wrapped chocolates, pastries, or flowers are acceptable. Italy is an “odd number” country, so do not give an even number of flowers. Also, avoid taking chrysanthemums, which are laid on graves at funerals and on November 2, All Souls Day. Brooches, handkerchiefs, and knives all suggest sadness or loss so these should be avoided. 

Bellisimo! An “odd number” country? I’m still not even sure what that means, but I love it. So you’ve been warned: No chrysanthemums or knives if we visit someone’s home. October can’t get here soon enough!

We’ll discuss more Italian fun facts in the weeks and months to come. Stay tuned. And if you’ve found a great guidebook, please share in the comment section.

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Do-it-yourself throat blessings

In these parts, throat blessings are hard to come by. No, make that near impossible. It’s just not done. At least not at our parish. So years ago I took it upon myself to do the blessings. And, yes, that’s allowed. The first time I blessed throats for my class of fourth-grade faith formation students, they looked at me in fear and asked if I was going to light those candles before holding them up to their throats. Ah, how sad that these kids don’t know some of the more interesting traditions of our faith. But once I told them about St. Blaise, a bishop and martyr who is said to have healed a boy who was choking on a fish bone, they were all in, and eagerly so.

So if you, like me, can’t find a priest to bless your throat, you just need two white candles, and if you’re able, a small red ribbon to tie them together. Form a cross with the candles, place them (unlit, of course) on the throat of your spouse or child or whoever else is willing to let you do this, and follow these instructions from the Book of Blessings:

1634 A lay minister touches the throat of each person with the crossed candles and, without making the sign of the cross, says the prayer of blessing.

Through the intercession of Saint Blaise, bishop and martyr, may God deliver you from every disease of the throat and from every other illness.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Each person responds: Amen.

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What are you feeding – fear or joy?

I’ve been ruminating on this topic — What are you feeding? — for a while in my private time because I think it’s a pretty big deal. If we feed our fears, if we feed our anxiety, if we feed relationships with people who don’t really care about us or, even worse, make us feel “less than,” we throw a spark on the dead leaves lying around on our spiritual doorstep. Eventually it becomes a raging forest fire of self-doubt or unhappiness and, if we’re not careful, it will siphon off all the energy that should be feeding the good things in our lives. 

So as I was driving to yoga class this morning at 5:15 a.m., energized by the cold air and cheered by the twinkling lights that still decorate many front porches and trees in our town (Thank you, whoever you are!), I was writing the headline for this post. Because that’s what I do, even when I’m driving, even when I’m showering, even I’cleaning bathrooms or raking leaves. I write. It doesn’t always end up here or anywhere, for that matter, but I write almost non-stop in my head. And so I walked into yoga class knowing that I would come home and write a post titled “What are you feeding?” and I had already planned to use that graphic up there, the one that says, “Please do not feed the fears.”

I sat down on my mat in the dark and quiet yoga studio and entered into that silent sacred space that exists wherever we want to find it, if we’re willing, even at the YMCA, and I waited for class to begin. And then this is what my yoga teacher read to start our practice:

Listen. Love laughs

at fear. Can you hear it?

And fear fades in the face

of laughter. Let nothing

distract you from the fact

that fear will grow if you

feed it, and shrink when

you pay it no heed. There.

See? Fear disappears, and

leaves love laughing.

– From “One Soul” by Danna Faulds

By the time she got halfway through that poem, I was smiling on the inside. By the time she got to the end of that poem, I was smiling on the outside. How did she get inside my head this morning? Not sure, but I’m glad she did. At the end of class, I went up to my teacher and asked if I could have a copy of what she read and she said something like this (might not be exact but close enough), “I was sitting in my car this morning picking out this poem and I thought to myself, ‘I hope Mary is in class today,’ because I knew you would love this.” Talk about a soul connection, and just when I needed it most. Thank you, Spirit. You never fail me.

I came home from yoga class, went directly to my computer, and unfriended someone on Facebook who was taking energy I didn’t have to give, a “friend” I didn’t even know but who had entered my life through the magic of social media. Why feed the negative? Because we humans tend to have a weakness for that kind of thing, I think. We want to be loved, we want to be understood, we want to be successful, we want, we want, we want. And so we continue to try to make a connection with people who don’t deserve our time and energy, and we focus our hearts and minds on the fears and worries rather on the gifts and blessings. We think by focusing on those things we’ll become stronger, we’ll overcome the fears, but just the opposite happens. We end up feeding that fire of negativity, and it will burn our joy to the ground if we let it. So don’t.

Today I challenge you to let go of one fear you’ve been feeding, one negative thing that takes more than it gives, and use all that energy to feed something good in your life. Focus on one blessing, one person who deserves your attention and love, one joy, and see what happens.

Peace, blessings, joy, love, namaste.

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Of course yoga is spiritual. That’s the point!

A couple of friends sent me an article today called “Yoga – A Catholic Perspective,” and as soon as I saw the graphic and the one-line synopsis, I knew I wasn’t going to like it. But after getting through about three paragraphs, I realized I was wrong. I didn’t dislike the story; I HATED it. I have to say that this is one of the most insulting pieces — and that’s being really kind — I’ve ever seen written on the topic, and that’s saying something. I mean, I don’t know what this priest’s experience with yoga is personally, but there is almost nothing about this story that holds water for most of us who are intimately involved in the two aspects of his topic: Catholicism and yoga.

I am a Catholic yogi, a title I wear proudly. Yoga makes me a better Catholic. Always has. When I do yoga, I am more in touch with Jesus, more sensitive to other people, and more aware of the things I say and do. But after reading this article, I guess I’ll need to re-evaluate because maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. Here, read this:

Adding on to the individual benefits, there are often attractive cultural aspects of yoga: it helps people meet beautiful people, so that they can become more beautiful themselves.

What’s all this about beautiful people? Clearly this guy hasn’t seen me on my mat at the 5:45 am. yoga class at our local YMCA. I am more Bride of Frankenstein than beautiful at that hour, and I’m guessing the folks on the mats around me probably feel the same way. We’ve just rolled out of bed. The most stalwart among our class have actually clocked miles on the elliptical machine or indoor track before they get to their mats. The room is dark. We have our eyes closed half the time. We start with an intention and end with a prayerful reflection. Yoga, for those who take it seriously, is not about sidling up to outer beauty but uncovering inner beauty — in ourselves and the people around us. At least if it’s done right, but that’s where this writer seems to get it really, really wrong.

He thinks he’s letting us in on some big secret: “Yoga, however, is more than a physical exercise with social benefits.” Well, I hope so. Otherwise I’ll just lift weights or run on a treadmill.  OF COURSE, yoga is more than physical. As a Catholic, that’s precisely why I do yoga, and why I should do more yoga. Yoga calms my mind and settles my soul and allows me to enter more deeply into prayer and to recognize Jesus in the person sniffling and sneezing on the mat next to me, or cutting me off in the parking lot, or emailing me about how I’ve opened a door to Satan because I do yoga. Yeah, that’s not made up.

“…whatever their intentions may have been, many people experience yoga as a gateway to a spirituality disconnected from Christ.”

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that if practicing yoga turns you into a Buddhist or makes you shave your head and join a cult or causes you to renounce Jesus Christ, you probably had some issues going in. Let’s put the blame where it belongs: People become “spiritually disconnected from Christ” sitting in the pews of our Catholic churches every week, no downward dog pose required. They become disconnected from Christ because no one is feeding their hearts and souls, because dead liturgies and mind-numbing homilies have left them adrift. So perhaps we should take a good look at ourselves if we want to figure out why people feel disconnected from the faith of their birth. Yoga has nothing to do with it.

Let’s get one thing straight, yoga is not a path to godlessness. Yoga is a path to peace, love, and compassion. Funny, that sounds likes something else I’ve heard before. What is it? What is it? Oh, yeah, THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. (And you can tell by the fact that I’m using all caps here that I didn’t get to yoga class this morning. I would be much more Christian right now if I’d been on my yoga mat earlier today.)

You know what this is about, people? Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of something different from what we’re used to, fear of our own inner struggles and weaknesses and what we might do if we’re not always on guard. If our faith cannot withstand some yoga classes, well, I think maybe our commitment to our faith was already a little shaky at best or our mental or emotional health was previously compromised. Sure, yoga can become an idol but so can any number of Catholic spiritual practices if they are used in a way that is more about the ritual or exercise and less about the heart of Christianity. For those of us who know without a shadow of a doubt that our hearts belong to Jesus whether we’re kneeling in church or bent like a pretzel on a mat, there is no contradiction or danger. There is a seamless and beautiful symmetry, one that allows the best of what yoga has to offer to reflect back the best of what Christianity teaches.

If I had my druthers, we’d all do yoga, and, if we did, we’d all be a lot nicer to one another, because in that silent space on our yoga mats we’d come face to face with the Divine light that lives deep within each one of us. And that awareness coupled with our Catholic faith cannot help but transform us and, in turn, transform the world around us.

So I’d like to thank Father Ezra for making me more resolute about my yoga practice. This was exactly the reminder I needed to get back to class regularly, although I don’t think that’s what he was going for. And since this story is the first in a series, I’m assuming I’ll be writing more on this topic in the near future.

I’ve actually written about yoga and its role in my Catholic prayer life before. If you’re interested, you can read “Where Amen Meets the Om” by clicking HERE.

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Six years and counting here at Not Strictly Spiritual

Happy Feast of St. Francis de Sales and Happy Anniversary to Not Strictly Spiritual. It was six years ago today that I decided to launch this blog, choosing the feast of the patron saint of journalists and one of my personal favorites as the perfect day to jump into the wild and wacky world of blogging.

This blog has ebbed and flowed with my life, as my regular readers know. And it has morphed and changed along with me. Truth be told, NSS is really a barometer of how things are going on many other fronts of my life. When all engines are firing, it’s blog, blog, blog. When things get a little off kilter, NSS tends to go silent. But this is really my favorite “job” — talking to you about my spiritual journey, or sharing my recipes or photos or favorite songs.

Thank you for joining me here whenever you can. I truly appreciate your friendship and loyalty to this blog, even when I don’t show up for days (or weeks) at a time.

Since today is not only a feast and an anniversary but Flashback Friday, I will be putting up old blog posts over on my Facebook author page just for fun. Visit me there, if you’d like to see more.

And now I thought I’d end this post the same way I ended my very first blog post, with a favorite prayer written by St. Francis de Sales, a prayer I really need to hear again as if for the first time today:

 

Do not look forward in fear to the changes of life;

rather, look to them with full hope that as they arise,

God, whose very own you are,

will lead you safely through all things;

and when you cannot stand it,

God will carry you in His arms.

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;

the same everlasting Father who cares for you today

will take care of you then and every day.

He will either shield you from suffering,

or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace,

and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.

— St. Francis de Sales

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Why am I still here? In this Church, that is.

I’m just going to come right out and say it because I know some of you are probably feeling the same way and maybe even feeling guilty about it: Why am I still here? In this Church. Why? I am struggling, I mean STRUGGLING with the latest sex abuse cover-up news coming out of the Archdiocese of Chicago. As I read the news story today, I could feel my heart sinking and then hardening and then breaking. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to cry or scream or walk away, or possibly all three at once.

Every once in a while I hear from people on the “outside,” non-Catholics who can’t figure out why some of us stay in the face of such evil, especially when you pile more evil on top of the original evil for good measure. And sometimes – especially on days like these – I ask myself that very same question. Why am I still here? Why are any of us still here?

And I thought that today, when maybe you might be thinking the very same thing, it was time to talk about it for a few minutes, to let you know that you’re not alone and that it’s okay to feel this way. More than okay. Many of us haven’t stayed, and maybe if they – and we – had talked more openly about it, they’d still be here with us, working to change things for the better, hoping and praying for the day when those of us who had nothing to do with this horror and scandal will be free of the stain and the association and the pain, although it’s hard to imagine we’ll ever really be free.

Maybe that’s only fair. After all, look at all the children-now-adults who will never be free because of what was done to them. Look at the parents who ache and cry for what their children have suffered and who protest and yell and beg on their behalf. None of them will ever be free, and maybe part of our journey as Catholic Christians is to walk with them, to listen to them, and to stay here and fight for them, to be their voice within the Church.

I can sit here and talk until I’m blue in the face about all the great and charitable things our Church does for others, regardless of their religion or political views. I can wax poetic about the Gospels and the profound yet painfully difficult teachings of Jesus Christ and how that is the only path I would ever want to follow. I can tell myself again and again that this is my only home, with Peter’s words echoing in my head: “Lord, to whom shall we go.”

But every time another cover-up is uncovered, every time another abuse case is revealed, every time another bishop is proven to have looked away rather than acted with swift justice, I feel my core shake and my spirit whither and I ask myself in the silence of my heart: Why am I still here? And yet I am. Here, that is. Struggling. Questioning. Praying. I thought maybe we could struggle together, find strength in each other, and maybe pour our that strength and love on those who are faced with never-ending pain and heartache because of the evils perpetrated against them.

 

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The power of truth

Truth is important to me. I try to speak it here. I try to speak it in my real life. I try to speak it on Facebook. Because, to me, if you ain’t got truth, well, you ain’t got much. But not everybody loves truth, as I often hear via private emails from anonymous strangers, sometimes (but not often, thankfully, because I have great readers) on my blog, and occasionally in comments on my Facebook page.

I think people get uncomfortable with truth because it sort of makes them face their own, even if they don’t like to admit it. And so they have to undermine yours or mine or the stranger spilling her guts on a blog because they think it makes them stronger, gives them power. But they’ve got it totally upside down.

In the past two days, I’ve come across two beautiful blog posts by other writers talking about this kind of truth-sharing, the pain of it, the joy of it, the need for it if you want to live an authentic life.

From The Bloggess, “Strange and Beautiful”:

I don’t know if it’s the planets or the meds or the darkness of winter, but this week I’ve been a bit down in the hole and I suspect I’m not the only one…

If you’re sad or lonely or feeling like you’re one of the misfit toys, know that you are part of us. And remember that those misfit toys always were always far more interesting than the normal ones.

Tell someone that you love them, or that they’re important. And tell yourself. Because it’s true.

 

From Hands Free Revolution, “One Bold Move, Two Healing Words”

My friends, there is something far worse than being called a monster by a total stranger when sharing the painful truths of your life. And that is this: Not revealing your painful truths. Ever. To anyone, not even yourself.

Swallowing your hurts, insecurities, and fears on a regular basis so nobody knows how you really feel is worse than a cruel remark from someone on the Internet.

Holding up a façade like everything is perfectly fine when you feel like you’re dying inside is worse than a not-so-glowing remark on a blog post.

Acting like you’ve never lost it over an exploding toilet …

Acting like you’ve never yelled at your kids …

Acting like you’ve never looked at yourself in the mirror and felt disgusted …

Acting like you’ve never felt awkward, inadequate, or alone is far, far worse than admitting your pain and having someone condemn you for it.

Because here’s what happens when you speak the painful truths locked in your soul: You offer someone else the chance to say, “Me too.”

But it’s not easy.

I’m pretty sure we can all agree that admitting one’s darkest truths to another person is very difficult. I know I’ll never forget when I did it for the first time. Actually, the truth kind of slipped out because I couldn’t hold up the façade for one more minute. But before I had the chance to feel horrified about what I admitted, my friend said, “Me too.”…

My friends, if I I could encourage you to make one bold move today, I would urge you to do this:

Speak your difficult truths.

Invite someone in on your struggles.

Admit things are not as easy as they look.

And if someone admits a mistake, a fear, or a failure, offer up an honest, “Me too.”

To reveal who you truly are gives someone else the permission to do the same. And when two people meet in the loving light of realness, that camaraderie becomes a protective shield—one that can keep you standing even when life’s harshest attacks try to knock you down.

Go to the blog links to read the full posts. Totally worth it. And then go speak your truth.

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Dreams of Italy, visions of Assisi

As the Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul food-faith pilgrimage gets closer, I thought I’d share some of my favorite books about Italy, and this one about Assisi is at the top of that list. If you’re planning to come on the trip — and even if you’re not — this is a wonderful book that will make you want to board the next plane for Italy.

For a long time The Sun & Moon Over Assisi: A Personal Encounter with Francis and Clare by Gerard Thomas Straub was perpetually on my nightstand, my kitchen table, my desk, my coffee table. I was almost never without it for weeks and weeks on end. I read it constantly — and over and over. It is not only the story of St. Francis and St. Clare of Assisi but the story of Straub’s own spiritual transformation. This book is so chock full of spiritual goodies I used it more like a prayer book, often reading a passage just before bed so I’d have something to ponder as I drifted off to sleep.

Interspersed with Straub’s personal history and the lives of the two great saints of Assisi are journal entries and personal reflections on the experiences in Italy that led Straub from atheism to faith, from a secular world view to a decidedly Franciscan perspective on life. I find his writing and his observations inspiring and deeply touching, as if he is peering into my own soul and reminding me of what I need to hear.

Scattered throughout the 6oo-plus page tome are quotes from so many of the spiritual greats — Thomas Merton, Francis de Sales, Teresa of Avila, Henri Nouwen, John of the Cross, Mother Teresa, and, of course, Francis and Clare. I picked up this book in hopes of gleaning some new information about the saints from Assisi, and I certainly have done that, but, even more importantly, I continue to uncover insights and inspirations that are aiding me in my own faith journey.

It’s a great book to read or even just peruse in anticipation of the days we will spend in Assisi on pilgrimage in October. We will spend two days and two nights in Assisi. On our first day there, we will visit the Basilica of St. Mary of the Angels and the Portiuncula, Francis’ Church of the Little Portion, as well as the Hermitage of the Carceri, where Francis and his Friars retreated from the world to pray and fast.

Day two in Assisi will include morning Mass and a visit to the Basilica of St. Francis, including the tomb of St. Francis. We will continue with our walking tour of the village, including the famous Temple of Minerva in the Piazza del Comune, a visit to the Basilica of St. Clare to view the crucifix that spoke to St. Francis, and a wine tasting and light lunch in a local agriturismo.

Are you tempted yet? For more information about the Italy: A Feast for Body and Soul food-faith pilgrimage, click HERE.

 

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