I am from the 30-year old keyboard that sits in the corner of my living room, that my dad bought for me when my parents divorced so that I could still play the piano no matter which parent’s house I was at.  It made me feel a little less torn apart.  I used it to figure out how to play church hymns and video game music from memory. And still do.

I am from the picture of Jesus by my bedside, old and wrinkled and torn in places, that my grandma gave me when she was alive, when I was about 5 years old and having nightmares, as a reminder that Jesus is always with me.  I’ve taken this picture everywhere with me—from my bedroom in Pittsburgh to my college dorm in DC to my three years living in Japan to my current apartment in Arlington.  He has gone with me everywhere.

I am from the pile of smiling stuffed animals in my bedroom that I’ve been collecting since I was three.  In particular, I love the smiling stuffed food—smiling pineapples, smiling French fries, smiling sushi.  It makes so me so happy to imagine that there’s a smile and a bit of love in everything around us, human or not. J

I am from the one-bedroom apartment where I live in the DC area—the first place I’ve ever lived without chronic insects, which finally has both a working heater and a working AC (at the same time!!) I am from the objects all over the walls from all my different overseas travels and the Nintendo/Star Wars shrine in the corner.

I am from the sky, that I’d lie in the grass staring up at when I was younger, watching the clouds, wanting to fly.  Still do.

I am from the trees in the courtyard I can see from my balcony, a bit of nature even in the city.

I’m from the Italian Christmas Eve feast of my father and the Native American mandala made by my mother.  I’m from my mom and dad—people sooooo different that I’m surprised they stayed married as long as they did, but somehow I have so many traits of both of them.  I’m from praying before a meal on holidays in Japanese, Arabic, Spanish, or English—whichever my dad asks me that day—and playing the old eight-bit video game Streets of Rage 2 with my dad and from watching sappy Hallmark Christmas movies with my mom whenever I visit home in Pittsburgh.

I’m from my mom saying, when I was so young we spent Mass in the cry room at the back of church, coloring and not understanding much of what was going on, “It’s almost time to go up and see Jesus”, when it was time to walk down the aisle for Communion; and from my dad telling me, “They’ll know we are Christians by our love” when I called a classmate a name in fifth-grade; and from the lullaby “Tender Shepherd” that my mom would sing me as I went to sleep.

I’m from visiting our grandparents in Florida every summer.  I’m from Pittsburgh, the country’s friendliest city according to some studyJ, and from the Pequot tribe in the northeast as well as a bunch of other places—a proud Native American and a proud multi-immigrant-ancestry American, and from homemade Italian meatballs and gnocchi passed down from grandparents and great-grandparents.

From my mom who had a rock band that rehearsed in our basement three times a week when I was growing up and who would greet me coming off the school bus dressed as a mermaid or a princess as she would go off to do children’s birthday parties.  From the picture of my college graduation on my wall by my bedside—one of the few pictures I have of both my parents together, with my brother and me, and from the crucifix my mother gave me and engraved for me after I lost the beloved one I’d worn for 16 years.

I’m from so much love that I’ve been blessed to have been given—through good times and bad, from family and friends, and most of all from our dear Lord who has never failed to be right beside me.

Well, I’ve already gone over the word limitJ, so will keep the rest short, but the question remains—what does it mean to be a brave and resilient Reconciling Leader?  To me, it means above all, to do everything with love—love for God and love for other people.  To approach those who have hurt us with love. To listen to those we disagree with with love, and with openness to learning and receiving wisdom even in the midst of disagreement. To love others enough to recognize the dignity of their nuances and complexity, to understand that ways they may frustrate me needn’t define them and are not the only part of their story, and that even those who perpetrate great evil and injustice are still beloved children created by a good God who longs to welcome them back like the Prodigal Son. To be a loving bridge between people or groups who are in conflict, to try to help them reach a reconciliation of peace and justice for all, not only for those someone has deemed more worthy. To approach each encounter and process with loving patience, without beating myself up if I can’t accomplish everything I want to in the way and the time I want to. To be loving and compassionate with myself, understanding that I don’t need to be perfect to be enough—more than enough—for God, and that He created me for a purpose that is uniquely mine, and that, as my granddad used to say, ‘The Lord don’t make mistakes.’

Like many, I sit in the morning’s quiet to be reminded of my Belovedness in God.  Fortified with that love and strength, I listen for the ways God invites me to see what is happening RIGHT HERE, and then, to act with compassion.  I listen to hear how God will spark my compassion that I might be moved by what I see and respond with love.

This morning I heard the story of the Good Samaritan at church.  The story is one that has become so familiar that I can fade off in my consciousness.  Almost. Today I was halted by the way it ends: Jesus says, “Go and do Likewise.”  He didn’t say, “After you get your education…” or “After you retire from this job…” or “When you get the chance…”  He said, “Go and do Likewise.”

What if I did?  What if I recognized that I already have everything I need to  “Go and do Likewise”?  I had been searching for the ‘how’ and the ‘where’ and for the ‘new thing’.  Then at Corrymeela, I came to know that my reconciling work has been happening throughout my lifetime.  I credit it to my invitation to sit each morning in the Presence.  Through those morning rendezvous God gave me the gift of healing and reconciliation.  God met me in the silence and reminded me of God’s love and my Belovedness.   I trust it won’t stop.  Because I sit in that space I see it in my life and in my work.  It is manifested within me when I meet people, pray with them, or connect with them–primarily because I am connected to myself and God first. 

When I forget my Belovedness my work becomes a checklist, and my heart is living in a space of scarcity and separation rather than abundance and love. When I remain in an inner space of ‘Oozing Belovedness’ I have what I need to “Go and do Likewise.”

I believe my identity as a reconciling peacemaker encircles entirely around belovedness–in me, and in recognizing it in others with whom I connect.  I must be open to another’s sacred journey by receiving it within me and in my prayer. 

Because God loves me first, I give space for mistakes and own them.

I am grateful for and claim my God-given power, and use it for another’s benefit.

I use affirming language–about myself, others, and my situation.

I ‘make it my business’ to listen with heartfelt compassion to pain, fear, and suffering–however it manifests–and allow it first to inform me, and then lead me through uncharted, scary situations.  I SEE suffering, and respond in quiet ways to acknowledge its depth so hope can birth something new.

I dance unexpectedly, because silliness is good.

And, after considering this question, I realize that what gives me courage to be a Reconciling Leader is knowing that I have done it before and others are doing it also.  Through my experiences I have had the support I need to find strength in the middle of trials, to be vulnerable in the sharing of the story, and to be open to how hope arises from trusting that I am never alone on the Reconciling Journey of Hope.

I am from a family with too many children.
I am from hopscotch and foursquare and Jax on the porch. 
I am from a bedtime routine of “Kiss, Eskimo Kiss, Head rub, and a SQUEEZE!!” 

I am from Mystery before I had words to explain. 
I am from Holy Cards, 1st Reconciliation, uniform skirts, nuns and May Crowning. I am from Church with no place for women, and women who still find a way.  I am from Tradition.

I am from corruption by a sexually-curious, more powerful brother.
I am from ‘protectors’ who replied, “You’re only dreaming…”
I am from Resilience. 

I am from unhealthy athletic ‘perfection’.

I am from suspicion until I met Him…and he saw me.
I am from a box of Cracker Jax and a hidden ring. 
I am from (reluctant) Navy Wife,  and the (even more reluctant) Gold Star Widow.

I am from stolen Courage, Advocacy, Witness and Love seeking my own.

I am from Autopilot-Midnight-Nursing, and Barbies ALL day long.

I am from Courthouse Arraignment’s Compassion for a weeping mother and her only son; guilty as charged.

I am from strength, courage and joy for:
3 trusting babies…
curious toddlers…
insecure pre-teens…
spirited adolescents…
successful adults: 
alone to the task but rising to it every day on my knees.

I am from a maturing faith from “God who Protects” to “God who Sustains”.

I am from the Narrow Way

To forgive…to restore…to redeem…albeit imperfectly. 

I am from holding hands with history formed in imperfect love remaining tenaciously hopeful.

I am from Reconciliation, abiding until God’s kin-dom come.

Blessed Be.

from avocados and chocolate

I am from the warmth of CA sunshine

I am from palm trees

The lemon trees who’s long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own

I am from baking and hosting

from grandmas Carol and Ada

I’m from avoidance and quiet

and from neatness

I’m from conscientiousness and sweetness

and “be careful, dead kids are no fun to play with”

I’m from Burbank and Scotland

and fresh guacamole

From independence and travelling abroad

Confidence and heirlooms for furniture

I am.

The trees full of buzzing cicadas on hot, summer nights

I am from dial-up internet

From Neil Diamond and Kenny G drifting from the CD player

I am from the home that hosted Bible studies

The cul-de-sac where we road bikes and played games with neighbors

And ran barefoot across the burning asphalt

I’m from honor roll and failed piano lessons

And blisters on my toes from hours of ballet rehearsals

I’m from Arizona and other lands long forgotten

I’m from Dominoes with Grammy and Cribbage with Grandpa

From family reunions at the cabin, seeing new faces each year

While never missing the pink stuff

I’m from roast beef and mashed potatoes

From family dinners every night and church every Sunday

And ski trips every spring

I’m from memories documented in photo albums and home videos

And love that’s held close to my heart

Featured Image by Rirri on Unsplash

At the intersection of my Western, White, and Evangelical identities, I inherited a worldview in which I saw myself as the one with something to offer. Underneath the pretense of generosity was a belief that I had more resources, more knowledge, more faith, and more wisdom than others. Why, I was even in possession of the way, the truth, and the life. It was my duty to share it all with those less fortunate – or perhaps less blessed – than myself.

But this mindset doesn’t actually honor the recipient. It reserves the honor and the comfort for the host. It allows me to see myself as the altruistic hero and the benevolent savior while perceiving the other as destitute and downtrodden. It reinforces the hierarchy of power and upholds the supremacy of my perspectives and my culture. It is this mindset that has led Christians to become the chaplains of world domination, in the words of Rabbi David Jaffe.

Though it may seem drastic to draw the line from being the perpetual host to world domination, the threads of pride and power hold it all together. But Jesus showed us a different way. Reverend Rene August describes the way of Jesus as one of self-sacrifice rather than self-preservation. Jesus was not one to hold onto power, even though it that was rightfully his. Instead, he modeled humility for us in taking on flesh, in becoming the servant rather than the host, and in considering the interests of others above his own.

Canon Sarah Snyder reminded us that Jesus was always the guest. He entered into our world, sat at the tables of both Pharisees and tax collectors, received financial support from women, and relied on the kindness of strangers as he traveled around. In doing so, Jesus honored those who hosted him. He upheld their dignity as he drew out their hospitality. When others had disregarded the people on the margins of society, Jesus affirmed that they were worthy and that they had something to offer.

Through the years, I’ve spent a lot of time interrogating my own motivations and deconstructing my long-held beliefs, but I recognize that it’s hard to fully release my savior complex. It’s hard to let go of the notion that others need me while I remain self-sufficient. It’s hard to hold back when I think my education and my experience produce the wisdom that is needed. It’s hard to draw out the leadership and insight of others when it would require less time for me to just take charge. Even as I seek to love my neighbor by offering what I have, I acknowledge the ways that I maintain the status quo by holding onto power.

Now I’m left contemplating these questions…What does it look like for me to draw out the hospitality of others? How can I humble myself to recognize that others have something to offer me, something to teach me? How do I embrace my own discomfort and inconvenience in order to affirm the dignity of those who have been disempowered? How do I embody a life of hospitality that reflects Jesus’ example?

Featured Image by Libby Penner on Unsplash

When I think of power in the Christian context, what comes to mind are the words of St. Paul that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Often I feel so much weaker and inadequate compared to the problems of the world and the healing they seem to require. Sometimes I feel inadequate to the tasks in my own life. Yet God tells us that we don’t need to be powerful; rather, we need to be channels and mechanisms through which His power of love and grace can touch others.

The Church also continually talks about ‘the preferential option for the poor’—that those who have less and are struggling deserve special care and support from those who have more. Jesus told us through His parables that to whom much is given, much is expected, and that whatever we do to ‘the least’ of His children, we do to Him. Whatever our situation in life, we always have some power to help others.  A kind smile or a compassionate word do not require high social position or finances.  Love is a gift God freely gives to us and which He wants us to freely give to others.

I first became active in interfaith engagement after 9/11, a life-changing trauma which spurred me to enter the field of peacebuilding and to work for greater understanding and friendship—and dismantling of negative misperceptions—between Americans and people in Middle Eastern and Muslim-majority countries. While I subsequently spent much time in the Middle East, I also realized that there is much we can do to promote interfaith friendship and understanding here in our own diverse American backyard as well. I helped to found the Interfaith Committee at my church, and for about 7 years, we hosted an iftar (dinner to break the Muslim fast during Ramadan) at our church for our Muslim neighbors, our own parishioners, and some guests of other faiths. I saw the iftars as a way not only to extend hospitality to our Muslim neighbors, but to support them on their own walk with God by providing a space for them to pray and practice their own faith traditions (while also providing a wonderful opportunity for mutual learning). Many wonderful friends and memories came out of these events, and I felt they provided a way for me to more deeply live out my Catholic faith through this way of expressing love for our neighbor.

Having done a lot of work in Pakistan, I heard a story once of a Pakistani Muslim man who saw a news broadcast about an American church which provided space for local Muslims who did not have a mosque to worship. He said he was so inspired by this that he went out, gathered other Muslims in the community, and went to visit and help repair a church in his community in Pakistan. Each such act of love like this can have a ripple effect of inspiring other acts of love, even far across the world, and how much that must please God.

The misinformation campaigns of the big tobacco industry in the 70’s came with a high personal cost, with my father’s premature death from disease resulting from tobacco addiction.  Misinformation about sustainable agricultural practices has led to degradation of soil – the essential skin of our planet. Misinformation through the greenwashing of big oil has huge implications for climate change.  All are alive and well today through mainstream news media, social media, and government policy decisions. 

Over the last two years, Covid misinformation has been evident, with governments saying one thing and other “experts” opposing, with each side adamant they are “right”.  We saw this divide lived out in Canada a few months back, as the truckers convoy literally paralyzed our nation’s capital for weeks as protestors parked their large trucks blocking city streets, blew air horns for several hours a day, flew flags with crude messages, and harassed residents wearing masks. The stated reason for the protest was to oppose covid health regulations, including mask wearing, but in Canada health regulations are set by provincial, not federal governments.  Ottawa does not make the health rules.  Ultimately, the protest was deemed a national security threat, special measures were enacted to enable police to end the protest, and protest leaders were arrested.  Was this in fact a protest to protect the freedoms of Canadians, or was it an attempt to overthrow the sitting government? What roles does misinformation play in creating such polarizing divides? How do we move beyond the reality that has been magnified throughout our time of covid – one person’s misinformation is another’s God given truth? How do we move to a place of respectful dialogue and a mutual working together?

Knowing people on both sides of the covid divide, I can clearly see the influence of social media in misinformation campaigns – not only through the effects of algorithms and echo chambers but also through Clare’s assertions that Russian troll farms fuel conflict in both directions. But misinformation is also alive and well through the mergers of mainstream media providers into a few, concentrated corporate entities with great influence over what stories become news and how those stories are told. How do we bridge divides resulting from these outside influences?  How do we find truth?  What are the effects of these divides on our collective souls, and how does that impact us moving forward?

In the end, I am left with more questions than answers.  

For a long time before this park existed, a vacant lot sat in its place. It was both an eye sore and a safety hazard, but our neighbors wanted something more. They wanted a safe space for their kids to play. Through the years, different groups of people organized and put in the work in hopes of bringing this park to fruition. Often times, people came in with big visions and a strong belief that this would finally be the time for breakthrough, only to be disappointed by barriers and red tape.

Finally, last year, after all the effort that has been put in and some leverage from a couple City Council members who caught sight of the vision, this long held dream became a reality. This little piece of paradise now sits hidden away in a neighborhood that is often forgotten. The children of those first neighbors to cast the vision are now grown. People have come and gone, never getting to see their dreams realized. The park, one year in, is no longer shiny and new. It holds the scars of our neighborhood, but it also holds the beauty of hope embodied.

This park came to mind as I listened to Ben McBride talk about having a 100-year vision. He challenged us to think not just about the goals that we are seeking to accomplish in the present or near future but to think in terms of what we would hope to see in 100 years. He implored us to think about what it would take to show up to work each day knowing that we’ll probably never see the fulfillment of our vision. As Resmaa Menakem puts it, we’ll see the world we want to live in in three to five generations. This sobering reality brings with it an awareness that true, lasting transformation takes time.

Often times, when we start a new venture, our hope takes the form of rose-colored glasses. We might come in with grand visions and action plans to help us get there. Though we might acknowledge the challenges that lie ahead, we move forward in confidence that our vision will be realized in our lifetime. Maybe this type of hope is necessary in those early stages. We need something to grasp onto and to motivate us. We need a compelling vision to inspire others to join in the work. But if our hope is only centered on the immediate outcomes, those rose-colored glasses will lead to disillusionment as we face the barriers that are sure to arise.

As a peacemaker, the vision of building bridges appeals to me. I desire to be someone who is making connections when the world is pulling us apart. I want to help people see a path forward when they’re stuck focusing on the waters raging before them. It’s a beautiful vision, but bell hooks reminds us that “bridges are made to be walked on.” When we seek to create some sacred space in the middle, people on both sides are going to be skeptical. We have to be prepared to be misunderstood, rejected, and even betrayed.

Jesus warned his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion that because they followed him, the world was going to hate them just as it hated him (John 15:18-16:4). That’s not the type of vision that’s going to draw in the masses. Yet, just as Peter had expressed in John 6:68, after traveling around with Jesus for some time, he and the other disciples were convinced that he had the words of eternal life and that there was nowhere better to turn. They had experienced the beauty and goodness of following in Jesus’ footsteps even when they didn’t understand where they were heading, even when they were bruised and broken along the way.

In order to keep moving forward through the trials and setbacks, our hope must evolve. At some point, we have to take off the rose-colored glasses and choose to take up our cross. We have to die to the illusions we’ve had of ourselves. We have to release our timelines and expectations. We have to trust that the twists and turns and stones that cause us to stumble are leading us to something more beautiful than we could have imagined. And though we might never lay eyes on the fully realized fruit of our labor, each step of the journey matters as we are being made new in the process and paving a path for future generations to walk on.

That’s the hope that I walked away with as we ended Module 3. It’s not a shiny or idealistic hope. It’s raw and honest and becomes more beautiful as it’s embodied.

The United States was founded on principles of peaceful coexistence among people of diverse viewpoints and backgrounds, and the ideal that a free people engaging in free debate and discussion can navigate such diverse views to arrive at solutions and decisions. Yet too often now, we seem to be moving from spirited discussions of differing views on how to address a given problem to fundamentally different understandings of the problem itself (or perhaps even whether it exists) and seeing those who hold opposing views as evil or a threat to our deeply-held values.

One way I’ve engaged this problem is as a member and facilitator for Braver Angels (https://braverangels.org/), which works to address toxic polarization by equipping Americans who lean liberal or conservative politically with skills and opportunities to engage in more civil and constructive conversations about issues of deep importance to us. We have chapters in all 50 states which are working at the community level, with religious organizations and educational institutions, through engagement with national media, and most recently with US political leaders and their staff.

One way this work has affected me is through a greater appreciation of the nuances and complexities of the views of many of my fellow Americans on critical issues facing our country. The overwhelming dominance of two primary political parties, in my opinion, is a hindrance in our society to recognizing and grappling with those complexities. It encourages people to be labeled (whether by themselves or others) as one or the other—Democrat OR Republican; liberal OR conservative. But real life is more complicated and messier than that.  Rarely is an issue purely black OR white; rarely are there only two solutions to a problem. As a Catholic, I don’t feel well-represented by either party—I align more closely with the Democrats on issues like care for immigrants and refugees, gun control, expansion of healthcare, and abolishing the death penalty, and with the Republicans on abolishing abortion to protect the lives of unborn children. Thus I am a political Independent. But even among members of a given party, there can be a great diversity of viewpoints on how to address a given issue.

As a nation we need to get better at discussing these differences with greater compassion and openness and less judgmentalism and blame. Recently our local Braver Angels chapter held a conversation about the deeply polarizing and emotional issue of abortion. It struck me that almost unanimously, across various differences of opinion on whether/when abortion should be allowed, people considered the act of abortion to be deeply solemn, not to be taken lightly, and something worthy of deep moral consideration. Understanding the nuances of each other’s views and the deeper values underlying them gave us greater compassion for each other, and also helped us to see areas of commonality.

Being able to engage in, and facilitate, conversations where people can share their deeply held beliefs while still listening respectfully and learning from each other has been transformative not only on an intellectual level, but perhaps more importantly on an emotional and spiritual level, as I have grown in understanding and respect for those fellow Americans who have strongly different opinions from me on some issues but share with me a love for our country and a desire to work together to make things better.

(Image Source: https://hatehasnohome.org/index.html)