An Urgent SOS

June – Ordinary Time

I was listening to Bishop Robert Barron’s “Summer with the Psalms” on Hallow when I sensed a tap from one of my muses: “I am like a growing olive tree in the house of God…” (from Psalm 52). Diverted by that ripple in my stream of consciousness, I then scrolled through my iPhone Notes to find a potential poem starter I had inscribed a couple of years ago and up until now had not revisited:

The olive tree
Deeply rooted in the desert of my backyard
Sends an urgent SOS
To its ancestors

What is it about olives that inspires me? In addition to my passion for eating them at almost every meal, I realize I am often drawn literally and metaphorically to the olive tree and the fruit it produces. I remember being a cub reporter on the local political beat in Tucson shortly after graduating from college. One of the stories I covered was when the county board of supervisors banned the future planting of olive trees because so many are allergic to the seasonal pollen. Judging by the thousands of trees still blooming in Tucson, the success of that decree may still be up for debate. The fortitude of the single olive tree in our backyard is also testament of this when each year it drops a bushel of olives from its branches despite its advertised “non-fruit bearing” status!

Prayers among the olive trees at St. Augustine Catholic High School

I delighted in the prolific olive trees at my former school. One year, during my tenure as principal at St. Augustine Catholic High School, I carried empty buckets into the courtyard to harvest a crop of black and green olives to share with my neighbors. We scoured the Internet for methods to cure the fruit of its unyielding bitterness. After a month of brining them in saltwater baths, we preserved them in olive oil, lemon peel, and fresh herbs. So good.

During my recent trip to Israel, fellow pilgrims remarked about my meal choices while observing me fill my plate at breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a handful of those salty jewels, which I graced with a drizzle of oil, a sprinkle of Za’atar, and a side of fresh feta. I had to increase my water intake substantially during those two weeks to counteract the salt-induced swelling in my fingers.

Photo my husband took in Crete: 3,000 year old “Monumental Olive Tree of Vuves”

It is not the simple joy of eating olives that has drawn me to the Bible and back to my poem (or not) starter. I am discovering new meaning in the Psalms, and not necessarily for reasons that could be defined as holy. I feel tuned into the way the authors – David, Solomon, Moses. Asaph, and others – don’t seem afraid to say it like it is. They recognize times and people in Israel’s diverse history that were both tragic and filled with hope. While some of their words are quite colorful, critical, and harsh about the actions of their fellow man, they also express a deeply-rooted longing for what is divine and true.

I limit myself in what I express out loud about the world, its leaders, its politics, and its problems. After all, everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and I try to be very respectful of that. Those who know me often accuse me of being “too nice.” Yet, I should not have to apologize for striving to be someone who always seeks the good in others and places high expectations on herself to model that good. That is not to say, however, that my resolve does not waiver at times. For example, these lines from Psalm 73 also recently caught my attention: “How good God is to the upright, to those who are pure of heart: But, as for me, my feet had almost stumbled; my step had nearly slipped because I was envious of the arrogant, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. For they suffer no pain, their bodies are healthy and sleek, they are free of the burdens of life, they are not afflicted like others…They say, ‘Does God really know? Does the Most High have any knowledge?’ Such then, are the wicked, always carefree.” (Asaph).

The trunk of an olive tree at a winery & olive distillery I visited in Calabria, Italy

I cannot even remember the last time I felt carefree. When I read that psalm, I do not visualize Israel. Rather, I see and hear the news broadcast from every channel on my television. I witness the incessant “breaking” updates that flash across my phone’s screen. I cringe at the arrogance and skewed statistics barked from the mouths of those we elect to be our voices as they interrogate those who have chosen to serve their country. I cannot escape what I observe. My “feet almost stumble,” my “step nearly slips.”

But then…olives.

Olives I could not resist in the Holy Land!

I reflect on the olive tree in my Arizona backyard. I see me – still green in so many ways – in this garden of God. I observe the sturdy trunk that has thickened over the years, the fragrant blossoms persistently hanging to the branches despite being battered by desert monsoons, the gnarled roots continuing their journey outward and downward. I whisper a prayer of my own design, sending words to play among wind-tossed leaves – “an SOS” to our ancestors. Like that olive tree referenced in Psalm 52, “I trust in God’s mercy forever and ever…. I will put my hope in your name – for it is good.” Thank you Asaph, David, Moses. Thank you dear ancestors.

“My Trip to Israel”

March – Lent

Since returning home from my recent pilgrimage to the Holy Land, I have been struggling to find the words to describe not only the people and places I encountered, but more significantly, the heritage of my own faith formation.

After a couple of weeks of beginning, and then deleting, this blog post, I chose to organize my thoughts like the English teacher I am. The elements of plot (and an overabundance of metaphors) have once again come to my rescue!

Exposition: Visiting the birthplace of Christianity proved to be as disconcerting as it was inspirational. I felt like I had jumped into the pages of a book I had been required to read my whole life but still didn’t fully comprehend. As a Roman Catholic, the sacraments of baptism, reconciliation, communion, confirmation, and marriage have put flesh on the bones of my very being. Skipping through the chapters of Jesus’s life as we traced a path around the map of Israel offered me a glimpse into his humanity from his birthplace to the city where he began his ministry to the banks of the sea and along the rocky paths that led to the sights of his death and resurrection. Along the way, I discovered a conflict in the plot of my own life – one that, even in my sixth decade, is rocking me from my comfortable cradle of Catholicism and into the very thorny realm of deeper thought.

Setting: Israel is about 270 miles long and only 85 miles at its widest point (roughly the size of New Jersey!). It is bordered on the north by Lebanon, the northeast by Syria, the east by Jordan, the southwest by Egypt, and the west by the Mediterranean Sea. I can’t even begin to scrape the top layer off the fledgling knowledge I have about Israel’s history. Ongoing archeological excavations have uncovered a pre-Biblical world that has evolved through the Roman and Byzantine empires, Islamic dynasties, the Crusades, and onward to the end of World War I when it was placed under the control of the British. Only in 1948 did Israel become an independent state, which has further enunciated the divisions between its current residents, Israelis and Palestinians. Discernible tension is marked by territories divided not only by neighborhoods, but also by checkpoints and barbed-wire fortified settlements. Disputes continue over land and the status of refugees. In any newspaper, there is usually at least one article a day about the often-deadly conflicts that arise in this small but strategic corner of the world.

Rising Action: In Tel Aviv where we boarded the bus on the first morning of our pilgrimage, our guide Nassar introduced himself as a “Palestinian Christian Israeli Arab.” During the next few hours, we stopped for visits in Caesarea Maritima to see the ruins of Herod the Great’s palace and then continued to Haifa and Mt. Carmel. Nassar explained that out of 9.8 million people in Israel, only 165,000 are Christian and that number is decreasing. About three-fourths of the Christians are Arab. Most of Israel’s population is Muslim, followed by those of the Jewish faith. In addition, there are Bedouins, Druze, Soviet refugees, and several other groups within groups of religious and cultural denominations. A living example of this erased the lines of history as we drove past a Bedouin camp adjacent to Israel’s modern main highway. Although they had been given land to settle on, many Bedouin families have chosen to live in traditional temporary neighborhoods comprised of tents and makeshift structures (some even with satellite dishes on their “roofs”)!

Conflict: While many conflicts exist in Israel, this is where the plot became personal to me. I became a character rather than a voyeur in the story. Being “in” the scenes where Christianity was born and where it is obviously a minority religion, I found myself constantly asking, “Would I have accepted Christianity at the time of Jesus?” and “Who, way back in my family’s history, was the first person who chose to become a Christian?” (This certainly doesn’t show up in my Ancestry.com report!)

Over our 12-day pilgrimage, we walked in the footsteps of Jesus, his family, and his disciples. We visited the Church of the Annunciation in the area where Mary said “yes” to becoming the Mother of God. We saw where tradition says places the workshop of Joseph. We ate lunch at Christian pilgrim houses and said grace before our meals while through the windows we heard Muslims being called to prayer over the speakers of the surrounding mosques. We celebrated the renewal of wedding vows in Cana for the couples on our trip. We stood on the path Jesus walked from Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee. We visited Capernaum (Kfar Nahum), said to be the hometown of Matthew and the apostles and where Jesus spent much of his time in ministry. We sailed on the Sea of Galilee. We visited Jericho, Bethlehem, and Jerusalem. We spoke with student ambassadors at Bethlehem University who shared not only a tasty meal from their culinary school, but insights about their own cultures and religious practices – living normal lives as young adults of all faiths within the boundaries drawn between neighborhoods and communities in this small state. We spent three days within the walls of the Old City of Jerusalem and visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, located in the Christian Quarter. There, we walked past the site where Jesus was crucified and touched the empty tomb that marks the place of his resurrection. We walked the Via Dolorosa, each of us taking turns to carry the cross. It was also an honor to pray at the Western Wall alongside sisters of the Jewish faith.

Climax: Each stop along the way of the cross humbled me…and unsettled me. More questions: Would I have been one of Jesus’s followers? Would I have been one of his those jeering at him? Would I have been working at one of the shops in the city, and barely looked up when I saw the commotion along the street that day Jesus was led to his crucifixion? How was I chosen to be a Christian and born into membership of the Catholic Church?

Much of my faith formation has been based on practices including church on Sundays, the sacraments, teaching at Catholic schools, and a catechism that I often call my “rules for the road.” Nowadays, I find myself hungry for more. I am studying the catechism. I am making connections between the theology and my life through a new lens.

Falling Action (or perhaps not): I confess that the stranger assigned to the seat next to me on the airplane ride from Tel Aviv back to the United States tested my pilgrimage peace with un-Christian like thoughts that ranged from anxiety to frustration. Fifteen hours, six movies, a couple of glasses of wine, and a myriad of deep-breathing exercises matched with poor attempts at prayer made me want to kiss the ground even before my husband when I finally got home! But now that I have had time to do laundry, disperse gifts, organize photos, and read my journal, I can truly say that what I experienced was not a vacation. It was a pilgrimage.

Resolution: There is grace to be found in conflict. I have re-discovered a passion to learn more about the history of Christianity that has shaped me as a woman of faith in this complicated kaleidoscope of a world. I desire more theological knowledge and am grateful to finally have time in my retirement to study. Last year’s Bible in A Year program with Father Mike Schmitz was fresh in my mind as I visited the sights on our pilgrimage – mostly because I now have a “visual” of Old and New Testament readings. This is being reinforced by the Catechism in a Year program I am pursuing this year. I am adding titles to my reading list titles of books I own but have never read – those by Scott Hahn, Peter Kreeft, Thomas Merton, and even Saint Augustine!

While the conflict I touched upon during my trip made me ponder my own Christian roots and the person who I would have been 2,000 years ago, it also has led me into an even more determined conviction to share my faith. The number of Christians are not only dwindling in Israel, but they are also falling in the United States. Pew Center statistics estimate that in 2020, about 64 percent of Americans, including children, were Christian. Those religiously unaffiliated accounted for 30 percent. Other religions – including Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists – totaled about 6 percent. The study further notes that if these rates continue, projections show Christians of all ages will shrink to 54 percent by 2070 and the unaffiliated could rise to anywhere between 34 and 52 percent of the population. https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2022/09/13/modeling-the-future-of-religion-in-america/

I realize that in trying to summarize my trip, this account is drafted solely from my perspective – from the times in which I have lived, my upbringing, books I have read, places I have traveled, and Mass every week since I was baptized into this life. One way for me to reign in the experience of my pilgrimage has been to constrain it along a plot line. Although I am compelled as a writer to share my observations, I understand that the story line is flawed because it is written by an author whose journey through this life is still very much a work in progress. What is not flawed, however, is my conviction that I know I would have walked with the women who followed Jesus along the Via Dolorosa. This, I sincerely believe, will guide me to the ultimate resolution. “At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known” (1Cor 13:12).

God’s Touchdown

January – Epiphany

During his homily on the Feast of the Epiphany, our 78-year-old priest danced across the floor in front of the altar singing Herod’s offbeat version of Scripture: “So, you are the Christ, you’re the great Jesus Christ. Prove to me that you’re no fool – walk across my swimming pool.”

Laughter erupted from those who immediately harkened back to the memorable lyrics of the 1970s rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. Smiles also tickled the faces of the younger members, entertained by the vision of their pastor singing in his Irish lilt, fanning the flame of those iconic bohemian words in his priestly robes.

Epiphany: The manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, brought to us year after liturgical year through the story of the Magi. As many times as I have heard the annual readings, when Father came from behind the podium and into the congregation to highlight the central theme of our very human desire for signs of Christ’s presence, it caught my attention in a new way. Be it a star in the night sky, the multiplication of fish, healing the sick, or walking across the Sea of Galilee (or Herod’s “swimming pool”), we human beings take a wary approach to “belief” without having “proof.” Sometimes it takes a dancing priest to drive home that point.

My recent commitment to the Catechism of the Year program facilitated by Father Mike Schmitz and my completion of the Bible in a Year last year has fueled my hunger to continue nurturing my faith both academically and spiritually. Perhaps this focus is making me hyper aware of what I call “Epiphany moments.” This past week has been filled with them.

Anyone who gets news alerts has heard of Damar Hamlin, the Buffalo Bills football player who collapsed and who was ultimately resuscitated during Monday Night Football on January 2. As the country became aware of what was happening, time froze. Immediately, players from both teams turned to one another, fell to their knees, and began to pray. The news cameras caught it all on film.

A couple of days later, the Wall Street Journal carried an article headlined “How Damar Hamlin Drove a Nation to Pray.” Noting prevailing controversies surrounding the appropriateness of prayer at sporting events and other public places, the author wrote: “The game was suspended, and suddenly prayer was back on the list of things anybody could talk about or do on camera.” Later in the article, he added, “Suddenly prayer—the ancient activity of speaking to God in the belief that he can hear and respond—was everywhere.”

That same week, members of the U.S. House of Representatives began their history-making 15-round vote-a-thon over choosing the Speaker of the House for the 118^th Congress. Politics aside, House Chaplain, Margaret Grun Kibben opened the session on January 3 with these words: “Eternal God, You spoke and the Earth brought forth life. With a word, Your spirit breathed into humanity the essence and purpose of our very being. Speak to us now, O Lord, and breathe into the body of the 118th Congress Your word of truth and justice, compassion, and wisdom.” We can argue all day long about the separation of church and state, but the traditions of our country are deeply rooted in the faith of its founders.

The Feast of the Epiphany reminds me that I don’t need signs that pack as big a punch as the healing of a leper or the opening of a blind man’s eyes. I live the “proof” of God’s love in the giggles of my grandchildren, in the faces of former students, in the smiles of strangers, and most importantly in the ways people reach around the complicated walls of society to help each other simply to survive. Mankind’s ability to trip over itself in a myriad of good and bad ways has been recorded for ages. (Change the scenery, flip the calendars over centuries, and think about it…we bear more in common with the people of the Old Testament than we probably would like to admit.)

The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that “God communicates himself to man gradually” (CCC 53). This past week, however, we as a nation witnessed a man literally come back to life at the able hands of fellow men, bolstered by the prayers of other men. I believe God literally “walked over the water” of our souls and right into the stadium where we play our games. It certainly caught our attention.

During his Christmas Advent reflections, Dynamic Catholic leader Matthew Kelly offered these four words as a reflection – words that come into focus for me as I ponder the events of the past week and also Father’s Sunday homily. “Trust. Surrender. Believe. Receive.”

Speaking of a “receiving,” the Buffalo Bills took to the field again on January 8 while a thankfully recovering Damar Hamlin tuned in from his hospital bed. During the first play, the Bills running back, Nyheim Hines, returned the opening kickoff and ran 96 yards for a touchdown. Several news outlets quoted quarterback Josh Allen who said after the game, “I can’t remember a play that touched me like that, I don’t think in my life. It was just spiritual. I was going around to my teammates and saying, ‘God’s real.’ You can’t draw that one up or write that one up any better.”

The touchdown goes to God.