I did something really radical last week. I occupied Omaha.

Under the guise of taking my dog for a nice long walk, I marched through the streets of downtown with hundreds of other people carrying signs ranging from “Close the Fed” to “We are the balance to their checks!” Unlike the violent protests depicted on TV, the Omaha event was more parade of hope. Omaha protesters are obscenely nice. We love our police! We obey all traffic rules. We make way for people pushing baby carriages.

And yet, I found it awkward to yell out or chant or carry a sign. This protesting thing is somewhat new for me. I know I agree that policies and programs need to favor the poor over the wealthy. I know there is a place for government as our collective representation and voice to help create jobs for the unemployed. I know all society is better off with a vibrant and large middle class rather than a deep gap between the wealthy and the poor. I know wealth does not fill one’s soul. So why did I feel so nervous to stand on a corner and proclaim that? What is the fear that lies behind my hesitation?

- I didn’t tell many of my friends I was going to protest (Fear of ridule? Conflict?)
- I had no intention of coming anywhere near being arrested for this cause (Fear of punishment? A permanent record? Somewhere down the road, this coming back to haunt me?)
- I had the nagging sense there were lots of other ways I could spend a Saturday morning (Fear of insignificance? Wasting time?)

Each of those fears sounded a lot like the Spirit Not of God giving me any possible justification for not challenging the structures of social sin and oppression in today’s politics.

But in contrast to that Voice, I heard very clearly the Spirit of God speaking in the words and life of Dean Brackley, S.J. Dean was one of the first Jesuits to take the place of the Jesuits murdered in 1989 in El Salvador for speaking out on behalf of the poor. I can imagine he struggled with all those fears I had on a much larger scale when he took on his role to stand at the University of Central America, speaking out against his own country’s military and defending the human rights. Dean didn’t just march in protest on a random Saturday, but instead lived in solidarity with the people and taught and worked on their behalf. He identified so much with the oppressed of El Salvador that given the choice of where to spend his final days while battling cancer, he chose to be there with them. According to Dean, “The wake-up call to service resonates with our deepest need for something worth living for, even dying for, to find ourselves by losing ourselves.”

Ignatius teaches from the very foundation of his spirituality that we are to seek neither wealth nor poverty for ourselves. But we are called to seek justice and to ensure that systems of taxation, commerce, education, defense, and labor set up by our government are not leading to suffering for anyone. If we sit on the sidelines in these debates, we aren’t standing for anything.

Thank you, Dean, for showing us what it means to lose ourselves and take a stand for something greater, for others. Sign anyone?

Photo: “#OccupyLA protest by srd515, on Flickr” (Used under Creative Commons license)

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The question comes: “So, are you nervous?”
The response: I have no idea what I am.

How do I explain that every day my stomach
wants to jump out of my mouth?

My prayer life is rocky, I cannot focus,
and I am completely restless.

How do I explain that my line of conscious thought
is whipping around like a downed power cable or a firehose;

that I have plenty of people that I can talk to,
but that I still cannot trust my emotions;

that the evil spirit is working me over,
and that while I know it is happening, I cannot do anything about it.

Strangely, even in the midst of this
it is equally true that I can feel the presence of grace.

I know that the power cable is attached to the Source on one end,
that the hose is connected to a deep well.

My brother calls it letting God play kite:
God, as a kid with an ice cream cone and a kite, likes to watch us go.

I am not sure I like this image
but it feels right somehow.

I am aware of God’s care
and I know with everything I am that “all will be well?”

But part of me asks
“are you just playing with me?”

They said things might get a little strange as ordination approached.
I did not really take them all that seriously.

Its going to be ok. I feel that actually – it will all be ok.
This is not my vocation after all, its God’s.

It is a strange thing about vocation:
we never quite know where it will take us.

Vocations do not really equate to comfort.
They equate to doing what makes sense to us.

I do this because it seems like a good life,
and because it is something that needs to be done.

I know that I can live this way and find joy and happiness;
I also know that it is not easy.

Then again – whose vocation is?
I mean, if we are doing it right

“Easy” is not why we choose to be doctors and teachers
and plumbers and parents.

We do it because it makes sense: someone has to do it
we can do it, and we find goodness in it.

Vocations are about a response to God’s call
and we get to live out this response with each other.

I chose to respond to the call to be a Jesuit
because I really liked the people I met and the spirituality made sense.

I persist in the call because of God
and the people who have been taking care of me on the way:

Spiritual directors, superiors and colleagues;
Teachers who became friends, friends who became teachers;

People who taught me how to care for others
and how to let myself be cared for.

That is how this vocation happens.
It is not mine, I just get to respond.

As I respond, I continue to learn how to live in ups and downs.
As it is, even now, I am convinced that all will be well.

In good Ignatian fashion
I am relying on a judgment made in consolation.

I am practicing presence of mind
and not taking myself too seriously…this too shall pass.

I am withdrawing from the bank of graces remembered
(and I am grateful that so many deposits were made).

Twelve days to go.
Thy will be done

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1. Connecting to the Source

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