Ordain

Journeys have a way of creating moments of opportunity, and for twenty years in my travels I have rarely been disappointed. Dismayed, perhaps—alarmed, even—but I more often walk away with a perspective I didn’t see coming, and this typically is anything but disappointing. In spite of my anxiety about packing (especially for three)  I am learning my modus operandi is to pack little things as I go along, physical ones and then mental ones, things to trigger or surface memory at a later time.

On this last trip I have too many of these little things to mention in this short space, but perhaps a couple stand out worth sharing. Of course one has to do with my brother’s ordination as a Conventual Franciscan friar, an event which gives me much hope. To see the young submit themselves to a greater cause and do real work and sacrifice in a real way should be a source of hope for many, and an inspiration to pick up and do our own parts, to be sure. That by itself is meaningful. During the ordination, though, I was able to see the ways in which my brother’s chosen community stands for others. There was a moment during the ordination in which every friar in the place came and laid hands in prayer over the young men who stepped up to the front of the church to submit themselves. If you were standing there you could actually feel  a presence of goodness and compassion in waves overwhelming. The word ordain’s etymology means to put in order,  and that’s compelling to me: I think—what is placed in order? So many think it’s just about the status quo order or hierarchical order, but this moment of still and relative quiet suggested to anyone standing there that being for one another has a massive, reverberating impact not to be underestimated. What’s put in order is the heart and soul of each beloved, and advocates who will stand for each of these souls on the battlefield of life.

There’s so much more to say about this trip, but I will leave you with my last moment instead (though I do want to write here about, say, the awesome surge of Niagara Falls, the kind people we met there that day, the contrast of the parking lot attendant who complained vocally about non-English speaking peoples—but I leave this for another time). I think the relative frustrations of family life can create ordinary extraordinary moments, as I am fond of pointing out on social media. In fact, I’ve made encounters and images of these my meditative go-to lately, alongside daily prayer and meditation. Still, nothing like coming face to face with your weakness and vulnerability to learn some lessons, right?  I am sure some of you have stories to tell. My recent one is this: ten minutes before we leave to get to the airport this time, my littlest falls flat on her face, hitting her nose and bleeding well, with a pool full of blood in her mouth to boot. It was, like the times I dealt with my eldest’s surgeries, a moment of scare and of helplessness. As I find is typical, family swooped in to help: my sister’s strong and sure, calm approach to both of us, my brother-in-law’s in-a-pinch swift trip to the pharmacy for incidentals, a little cousin’s calming presence, everyone carrying luggage and offering prayers—all swooped us in a wave to the plane to which we arrived, just at the end of the line, and managed to continue our journey. Perhaps the same is true in the ordinary day—those who with just one word or action might set you on your way, and in turn perhaps help someone else along it.

Every day in this current news cycle is a sigh for me and for many—so much hatred and illogical thinking hurting real people in real ways. So little use of real knowledge and actual encounter and experience, and so much more generalization of entire groups of people. Daily I find news that runs absolutely counter to every experience I have had, and knowledge I have formed through others who are experts in their fields or active in the world assisting those affected. Everyone’s journeying, trying to find that home space, that place, physical or not, in which acceptance and compassion are givens. For me now, home is wherever my spiritual self has and does grow, and I will remain in that presence. My take away now is that presence isn’t manifest in only one way, one place. When we are for one other, we create a home for each other—and that makes the world our home. Certainly there will be disagreement and tousling in that space just as much as compassion, but the hope is we’ll walk away from either instance renewed, with the perspective we need to continue on the way.