Theology 7372, Fall 2009

“Mother’s First Love”, Mother Theresa’s Home for the Dying and Destitute

Kolkata is a mess of contradictions. For instance – Kalighat. Kalighat is the temple to the goddess Kali, who is the manifestation of the destructive power of the god Shiva. Shiva is the creator of the universe, but his dark side and the side that can destroy all things is called Kali. I find it interesting that the destructive force is feminine – but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, the Kalighat temple is insanity. It’s the only temple that still accepts human sacrifice as a way to appease the diety and the best way I can describe the temple is that it’s a circus of color and prayer and insense. However, right next to it – literally sharing a wall – is Mother Theresa’s Home for the Dying. Talk about juxtapositions. The home is a sanctuary for people. There is only limited medical care – if you are a patient there, you are terminal and there is no hope. And yet, as I stood in front of it that day, I felt nothing but hope. In the midst of the worship place to the goddess of destruction, a small woman stood up and said ‘no’. She said ‘no’ to the idea that humanity is simply playthings of the gods and that people who are dying are worth being discarded. She said no to the cycle of understanding that if you are poor, you deserve it.

She chose yes to hope and to grace and to dignity. She chose yes to believing that loving one person may not change the known universe, but that it makes a difference to that person. In the midst of overwhelming sadness, chaos and destruction, she choose yes to love. I cannot fathom that and yet know I must make the same decision. I must chose yes to hope and to love. I must.

everywhere a misionaries of charity house is, this statue will be too. mother saw her job as quenching the thirst of Jesus and her sisters do as well.

Do you have seasons where you feel overwhelmed by the world? Moments where the stack of sadness in front of you completely obstructs the promise of hope? Today is one of those days for me. That stack of sadness is full of both specifics and generals but they all add up to cloud the hope and I find myself exhausted by it all. I read this quote this morning and wanted to share it. I’m going to embrace the divine chaos, breathe deeply and enjoy the ride. But embracing and breathing today also requires grieving. So I am leaning into that grief this afternoon – for families torn apart by conflict beyond their control, for cultures at war with themselves, for children who will never know safety and for women who will never chose their own paths.

But does enjoying the ride mean ignoring the brokenness? Does full participation in humanity require holding both sides of the spectrum in tension? To fully drink of joy, doesn’t it also require sitting in the sorrow and drinking deep of that as well? I think so. Especially because most of the people with whom we endeavor to do life with live lives full of each – deep sorrow, unspeakable joy and every emotion in between. Our placated answers simply will not suffice. To truly live requires grace, perseverance and a willingness to live in mess.

There’s a sister quote to this one, from Hunter S. Thompson, that says, “Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body,but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming — WOW– What a Ride!” I thought about that quote a lot when I was in India: what would it look like for me to love so deeply that I died thoroughly used up?

Lots of questions today, friends, and few answers. I’m in the process of crafting a few other posts around this topic, so keep your eyes peeled. I look forward to feedback and conversation.

Depending on who you ask, April-September in Northern Ireland is referred to as “The Marching Season,” “The Paramilitary Party Season,” or, by the most cynical of my friends, “The Silly Season.” The time surrounding July 12 is the height of sectarian activity, with the night before marked by bonfires in loyalist neighborhoods throughout the nation. “The July 12th Fortnight” is an unofficial holiday time – with many businesses on ‘vacation’ and families leave the country. For an explanation, check my blog entry from 2006. This photo was taken at the Annandale Embankment in East Belfast on July 11, 2006.

I woke up yesterday and knew immediately that it was July 11th. I don’t know how I still move in these emotional rhythms, but I do. I know that gatherings would be happening all day and long into the night, celebrating a reality that grieves me. I pride myself on being respectful of people and their opinions, beliefs and practices – but I will admit to having a hard time swallowing some of the traditions surrounding the 12th. It feels divisive and damaging and driven by hatred. I remember sitting on the hill and feeling the heat of the bonfire envelop me as I wondered how I would be celebrating this if I was a native.

Most of my friends shun the 12th, leaving the country for vacation – or at the very least, baracading themselves in their house on the night of the 11th and rolling their eyes at the activities of a minority of their fellow countrymen. Because it is a minority, I promise. But I had students who clung to these traditions for their identity. They understood themselves as part of this community and this is how this community carves itself out. What’s the line between valid expression and damaging division?

I’m not ashamed to say this piece of the culture grieves me. Celebration of difference as a ranking system grieves me anywhere, but even more in this country that has captured my soul. So, in light of all of that, I am sending thoughts and prayers of peace, wellness and calm to that wee isle today and I’d invite you to do the same.

Back in September, I made a significant decision in my life to pursue a healthier lifestyle. It’s not something I talk about publicly much – mostly because it has been a lifelong struggle and one associated with much emotional and physical pain. I’ve made several starts and stops before, but September marked a permanent choice to move forward. I began to eat healthier (who knew that made you feel better?!) and go to the gym (even hired a trainer!). Much progress has been made and there is much more to go.

However, yesterday, I bought and wore the smallest pair of trousers that I have ever bought for myself.

As I said above, the journey towards being a healthier person is not finished and will probably face more detours. I’m hoping it involves training for a 5K and continuing to discover new vegetarian meal options and the best way to cook artichokes. However, in the midst of all of that – I just wanted to take a moment and celebrate the victory. Thanks for celebrating with me.

I’ve talked about it before on this blog, but it deserves repeating – the musical Wicked is one of the most profound pieces of art I’ve experienced in the past ten years. I know that it’s cheeser and fluffly and one of the major songs is about being popular. Yes, I recognize that. I know that the costumes are insane and it’s got some typical random singing that turns off most people to musicals. I know all of that.

But it also never fails to make me cry.

I’ve now had the privilege of seeing it several times in several different cities. I’ve seen fantastic performances and so-so performances (I have my favorites and ones I judged), but the source material stands fantastic in spite of what the performers do with it.

There are various themes that I adore, so I’m going to. This isn’t a summary or a review of any particular performance. Some of these are major “spoilers,” so if you haven’t seen the show and plan to, don’t continue after the jump. If you have seen the musical, please feel free to continue on.

Point One: green girl gets cute boy

song: “As Long As You’re Mine”

This may seem cheeser to some of you, but I’d like to remind you that there are few women in the Western world (I’d argue none) that do not feel like the “green-skinned freak” on any given day. The idea that an entire musical celebrates the male lead choosing the outcast is honestly nothing short of revolutionary. After growing up with the Disney princess image of perfection and desirability, I cannot express to you how much I love that little girls now have at least one counter to that. Fiyero chooses Elphaba because she is strong and independent and stands up for what she believes in.

Point Two: critical thinking is required

“Where I come from,” the wizard tells Elphaba, “we believe all sorts of things that aren’t true. We call it history.” One of the major themes is that people in power are not always trustworthy and history is not always reliable. We must ask questions and seek truth, even if it demands we stand up to authority. In fact, one of my favorite lines ever only appeared in a London production that I saw, where Dr. Dillamond explains to Elphaba that the Emerald City isn’t actually green – the Wizard just required everyone to wear emerald colored glasses.

Point Three: friendship = life

“Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”

The longer I’m around this planet, the more I am convinced that life simply cannot be lived alone. We need people to push us and love us and give us roots and give us wings. We need to be changed for good. I quoted this to Sarah and Mike in their wedding toast and I meant it.

Point Four: everyone deserves a chance to fly

“I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.”

There comes times in life when one must defy gravity. When Elphaba finds out that the man she was hanging all of her hopes on was a complete fraud, her response was to take matters into her own hands. The last moments of the first act, when Elphaba asserts her self-hood and that if the system is oppressive she will buck the system, never fails to make me cry.

Annalena Tonelli was a Italian Roman Catholic who left her homeland, career and family in 1969 to move to Somalia to work with nomadic people groups there. During her career, she founded hospitals – so well, in fact, that she was recognized by the WHO as a “TB Center of Excellence” for her work against the disease – and schools. She advocated for the deaf, orphaned and lame. Referred to by many who knew her as the “Mother Theresa of Somalia”, Annalena worked tirelessly until her untimely death in 2005.

What struck me as I read her story was her identification as a Somali. The people she served were not projects, they were her people. She found a tribe to do life among and spent her life serving them the best she knew how. The people she worked with were deeply Muslim and she faced opposition at times, but mostly, she forged family. Upon her death, one of the Imams she worked closely with told a reporter from the Guardian that, “although Annalena was a Christian, Allah loves her and her work.” They called her a gift from Allah and grieved her passing deeply.

Dana Robert – in her book Christian Mission: How Christianity Became a World Religion – says about her, “The deeper lesson of Annalena Tonelli’s death was that her personal relationship with the Somali people she loved, forged over a lifetime of service, was ultimately stronger than the historic tension between Muslim and Christians, or Africans and Europeans.” (p117)

We talked in class this week about approaching “the other”. I made the point that it must be done in love. Without love and respect, approaching anyone is useless and futile. We must devote ourselves to humanity in ways that affirm it and care for it. Annalena is someone I draw hope from. Hope that simply loving people and figuring out – every single day – how to love the person in front of you best leads to greater things than we could ever imagine. She loved the nomadic Muslim people she found herself among and they loved her. Community was formed in the midst of diversity and people’s lives were changed.

“Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed… Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget those things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God himself.”

- Ellie Wisel, ‘Night’

… in honor of holocaust remembrance day … may we never forget either

In Martha Minnow’s book, Between Vengeance and Forgiveness: Facing History after Genocide and Mass Violence, the author brings her law background into the discussion of reconciliation and restoration of societies destroyed by mass violence. Spending much of her time exploring the Truth Commissions of South Africa and the slave trade of the southern United States, Minnow explains the power of memory in societal restoration.

In honest review, this book is poorly written for anyone outside the law profession. The book is an examination of legal precedents that have little application to those not looking to work at The Hague or with the ICC. If those represent one’s chosen direction, I would measure this book invaluable and demand purchase and serious consideration. For the purposes of integration into the class structure and my work in other classes, the gleanable information was surrounding the power of memory.

Minnow makes the claim that ‘the past continues to torment because it is not the past’. For most societies and peoples in the midst of reconstruction, they are required to live and work among the persons who perpetrated the crimes. Even worse, they are not permitted to enter into their distinct and restorative society. One thinks here of both the Israelites of the exilic period and current internally displaced persons around the globe. As ministers and members of the Kingdom, we would do well to investigate the concept of reconciliation outside of a theoretical context. For instance, we are often unafraid to toss around the words ‘reconciliation’ and ‘forgiveness’ when speaking to abused persons. If the past is truly not the past and in fact continues to haunt every moment of the present, how can we ask persons to dwell among their abusers and behave as though nothing is wrong? The phrase “to forgive and forget” is horribly damaging and must be stricken from our pastoral counseling vocabulary, especially in light of psychological and cultural experts like Minnow that remind us memory is a powerful and driving reality.

As stated above, there are valuable propositions Minnow makes within her text which pastoral personnel and other persons who work with the souls and emotions within humanity. One simply wishes she had packaged the concepts differently. I plan to follow some of her resources within the bibliography to further explore this concept of memory and it’s interrelationship with exile and restoration.

I’ve had the privilege of being in several countries in Africa over the past few years. All of them are considered ‘developing’ and all of them are towards the bottom of the GNP spectrum. I can toss lots of statistics out about what life looks like for many of the people I met, but I think it often helps to strip it down to basics; one being most of the children I met in these countries did not own shoes.

Life is lived barefoot.

While some of us in the Western world often enjoy going barefoot, we would never imagine to walk miles without support. Shoes are not only a fashion and identity statement; they are viewed as a necessity. We consider it paramount to physical safety for persons to wear shoes. And yet, millions and millions of people worldwide live their lives barefoot.

I don’t want to be over dramatic and say that this is a gigantic problem every day of life for every person. There are even some studies that say we should all be barefoot more often to aid in muscle tension relief and spine alignment. However, there are no studies or elements of common wisdom that say we should walk barefoot through hospitals, sewers or on sand so hot it would burn our feet. These things are realities for many persons in the developing world.

Therefore, in solidarity with my brothers and sisters and fellow humans worldwide who live life barefoot, I am going to as well. For one day, at least. On April 8, TOMS shoes has organized a specific day to raise awareness of various issues that come with children being shoeless. You can read about those problems here, as well as find out more about TOMS shoes and their purpose. (For those who are unaware, each purchase of TOMS shoes buys a pair directly for a shoeless child.)

It may be ‘trendy’ and I may get mocked for being a joiner, but for me and my understanding of my role in the universe, this is one of the ways I am leaning into hope.

Will you join me and others in standing in solidarity?

If you can’t go barefoot for whatever reason – it’s difficult to pull off a day without shoes if you’re a professional type, I totally understand – log onto the TOMS website for some alternatives. Also, check out a PSA for the day below.

This story came across my Google Reader feed about five minutes before I found this.

It is for reasons such as this that I hold to hope, resurrection and redemption. Because all the ‘awareness’ in the world isn’t going to make any of this better.

My belief in the resurrection and the restoration of the world is what drives me to participate in it. While I clearly believe in raising awareness (hello, community organization degree), I also believe awareness is cheap without action (hello, community organization degree). It’s two parts of a complicated whole that we must engage. We simply must.