It’s that time of year again… the holidays. I say the words and images of crackling fires and cups of steaming hot chocolate, gatherings and good times with old friends magically appear (at Life Together’s Christmas party TOMORROW! RSVP here). I also see my family, sitting around a beautiful Advent wreath over dinner, the candlelight reflecting in their eyes as they soak in the anticipation of this season of waiting for the Christ Child.
My favorite song to sing is called “Nirvana,” by Sam Smith. When I sing it to the empty, vaulted chapel of St. Michael’s, I love the way the melodies bounce back to me off the high ceilings and stained glass windows. It’s spiritual. It’s a time when all of the masks that I wear fall off and a place where all of the messaging I take in - how I should act or who I should be - dissipates like the reverberation of the sound waves that burst forth from what feels like the deepest part of me, a part that isn’t anatomical.
When I was in divinity school, I observed that my friends seeking Christian ordination fell into two broad camps: the Hebrew fans and the Greek fans. Most of them had to study a biblical language in order to meet their ordination requirements, and their preferred language said a lot to me about their nature. The fans of Biblical Hebrew I knew were drawn to the multiple meanings of the text, and loved its earthy, creative play. They were comfortable with ambiguity, both in their Hebrew translation and in their lives. Those who preferred Koine (Hellenistic) Greek, on the other hand, enjoyed its linear, orderly nature, with its tidy declensions and clear meanings. Guess which one I elected to study?
As it turns out, being a teacher involves a lot more learning than teaching. Today, I learned how to calculate the Greatest Common Factor and Least Common Multiple using factor trees, and I learned that my students are easily motivated by the promise of fruit snacks. Yesterday, I trained myself in solving division problems using long division (the “standard” way that we all probably learned) and a place value chart (the new-fangled way that someone invented just to confuse math teachers) simultaneously and well enough to perform in front of a group of ten-year-olds who literally keep track of my monthly mistakes.
Last weekend, my family did a photo session with a professional photographer. And of course, as soon as the photographer posted a “sneak peek” photo of me with the kids online, I changed my profile photo on Facebook and basked in the adulation of friends and family from Boston to Budapest. Never mind that we had pulled up for the 9 am session still stuffing Kane’s Donuts into our mouths and that the baby was cranky most of the time. Never mind that it had been a long, stressful work week, that we are still working through a backlog of crusty dishes piled up on our kitchen counter. On social media I was confident and capable, with my two adorable offspring by my side.
Today, I need you try and actively resist becoming an entitled consumer of survivors’ pain. If you have even the mildest interest in not being a passive bystander, you should offer support to people especially when you do not find their requests for help to be narratively pretty. No one should have to craft their suffering for you to extend basic human concern; suspend that shunning disbelief that trims survivors to silence.
“This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow.” --Fr. Ken Untener
When I worked in the stewardship office of a large Episcopal parish, this time of year was replete with themes of harvest. The church even had a beautiful stained glass window, depicting the biblical parable of the sower and the reaper, that we used in materials where we asked people to make gifts to the church. And the late summer bounty of apples, carrots, and the more eclectic kohlrabi that come in my farm share right now support that.
“Back to the strawberries? Again?” my students ask in disbelief. This is the third day this week we’ve knelt in the dormant strawberry patch, painstakingly pulling out the tall grasses and nascent weeds that have entwined themselves with the base of each plant. Our fingers are speckled with tiny, shallow cuts.
When I stepped back for a minute, I began to wonder what “enough” money actually means for me. In our group, there was a wide range of experiences with money: fellows who experienced poverty, wealth, upward mobility, and downward mobility. One thing was universal amongst the fellows: talking about money brought up some difficult emotions.
As we move into the season of Advent, a time of preparation, contemplation, and anticipation of God entering our world, I have been working on staying attuned to the many ways in which God does enter the world and our lives each week and each day. I spent this past Thursday at the annual Thanksgiving meal hosted by MANNA at our Cathedral.
Esperanza fellows began their work at the beginning of July. I moved my belongings into the house, stumbled through a few mornings of orientation at school, and spent the month-long summer session trying to sort through the hilarious challenge that is teaching middle school girls. I was well aware of our plans for intentional community but, in my head, they were always in the intangible future: "after Life Together orientation," "once the full school year begins," or even "anytime but tonight." For me, it felt like this looming goal that I really did want to accomplish, but just kept pushing back.
Yuris Martinez is a first-year Esperanza teaching fellow living in intentional community in Lawrence, MA. She serves as a teaching assistant at the independent, tuition-free Esperanza Academy for middle-school-age girls from low-income backgrounds.
When a caterpillar anchors itself on a twig and forms into a chrysalis, does it know what is coming? Does it know that it will never experience the world in the same way? Does it know it will feel the sun on its body again?
When the caterpillar has finally found a way to survive and make order of this world, what calls into existence a disruption so uninvited?
Justin is an outgoing Emmaus Fellow and works at Massachusetts Senior Action Council.
Dim fluorescent lights fill the hallway with a strange glow. Clipboard in hand, I pass doors with crude decorations: stained stickers pleading “Support Our Troops,” little bundles of ribbons and flowers, and, my personal favorite, “Merry Christmas” flags and wreaths (it’s September). It’s the first time I’ve set foot in elderly public housing. I make my way to the end of the hall, where I will begin knocking on doors and slowly working my way back to the central elevator. The goal: the tenant opens the door, takes my information, and pledges to vote in the upcoming statewide election (turnout in local and statewide elections is typically dismal). My complete lack of confidence and preparedness is astounding.
Rebecca Behizadeh is beginning her third year with Life Together this August as Director of Hiring and Development.
At my 30th birthday party, I was jobless, homeless, partnerless. I celebrated with friends at Le’s in Harvard Square - my entree was $12, and I was incredibly relieved when they paid the bill...
Tori is a South Coast fellow serving at Grace Episcopal Church in New Bedford.
I almost want to say it was a series of accidents that got me to where I am today: a Life Together fellow working on the South Coast with Grace Episcopal Church, New Bedford. I started my undergraduate career at Wellesley College, and then found myself graduating from Indiana University two years later. I grew up Roman Catholic, and then found myself being received into the Episcopal Church last spring. I was planning to serve abroad this year, but I found myself in the Life Together – South Coast program. And, finally, I was supposed to be serving at a different site placement this year, but now find myself as the intern at Grace. I could not imagine a better place for me! All of these things I originally perceived as accidents, mistakes, or missteps, but looking back on how they have all fit together in the narrative of my life, I see that all of them were necessary for me to find myself where I am now.
Matt is a Micah Fellow serving at The Crossing.
When the time for the distribution of ashes arrived, however, a deep thing within me was struck—a resonant chord, an ancient gong. The ministers of The Sanctuary initiated the ritual in a mode at once alien and yet freeing in its minimalism, its lifting of the pressure for a climactic encounter with radiance. The name of Christ was alluded to merely once. It was only that raw touch of ash to flesh, the evidence that I am mortal...
A sermon by Deanna Roberts. Dee is a South Coast fellow serving at Church of the Holy Spirit in Fall River.
A journey. In many ways, my year in the Life Together program has been a journey—an exploration of the self and community. This journey has been intense, rewarding, aggravating at times, but overall worthwhile. I've experienced times this year where I have been pushed to grow and become more aware of my surroundings. There have been moments where I wanted to give up and walk away. There have also been episodes in my life here where I know that, no matter how difficult the journey, there is a call to continue onward.