[Yesterday was the Feast Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and we celebrated her today for campus chapel. Below is a short reflection that I wrote for the service about what Our Lady means to me.]

Good morning and welcome to our chapel service in celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I want to specifically thank Fr. Eddie for joining us here today. We are so grateful to get to spend this time with you. I also want to welcome those of you who have never been to a worship service centered around Marian devotion before. As a Catholic and as a feminist Marian devotion is at the center of my spiritual practice, and I feel so blessed to be able to celebrate Our Lady of Guadalupe with my PSR community.

Our Lady of Guadalupe is only one of the many Marian apparitions that Catholics celebrate. Like Jesus born in a manger, Mary first makes herself known not to lords and princes but to young girls, simple peasants and victims of foreign occupation. While Mary’s concern for the poor and oppressed has been shown in all of the Marian apparitions, I find it most powerfully true in the story of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

The feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe (which was celebrated yesterday) celebrates when Mary, the mother of God, appeared to St. Juan Diego in the 1500’s. As an indigenous Mexican peasant living under Spanish colonization, Juan Diego would have been familiar with the blond-haired, blue-eyed depictions of Mary that can often be found covering our church walls, even today. However, when he encountered Our Lady she came to him as a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman who could have easily been a member of his own family. When Mary asked Juan Diego “am I not your mother?” he could see that of course she was.

Our Lady of Guadalupe entered in to colonized Mexico to tell Juan Diego that he, too, was made in the image of God, and I feel her presence still advocating for the oppressed today. I believe that Our Lady of Guadalupe celebrates the radical diversity found in the Roman Catholic Church and she encourages me to work for a day when our leadership better reflects that diversity. Like any good mother, she reminds me of my belovedness and assures me of my place in this family.

As we enter into this service, I invite you to reflect on the ways that you may see Mary working in our world today. How is she affirming your place as God’s beloved child, and how is she challenging you to build a world where all are recognized as children of God?

Mujerista theologian and Catholic laywoman Clarissa Pinkola Estes gives us this advice about how to recognize the presence of Our Lady of Guadalupe in our own lives. She says:

You will recognize her on sight,

for She is a woman

who looks just like you

and all that you love.

This is a speech that I wrote and presented at the 2008 Annual Meeting for the Friends Committee on National Legislation (FCNL) when I was a Field Intern there. My original ending to this speech seems to be lost to the ages, so I recreated the last paragraph to the best of my memory. You'll just have to believe me that the original ending was much cooler.

PS: I would be remiss in my duties as a former Field Intern if I didn't say that I highly recommend FCNL's internship program to all interested young adults. You can't do much better than working for Friends.]

November 2008

Like most of my fellow interns, my political views have matured during the Bush administration.  In the 2000 presidential election, I was a 17 year old high school senior.  I spent the fall of 2000 knocking on doors for a candidate that I wasn’t quite old enough to vote for.

I’m sure that I still don’t realize all of the ways that growing up during this administration and this war has affected me.  But I can say that when I graduated from Earlham College in 2007 I found it hard to relate to that 17 year old that had spent her Saturdays knocking on doors for presidential candidates and registering voters.  I was still committed to the ideas of peace and justice, but I had lost faith in our governments’ ability to promote those values.

In 2006 I was lucky enough to study abroad in N. Ireland. When I was in N. Ireland one of the things that I learned about was the concept of “little p” politics versus “big P” politics.  Little p politics include things like community organizing, running a PTA meeting, working at your local soup kitchen.  Big P politics involve elections, political parties and lobbying.  After seeing how well big P politics seemed to work, both in Northern Ireland and my own country, I really wasn’t a fan.

As my political identity grew to relate more to small p politics, so did my spiritual identity.  After studying in N. Ireland, I spent the summer living at the Los Angeles Catholic Worker, where I primarily worked at a soup kitchen on Skid Row. I got to know and care about people on Skid Row who had been totally betrayed and forgotten about by politicians on local, state and national levels.  I came to believe that the political system was inherently set up in a way that would never benefit the most vulnerable in our society.  I decided that I couldn’t successfully engage in politics while at the same time faithfully living out my Christian values.

And so, I applied to my job at FCNL not because I believed in politics, or in lobbying but because I believed in people.  I knew that as the Field Intern I wouldn’t have to go on lobbying visits or meet with staffers.  When I came to FCNL last January, I told myself that as long as I still believed in FCNL’s constituents who faithfully wrote letters, held vigils and educated their communities I could remain critical of the political system’s ability to bring about social change.

It didn’t take long to realize that I was wrong.  There was no way that I could believe in grassroots organizing and not believe in our democratic system because grassroots organizing is the heart of our democratic system.  That sounds really cheesy and obvious but it’s true.

From my desk at FCNL, I can see the Hart Senate office, but for a long time Capitol Hill somehow still felt really far away.  What eventually changed that for me was getting to hear about how wonderfully approachable and real our democracy seemed to so many of you.  FCNL’s constituents are great lobbyists because you don’t just send angry letters out to an empty void.  You form relationships with representatives and their staffers by making frequent lobby visits, phone calls and writing letters.  As if your representatives are real people who you can form relationships with.

FCNL has taught me that big P politics is not as separate from small p politics as I had believed.  The education and organizing that committed groups and individuals do in small towns and inner cities can be channeled into better educating politicians.

While I still feel called to serve in the world of ‘small p’ politics after my term at FCNL, I am excited to use this new understanding of Big P politics in my work as an advocate for homeless and mentally ill populations. I want to help people that have been disenfranchised by our political system speak their truth to the politicians who make policies affecting their lives. What would it look like for one of my friends on Skid Row to hold a meeting with President-elect Obama? What would they say to each other? I hope to find out.

I wrote this letter for my "Methods of Peacemaking" class, which was taught by Caroline Higgins at the start of her (and my) last semester of Earlham College. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have been able to 'graduate' with Caroline, and hope that she's having the fantastic retirement that she deserves.]

January 17 2006

Dear Friends,

This is my last semester of college and for one of the last classes I will ever take at Earlham I was required to write a letter to people I consider to be in my ‘personal network’ explaining my values, future goals and commitment to peace work.  If you have received this letter it is because you have at some point played an important role in the creation of my values and goals, and I want you to be a part of that conversation.

A lot of times I am asked why I chose Peace Studies as my major.  The only real answer I have is that I can’t think of anything in the world more important to study.  We have already become so incredibly efficient at war making– perfect, even– in the sense that we are now able to effectively end all humanity in one day if we wished to do so.  In that sense, we have literally reached as far as we are able to go in that direction.

I believe that our incredible efficiency in war is directly a result of how much time we spend on it as a species.  So much money, time, and effort is spent on preparing for, planning and executing war that we’d be idiotic to not be good at it by now.  We’re good at war because we’ve studied war.  Meanwhile, the divide between the rich and the poor is greater than any other time in history, children shooting their classmates have become a regular aspect of the evening news and the leading cause of death of pregnant women is their partners.

So it seems to me that if we got so good at war by studying it, maybe we’re so bad at peace because of the lack of time we spend studying that.  Maybe it’s because we think of peace as merely a lull that takes place in-between wars.  Something that becomes void as soon as a conflict arises.  Something to be hoped for, but not to be worked for.

So, peace is what I have spent time studying.  I study why conflicts arise between people, communities and nations.  I study peaceful ways people have solved those conflicts.  I study root causes for violence and ways to address them before they can fester.  I study ways to end the violence of war, but also ways to end the violences of poverty, racism, patriarchy and apathy, and I study how they’re all connected.

So what?  Those are the reasons I chose the path that I did and and those are my values, but what am I going to do with all this?  I really wish I had some one-word answer like “lawyer” or “politician” but as of now, I don’t. However, more than anything, my problem is that I have too many interests and passions to settle on just one for the rest of my life.  But I think that’s a better problem to have than to not have enough passions, so in a way, I’m not too worried.

Lately, I have been spending a lot of time thinking about the politics of food.  How are we so incredibly efficient at making food, and yet so many people still go hungry?  How is agribusiness such a huge part of our (both world and national) economy but farmers in the U.S. have a suicide rate twice as high as the national average?  Why was my hometown The Avocado Capital of America but the avocados we’d buy at the supermarket were from Latin America?  I feel like there’s a connection between our un-environmentally sustainable farming practices, the amount of hunger in the world, and the choices I make when I go to the grocery store.

In the last year or two, I’ve spent time trying to find out what those connections are.  I worked at a soup kitchen and an organic farm.  I volunteer at my local food co-op and I’m already excited about re-planting my vegetable garden when spring comes.  I don’t know if this is an area I’m going to be able to have a career in, at least immediately, but I’ve found it to be some of the most meaningful work I’ve ever taken part of, and wherever I end up in the future it’s clear that I’ll need to keep working at soup kitchens, going to farmers’ markets, and planting my garden.

My other big passion is something else I can credit Earlham for.  In the last three years I have become absolutely convinced of the power of story telling and active-listening in peace making.  A lot of this has been due to my time as a Sexual Assault Survivor’s Advocate at Earlham.  Through this work, I have seen first hand the healing that comes with letting someone tell their own story and give a voice to their experience.  My training as an Advocate has had another unexpected benefit in that I feel like I have learned how to be a better listener and a better friend to the important people in my life.

In Northern Ireland I was exposed to another aspect of storytelling.  I saw many wonderful organizations that use the power of storytelling to let people that have suffered because of The Troubles come together to share their experiences.  Through looking honestly at what they’ve all experienced in the past they are able to work towards a better future and break down old concepts of an enemy.  In Northern Ireland, as both a creative writer and an advocate I became fully aware of the potential of peace work done through storytelling and listening.

Chances are, I will probably do some combination of all of those things, and a bunch of other things that I couldn’t even imagine right now.  I don’t know all of the answers about where I am going to be in the next ten years (or even the next ten months!), but I do have a sense of direction and at the same time an openness to new possibilities and I feel like that’s a good combination.

In peace,

Christine

from Women's Ordination Conference. www.womensordination.org

Recently, Fr. Roy Bourgeois (founder of the School of the Americas Watch) received a letter from the Maryknolls saying that he would be removed from the order unless he recanted his support for women’s ordination. Today, Fr. Roy went to the Vatican Embassy, where he announced that he could not in good conscience recant his support for women’s ordination. You can read his full statement here.

In spite of the fact that I used to work for a peace lobby and am an enthusiastic supporter of citizen lobbying, I am usually quite horrible at writing letters to my representatives (or, to my bishops, for that matter). However, I was so affected by Fr. Roy’s bravery that I sat down this week and wrote a letter to the Superior General of the Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers. Here it is:

Dear Rev. Dougherty,

I am writing to say how sad I was to hear about your letter to Fr. Roy Bourgeois, informing him that he will be removed from the order if he does not recant his support for women’s ordination. I feel obligated to express my solidarity with Fr. Bourgeois because, even though we’ve never met, I feel that he has risked everything to speak for me.

As a young Roman Catholic woman who feels a call to ordination, I’m used to seeing women like myself and our supporters threatened for being open about our calling. However, I have found myself particularly heartbroken over Maryknoll’s handling of this situation because Maryknoll priests have always held a special place in my heart.

When I was 13, I first felt a call to ordination while hearing a Maryknoll priest give a homily at my church. This priest was visiting my small California parish after having done missionary work in Mexico, and as I heard him describe his life dedicated to the Body of Christ– both in the Bread and Wine and among the poor in Mexico– I felt an overwhelming voice inside of me say “THIS is what you need to do.” This experience has always made me feel a deep love for Maryknoll. If more doors had been open to me, I suspect that I would have fulfilled my priestly vocation as a Maryknoll.

As a college student six years ago, I first attended the SOA Watch vigil at Ft. Benning. I have now been to the vigil four times, and it has shaped my life in ways that I could have never anticipated. My experience at the vigil called me to be a more active Catholic, and lead to my current career in promoting solidarity between Christians in the US and Central America. I know countless other young adults who’s faith and life has been shaped by SOA Watch. Many of these young people have chosen to become Maryknoll priests, sisters or lay missioners as a result of this experience. I believe that Fr. Bourgeois is an incredible evangelist for Maryknoll and if he were removed from the community it would damage the fine reputation of this order, particularly among young adults.

I don’t believe that you want Fr. Bourgeois removed from the order, and I suspect that this whole ordeal is causing you a great deal of pain. By openly supporting women’s ordination, he has put you in a very difficult position. By asking you to allow Fr. Bourgeois to remain a Maryknoll, I know that I am asking you to take a personal risk, just as he did. But I have faith that as a priest and as a Maryknoll you aren’t a man who makes moral decisions based on convenience.

Our faith is full of saints who risked everything and took stances that put them at odds with the Church hierarchy. Some of them were excommunicated, or even martyred. In the end, these people weren’t judged by how the Church responded to them but by their faithfulness to the Church, as well as to their own conscience. Fr. Bourgeois has been a faithful servant of Christ for decades.  By challenging the Church that he loves, he is standing in the company of St. Joan of Arc, St. Mary MacKillop, St. Theodore Guerin and many more. I ask you to join them by taking a risk, yourself: please allow Fr. Bourgeois to remain a Maryknoll priest. Regardless of your views on women’s ordination, Fr. Bourgeois should not be excluded from the order that he has devoted his life to simply for following his conscience.

In 100 years, I believe that Catholic scholars will see Fr. Bourgeois’ statement as a key moment that lead to a more inclusive and accountable Church. I pray that those scholars will be able to say the same thing about Maryknoll.

In Christ’s peace,

Christine Haider

If you feel so moved, you can write your own letter to Fr. Dougherty at:

Some good sources on the situation with Fr. Roy:

Bourgeois tells Maryknoll: ‘I cannot lie, I cannot recant’- National Catholic Reporter

Catholic priest who backs ordaining women faces expulsion- USA Today

Catholic Church Targets Proponent of Women’s Ordination; Feminist Theologian- Mary E. Hunt (Religion Dispatches)

Facing expulsion from church, priest vows to live for peace- Miami Herald

Roy Bourgeois’ priesthood can never truly end- Jamie Manson (National Catholic Reporter)

Today, it was my turn to preach and I used it as an opportunity to take another look at the Patron Saint of Embarrassing Problems.  I figure that since the sermon grew out of (and was plagiarized heavily from…) a work that I had previously posted on this blog, it’s only fair to post the new piece here, as well, even if this blog has become pretty inactive.

This was my first try at formal sermonizing, so I’d love to hear advice that anyone out there has.  (And, yes, I really did sing for part of it.  It was a growth experience, believe me.)

When Jesus returned, the crowd welcomed him, for they were all waiting for him. And a man named Jairus, an official of the synagogue, came forward. He fell at the feet of Jesus and begged him to come to his house, because he had an only daughter, about twelve years old, and she was dying. As he went, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years, who (had spent her whole livelihood on doctors and) was unable to be cured by anyone, came up behind him and touched the tassel on his cloak. Immediately her bleeding stopped. .Jesus then asked, “Who touched me?” While all were denying it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds are pushing and pressing in upon you.” But Jesus said, “Someone has touched me; for I know that power has gone out from me.” When the woman realized that she had not escaped notice, she came forward trembling. Falling down before him, she explained in the presence of all the people why she had touched him and how she had been healed immediately. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has saved you; go in peace.” -Luke 8:41-48

It’s easy to imagine how some stories were written into the bible.  The cynic in me can just see some pope or bishop writing down ‘Peter, you are the rock on which I shall build my church’ or naming 12 men as Jesus’ ministerial heirs, thereby giving such forgettable figures as Bartholomew, Andrew and Judas son of James authority over Mary and Martha of Bethany, Mary of Magdala and even Mary Mother of God.

It’s easy to see the hand of men in the Bible, but not always so easy to see the hand of God.  But every once in a while we find a bible story so subversive that we know there’s no way that it could have survived without divine inspiration.

Here, we’re introduced to two nameless women.  One, a girl, dying of a mysterious ailment and the other: a poor woman with no one to advocate on her behalf who’s experiencing what is delicately called hemorrhaging.

Even today, you can’t (to my knowledge) find a bible that can discuss menstruation without using bizarre euphemisms.  How did this icky, uncomfortable lady-business story ever make it into Luke?  How has it remained through 2 millennia of edits and censorship?

There is no explanation but to but to say that on this one, Mama Sophia was workin’ overtime.

Here she is, this nameless, forgotten woman who stole a moment with Jesus in between his attending to Bigger And More Important People.  I can’t help but imagine her there, watching Jesus cast a legion out of a possessed man and into suicidal swine.  I see her watching him go off to raise wealthy Jarius’ daughter from the dead (funny how we know Jarius’ name, but not the name of his daughter, as if the miracle were more about salvaging his property than saving her life).  I imagine that as she saw Jesus attending to all of these Very Important Problems for these Very Important Men she felt so incredibly ashamed of her illness.  I imagine her wishing that she, too, could be possessed, or dying, or have a dying child.  Why oh why did God curse her with this embarrassing, shameful, silly blood?

I imagine that’s why she couldn’t find the words to ask Jesus to heal her.  I imagine that’s why she just reached out and grabbed his cloak, hoping not to be noticed.

We as women are often told that our problems: of reproduction, of self image, of depression, are silly.  We are told at a very young age that wallowing in our own problems makes us weak and hysterical, and that the strongest, most Christian thing that we can do is to suffer silently while caring for the needy, who are frequently, mysteriously, men. We are taught from such a young age to be mothers, to care for people whose burdens are seen as greater and more significant than our own.  We are not– we are told– the ones who suffer the cross.  We are the ones who weep at the foot of the cross.  And so our pain is less, complementary, secondary.

And yet, here she is, Patron Saint of Embarrassing Problems.  I suspect that she made it into the bible (three times!) because all of those scholars and bishops knew that she held a very important biblical truth, even if it was one that they couldn’t name.  And I think that the truth is this:

Embarrassing problems, problems that can be trivialized and mocked, are the most dangerous kind of problems.  These problems without names are killing us.  They might be the most deadly problems on earth.  They kill us with AIDS.  They kill us with suicide, and domestic violence, and addiction and even when they miraculously don’t kill our bodies they always (absolutely always) kill our souls.

And if these embarrassing problems, these problems we lack words for, are our most deadly problems then they are of the most concern to our God.  We were given a God born in an embarrassing manger to an embarrassingly unwed mother and who died on an embarrassing cross.  The Patron Saint of Embarrassing Problems wants to tell us that if this God thought that her problem was real enough to be addressed then none of our problems are too silly.  Because Jesus came to save us from everything that’s killing us.  Not just War and Racism and Capitalism, but from those lowercase, personal, embarrassing violences, too.

The truth is this: our problems will always seem embarrassing.  These men who tell us that women’s ordination must wait until we’ve put an end to nuclear weapons, these priests that tell us that queer issues are too controversial for our parishes, will always tell us that our problems are silly, insignificant and less.  They were doing it 2,000 years ago and they’re doing it today.  And they rely on us to uphold this myth that Christ is being killed in the battlefields, but not in the bedroom.  So, they tell us not to be selfish.  They tell us to think of others first.  They remind us of our role at the foot of the cross.

Which is why this claiming of our pain is the most radical, the most Christian thing that we can do.  We have to take back God from those who would paint God in their own images, but who would reject a God that looks like us.

We like the Patron Saint of Embarrassing Problems and need to learn to pray for ourselves.  We have to learn to take our most embarrassing, silly, hard to explain problems to Jesus and trust that they are taken with the seriousness that we deserve.

We have to learn to pray, as she did:

“Oh, fix me.  Oh, fix me.  Oh, fix me.  Fix me, Jesus, fix me.”

Not out of any sort of feeling of unworthiness, but in recognition that until we’ve dealt with our own brokenness, our own pain, our own shit, we won’t be any good at fixing anything else.  We need to break up this myth of the world being divided up between ministers and those in need of ministry.  Mothers and children.  Because not only is that myth untrue, it’s paternalistic.  And it’s a core foundation for so much racism and sexism and violence in our church.

Regardless of what society tells us, we can’t be the healers unless we’ve also had experience being the healed.  In any healthy community we all get turns to be ministers, and we all get to be ministered to.  Not only is this a matter of our own personal survival (and it is), it’s also a matter of solidarity.  Because, guess what?  We have no business ministering to anyone that’s come to us for help unless we can have the same courage and humility to come to them when we need it.

I first started writing about the Patron Saint of Embarrassing Problems about a year ago, in response to a friend who had spent her life ministering to others and yet still seemed ashamed and uncomfortable at the thought of needing grace, herself.  At the time, I felt very confident with this assertion that we as women should reclaim our embarrassing problems, and our ability to pray for ourselves.

I wrote these words to her:

I, myself, know that even as I claim my belovedness with words, I still find ways to deny it with my actions.  It is so easy to champion the cause of women’s empowerment and feel-good spiritual love-fests, while secretly thinking I am talking about “other women’s” value, significance and belovedness.  I still face the ever-present voices that dismiss my depression, my weakness, my pain, as “silliness” as they demand that I get on to caring for others.

This is why I feel the urgent need to tell you that your pain is real and significant, even as I dismiss my own.  Because in hearing you express so honestly your own fears and pain that day, I caught a glimpse of my own pain and it became clear that any words that I could say to comfort you were also needed by me just as urgently.

A few months later, this friend and I were at a bar.  I confided in her that my partner and I were experiencing extreme financial problems, which had caused me to put off grad school for at least another year.  She was the only person that I had told about this.  I was raised with a great deal of anxiety and shame around money and I felt- still feel- that my failure to keep myself out of debt in spite of my fancy college education reflects negatively upon my intelligence level, my productivity, and my general goodness.

The first thing that she asked me was, “well, have you prayed about it?”  I, ever the hypocrite, responded “no, I can’t.  I’m just too embarrassed.”  “Well then,” she responded “I’ll pray for you.”

Sisters, as much as we need to pray for ourselves, we must not stop praying for each other. It is hard to remember that I am beloved, but I know that you are.  If, as women, we find it easier to be the caretaker than the one who is cared for, then we must learn to use our caretaking skills in ways that claim our role as beloved, and help other women claim that.  This is what it means to be church.  This is the miracle called Eucharist, which is to say that our salvation is all tied up in one another.  That in trying to be some small comfort for you, I am able to find the tools for my own liberation.

So, let’s stand on the shoulders of the Patron Saint of Embarrassing Problems, and let’s reach even farther than she did.  Like her, let’s be brave enough to name our brokenness aloud, in front of Jesus and our community, even if our voice is trembling.  And let’s be strong enough to hear others name their pain.  Let’s do this in the name of a new, Upsidedown Kindom where last is first and shame has been banished.  Let’s do this for each other, but let’s also do it for ourselves.

Amen, church?

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the crucifixion of the child molestation scandal currently rocking our church.  What possible resurrection could come out of this horrible betrayal?  However, every time I sit down to write about it, I find myself so angry, frustrated, confused and defensive that I can’t seem to write anything but a stream of obscenities.

While I attempt to cleanse my language and organize my thoughts, I wanted to repost some wisdom that I stumbled upon through facebook.  Meredith Gould posted a beautiful reflection on Paul Campell’s blog on the question “Why do you choose to stay in the Catholic church when it appears to be in crisis?” and Paul then responded to the same question on her blog.

Both of these reflections tackle the question with more grace, wisdom and honesty than I’m capable of, and I would recommend them to any other Catholic struggling with that question (and I believe it’s a question we’re all obligated to struggle with at least a little).

I’ll let you know when I have something worked out.  In the meantime, paz.

A Coptic depiction of the last supper. Courtesy of The Coptic Orthodox Church Network: http://www.copticchurch.net/cgibin/gallery/index.php?currDir=./Feasts&pageType=imageℑ=last_supper.jpg

(This is Part 2 of a two part series on veganism and Lent.  In Part 1, I explained why I choose to go vegan for Lent and what fasting from animal products means to me, personally, as a Christian.  In Part 2, I look at the long history of vegan Lenten fasts among members of the Christian Community.)

Almost everyone is familiar with the Catholic tradition of abstaining from meat on Fridays, but many Christians in the United States aren’t aware of the proud tradition of vegan fasting among members of the Christian community.

An Ethiopian icon of Jesus.

The Coptic Church is one of the oldest Christian Communities in the world, and is particularly known today for the importance that it places on fasting.  Coptic Christians generally fast 210 days a year (!), and during these fasting periods they abstain from alcohol, meat, dairy and sexual activity.  Not surprisingly, Lent is included as one of their many seasons of fasting.

Even outside of the Coptic Church, African Christians have a strong history of fasting.  The Orthodox Church traditionally keeps vegan for Lent, and most Ethiopian Orthodox Christians observe the fast.  (One reason why you can always find such amazing vegan food at Ethiopian restaurants!)

My favorite vegan fasting tradition comes from Russia, where

St. Basil's in Moscow is possibly the most well-known Orthodox Cathedral.

Orthodox Christians break their fast on Easter Sunday by eating a sweet cheesecake called Pashka, which literally means ‘Easter’.  I know that I’ve been craving cheesecake pretty intensely this Lent, and it’s nice to know that my fellow Christians in Russia have also shared in this experience.

While these churches are extremely diverse culturally, they share a common belief that I’ve always admired about the Orthodox churches, and that is that our bodies and our souls aren’t separate, but are intertwined.  Outer observances like fasting (kept within healthy limits) can be used as a way to create inner reflectiveness and peace.  The Coptic Orthodox Church Network explains the reason for fasting in this way:

Fasting is not considered a physical exercise, but rather it is an offering of inward love offered by the heart as well as the body.

As they point out, ancient Christians had a strong history of fasting that over time has diminished as many of our cultures have gotten more individualist and materialistic.  Personally, I appreciate the increased self-control and reflectiveness that I gain from my vegan fast, and I gain strength thinking about my sisters and brothers around the world who participate similar forms of fasting, as well.

That being said, I can’t wait to eat that Pashka!

To learn more about Christian vegan fasting traditions:

• Read Jim Wallis’ article about why he chose to observe a Daniel Fast for Lent.
• Check out the Coptic Orthodox Church Network’s resource on Coptic fasting.
• Read more about fasting in the Orthodox tradition here
• Finally, check out this fascinating article about how Catholics abstaining from meat on Fridays might improve the US’s carbon footprint.

As a Catholic, I take Lent seriously.  Lent is a time for me to reflect on and atone for my sins.  As a pacifist, that means acknowledging the ways that I am still contributing to a violent society.

I believe that eating justly is key to living peacefully.  Reflecting on my eating practices is a practical, personal and meaningful way to reflect on systems of violence in my daily life.  Who profits (or doesn’t profit) from the money I spend at the grocery store?  How far does my food have to travel to get to my plate?  What’s the environmental impact of the farm or factory that produced my food?  Finally, what animals were hurt or killed for my meal?  As a vegetarian, I normally abstain from meat as a way to lower my environmental footprint and as a daily reminder of my commitment to nonviolence and respect for all life, but my eating habits are very far from perfect.

That’s why, for the last four years, I’ve gone vegan for Lent.  Being vegan during Lent is an opportunity to atone for the fact that I still contribute to an unjust food culture, and a chance to repair the relationship between my food and the earth.  Of course, veganism can’t address all of the issues that go into food justice (local eating, worker justice, etc.), but I find that changing my diet so radically makes me more aware of other problems in my eating habits.  For instance, I’ve started eating less processed foods since I first began my vegan fast.

Lent is a time to atone for our sins.  One of my favorite priests used to say (and I believe) that the one true sin is failure to love.  If that’s the case, our Lenten fasts should be an opportunity to reflect on the ways that we’ve hurt our brothers and sisters, the earth and ourselves.  I think there can be something very self-absorbed about seeing Lent as a personal opportunity to wallow in self-loathing and repentance.  Lent should be an opportunity to acknowledge our place in the community of God’s family and apologize for having forgotten to love the rest of creation.  That’s why I think Lenten fasts and observances are so great when done with a social justice bent.

So, as you celebrate Lent, I invite you to observe the season by taking some small action to work towards more peaceful and just structures.  Some awesome Lenten observances that I’ve heard about from friends this year include: committing to give a dollar to a panhandler whenever asked, eating unprocessed foods and committing to focus more on anti-racism work on a daily basis.  Whatever you decide to do (or not do) for Lent, I wish you a joyous season of reflection!

For more ideas about how to celebrate a socially conscious Lent, check out:

• Catholics In Alliance‘s awesome Go Green for Lent campaign.
• Greater Washington Interfaith Power & Light‘s Lenten Carbon Fast
• Veg 4 Lent

As well as these Lenten Devotionals:

• Sojourners and The Poverty Initiative‘s The Triumphal Entry and the Poor People’s Campaign Mule Train
• Pax Christi‘s Lenten Reflections

In many ways, today has been a very ordinary day.  I got up, ate breakfast, spent time with Alex, showered.  However, like every day since I broke my heel, these daily rituals have been done slowly, with more intentionality.

Today was the first time I took a shower since I got my cast on Monday and I was amazed by how long it took.   The last week has made me so incredibly aware of how miraculous my body is, and how lucky I am to have had it work so well for the last 27 years.  Every time I use my crutches, I’m amazed by my strong arms, by how steady my one good leg is.

Today I ate three wonderful meals prepared by two wonderful people who just care about me enough to make sure I don’t go hungry.  I checked in with housemates, enjoyed a visit from a wonderful friend and was amazed by how much Alex must love me to be willing to run up and down the stairs dozens of times before heading to work, just to make sure I have everything I need.

In this simple Ash Wednesday, I mourned that I ever go through a day without awareness of how amazing a nice long shower is, how fantastic warm sunshine feels on my face, and how blessed I am to live with other people.  And I committed to be better next year.

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the

garden,

Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood

Teach us to care and not to care

Teach us to sit still

Even among these rocks,

Our peace in His will

And even among these rocks

Sister, mother

And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,

Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

-from Ash Wednesday, by T.S. Eliot

I’ve always felt that Fat Tuesday gets a bit of a bad rap.  Like any good Catholic, I love Lent.  I love the silence, the statues covered in purple cloth, the marathon liturgies and (yes) I even love fasting.  I love the way that these little rituals of self denial make me aware of everything that I have to be thankful for.  I love finding God in those quiet moments.

But it’s unhealthy to believe that we can find God in one extreme (self denial) and not the other (merriment).  I like to think of God quietly walking my fast with me, present in the stillness of that season.  But what sort of God do we have if she can’t also be found listening to jazz, drinking a bourbon and watching a good parade?  Yes, Fat Tuesday needs to be celebrated responsibly, but I’d argue that fasting can be just as dangerous (and self-indulgent) as drinking if done to excess.  So, let’s dance with God in New Orleans, watch her strut her stuff in a drag show in Rio, or stuff her silly with pancakes in Derry.  Then, we can fast with God for forty days until we come back to the middle, renewed by these seasons of celebration and penance.