In my formation in religious life, we were taught to reach out with kindness to those who opposed us or with whom we disagreed. We were taught to build bridges as Jesus did. In my ministry on behalf of LGBT people and in my church reform work, I have interacted with traditionalists on a number of occasions. Each time I try to talk about what we have in common that unites us. That's how I feel we can begin to build bridges.
Capital E: Earth
It's not "the earth," it's our home. In Capital E: Earth, GSR delves into climate change, ecology, sustainable living and eco-spirituality.
Several weeks ago I had one of those bad days. Or, maybe it was an accumulation of a number of bad moments and days accumulated throughout a long, hot summer. Difficult moments that continue to sit in the pit of one's stomach even after prayer or meditation.
Sharing 164 acres of Jubilee Farm with heritage chickens is one of several examples of the philosophy of sustainability that is foundational to this ministry of the Dominican Sisters of Springfield, Illinois. The farm was purchased in 1999 to "honor the Year of Jubilee and its biblical injunction to let the land lie fallow, to honor Earth and support the delicate bioregion."
The Feast of St. Francis is a good time to remember that the words we choose to describe life on our planet matter.
A summer rain on an early Saturday morning invited me into the poetry of Thomas Merton. This Midwestern mystic and Trappist monk offers an invitation to enter into solitude and tend to the cry of our Mother Earth simply by listening to the rain. I watch the dance of the raindrops and hear the energy of life. It is a Merton moment calling me to a deeper integrity.
Recently, I took six graduate students from the Philippine Women University for a site visit to Payatas, Quezon City, an urban resettlement area, one of the most densely populated areas in Manila where the incidence of poverty is quite high.
It is that time of year again. I gratefully and quietly pick the sour pie-cherries from our trees. There is much time for reflection as I join with the rhythmic plucking of these small rosy treasures watered by snow melt and water from the Rio Grande and nurtured by the New Mexico sun.
Reflecting upon the history of Mother's Day, that it was intended originally to celebrate life and state that mothers did not want their children killed by war, I believe the added history is significant in our time.
On Earth Day the sun seems to shine brighter. The songs of the finch, meadowlark and red winged black bird ring more boldly upon the air. All creation seems to celebrate Earth Day. But, Earth Day this year seems different. The joyful rays and songs are still there, however, they feel tempered. A bittersweetness rests upon my heart.
It is 6:30 a.m., January 21, and I am standing in the dark beside a Swiss Guard, a heavy grey cape covering his colorful uniform. "There," I say, pointing to my name on his list. I show him my passport. Following his directions, we walk over black shiny cobblestones around a towering side wall of St. Peter's looking for the entrance to the chapel where Pope Francis offers his daily, private Mass.
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