I’ve always been drawn to Dorothy Day. Maybe it’s the powerful combination of her words and actions. I think more so it’s my awe for someone who’s able to do what she did. To be willing — happy, even — to be mistaken for a homeless woman. To so radically embrace the poor and so faithfully embrace the Church. A modern-day St. Francis, but totally her own. Totally new.
Author and Orbis Books publisher Robert Ellsberg, who worked alongside Dorothy Day for the last five years of her life, writes beautifully and eloquently today (on Huffington Post) about Dorothy — who she was, what she stood for, and the things we should never forget:
Despite all the sadness and suffering around her, she had an eye for the transcendent. There were always moments when it was possible to see beneath the surface. “Just look at that tree!” she would say. It might be an act of kindness, the sound of an opera on the radio, or the sight of flowers growing on the fire-escape outside her window: such moments caused her heart to rejoice. She liked to quote St. Teresa of Avila, who said, “I am such a grateful person that I can be purchased for a sardine.”
Above all she was a woman of prayer. She attended daily Mass, when she was able; she rose at dawn each day to recite the morning office and to meditate on scripture. After years of reading the breviary the language of the Psalms had become her daily bread: “Sing to the Lord a new song … sing joyfully to the Lord.”
When I went to the Catholic Worker I was not motivated by explicitly religious interests. Like Dorothy, I had been raised in the Episcopal Church, but I had pretty much drifted away from organized religion. What drew me to the Catholic Worker was Dorothy’s lifetime of consistent opposition to war, and the fact that her convictions were rooted in solidarity with the poor and those who suffered. Ultimately, I came to appreciate not just Dorothy’s anti-war convictions but the deeper tradition and spirituality that sustained her. I understood nothing about Dorothy if I didn’t realize the importance of the sacraments, prayer, liturgy, and the communion of saints, in which her witness was rooted. When I understood that, I felt a need to become a Catholic myself.
Reading that recollection gives me courage and hope. So often today we’re led to believe we can either be true to the Church or be true to ourselves. Dorothy shows that we can be both. What a comfort and motivation to do more, be more, trust more.
If that doesn’t get you, then try this conclusion to Ellsberg’s post:
Dorothy was a great believer in what Jean-Pierre de Caussade called “the sacrament of the present moment.” In each situation, in each encounter, in each task before us, she believed, there is a path to God. We don’t need to be in a monastery or a chapel. We don’t need to become different people first. We can start today, this moment, where we are, to add to the balance of love in the world, to add to the balance of peace.
Start today. Right here. Right now. And be sure to go to HuffPo to read the full post by clicking HERE.
In the span of about five days, I saw the new Winnie the Pooh movie with my 6-year-old, the Broadway show Wicked with my 11-year-old, and Deathly Hallows: Part 2, the last Harry Potter film, with my 14-year-old. Those are some pretty disparate entertainment choices – the benefit of widely spaced children – but the funny thing is that they’re not really all that different when you strip away the smoke and mirrors. And honey pots.
Okay, Potter’s Lord Voldemort and Pooh Bear’s “Backson” aren’t quite in the same league, but the overarching themes of all three of these productions are the same: the power of love, the importance of friendship, the willingness to confront our worst fears, no matter how terrible, in order to do the right thing. As it turns out, whether you’re in the Hundred Acre Wood or the Forbidden Forest, life still comes down to choices — between darkness and light, good and evil.
As I sat in the theater with Chiara, who was just a few days shy of six, I soaked up her enthusiasm for the beloved Pooh characters as they bounced and rolled and waddled along, doing what they always do – getting confused, helping each other, searching for the one who can protect them from the scary stuff in life, Christopher Robin. And, for a little kid not yet old enough to know real evil, a colorful, horned, cartoon “Backson” can be just as scary as anything J.K. Rowling conjured up.
Even in Wicked, the awesome prequel to the Wizard of Oz, the story of the wicked witch turns out to be a story of friendship, trust betrayed and trust regained, and, of course, doing the right thing even when the right thing gets you exiled, or, worse, melted.
How often do we face choices that have the power to change the course of a life – our own, our children’s, a stranger’s. I’m not talking about life-or-death choices, although those sometimes come along as well. I’m talking about the little choices that can have a big impact: the words we use, the look on our face, the things we do in the course of our day–to-day lives. Do we choose light over darkness? Do we cast someone aside out of mistaken notions of who we think they are or ought to be? Do we let fear keep us from doing what we know is right even if it’s hard? Do we have friends to walk the journey with us? Do we constantly keep an eye out for the One who can comfort us, protect us, guide us onto the right path?
Some things are universal. Whether it’s a quaking Piglet fearfully going out into the unknown to save his friends trapped in a ditch or a stalwart Harry Potter unflinchingly preparing to sacrifice his own life to save his friends and his world, the stories come back around to the same lesson: We are called to walk this path with others, and to give of ourselves – maybe even all of ourselves – for those we care about. And even for those we don’t. Sounds a lot like the Gospel, doesn’t it, with some animation, great music and special effects to drive the point home. I don’t know if my kids got all that, but I sure did.
When I went to Rome last September, I roamed from restaurant to restaurant, desperately asking (in my pathetic version of Italian): “Fiori di zucca fritta?” Fried zucchini blossoms? And the answer was a resounding: “No, not in season.” Argh. (more…)
I have to admit, when my alarm went off at 5:10 a.m. today, I was not bursting with enthusiasm for the morning yoga class I planned to attend. For a minute or two I considered closing my eyes and skipping the whole thing. But I knew I’d feel better about my day if I started it with some deep breathing and yoga stretches. So, I headed out.
I got to the garage only to find I had the wrong car keys. I dropped my yoga mat — the very same one I’d need to put my face down on in a few minutes — onto the dirty garage floor. It was just one of those mornings. I headed toward the YMCA grumbling under my breath and listening to Derek and the Dominoes sing Layla.
And then I turned the corner and gasped. Really. There, right in front of me, was a full moon so big, so low, and so perfect that it took my breath away. And suddenly my entire mood, my entire day took a turn for the better. I smiled the whole way to the Y, thrilled every time there was a clearing through the trees and the moon came back into view. As I turned into the Y, with no cars coming in either direction, I just waited in the road for a minute, soaking in one last look.
As I got out of the car, I found myself whispering a prayer of thanks — for the unexpected beauty, for the wake up call when I was allowing minor inconveniences to color my day, for the reminder of the awesomeness of God’s great creation. I wish I’d had my camera with me, but, to be honest, no picture could have done it justice.
I’ve always felt a connection to the moon, more so than the sun. What? You find that odd. Yes, I’m odd. Seeing that moon today reminded me of a little moon-inspired reflection I’d scribbled into a journal long ago, a sort of Ode to the Moon. My version, I guess, of St. Francis’ Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon. (So many reasons to love that saint.)
To this day I can remember that night almost 20 years ago, when I felt surprised by and drawn to the moon in much the same way as I did this morning. Back then I was walking home from the train after a long day of work, guided through the local cemetery and empty parking lot by a sliver of crescent moon and the clearly visible dark side. (My favorite part of the moon. Of course. If you’re going to be wacky, be wacky all the way.)
I know I’ll remember today’s moon with the same clarity, not only because it was so beautiful but because it arrived on my horizon at just the right moment.
Have you ever had a moment like that, when some glimpse of beauty or wonder has caught you by surprise and lifted you up? What thing in nature speaks powerfully to you?
Here’s the song Canticle of the Sun to start your Friday and set the tone for your weekend.
“The heavens are telling the glory of God, And all creation is shouting for joy! Come, dance in the forest, come, play in the field, And sing, sing to the glory of the Lord!”
From the Monastery of St. Scholastica in Subiaco, Italy. Photo by Mary DeTurris Poust
Happy Feast of St. Benedict! Here’s a snippet about St. Benedict from my newest book, The Essential Guide to Catholic Prayer and the Mass:
“While the Rule of St. Benedict covers everything from how much wine the monks were allowed to drink with dinner to receiving guests at the monastery, it’s still very much relevant to our lives today. Even the parts about moderation in food and drink can be adapted to our modern lives.
“St. Benedict opens the Rule with these words: ‘Listen with the ear of your heart.’ That’s a favorite quote of mine, and it hangs on a stone plaque in my office. It gets to the heart of prayer life, and the heart of life in general. We’re not meant to run from one thing to another without focus, without peace, without direction. We need to stop, breathe, be quiet, and listen with our hearts.
“…St. Benedict teaches us to live an integrated life. So prayer is woven into the work we do each day, whether we drive a bus, balance budget sheets, or care for our children. Our community is our family, our friends, our parish, our workplace. And our study? Well, we’re doing that right now as we attempt to learn more about faith and prayer in order to grow closer to Christ.
“So if we lean toward a holistic view of spirituality, of our faith as intricately woven into every moment and event of our lives, then Benedictine spirituality could be a path to explore…”
