Culture Clash

As I have grown older, I have come to understand that culture is very important. The culture of a nation, the culture of a region, the culture of a town, even the culture of a neighborhood are very defining. People are shaped by their community and how the people interact with one another. We are shaped by the people and the physical place around us. When I first video skyped my daughter and showed her the street she said, "Damn, it looks like Italy." For many people in America there is now a culture of constant change as the average family moves every 3 years, new communities, new physical environment, and new culture lived out in rapid succession. This certainly was my experience having lived in over 30 homes in less than 45 years.

Where I live now, in my little town of Piegaro, Italy with less than 1,000 people, the borgo, or ancient part of town is less than a kilometer long, less than ½ kilometer wide. In less than a year here I am now in my third house, third neighborhood, all very different. When I told my daughter I was moving to a new neighborhood she said it was impossible, the town was 3 city blocks.... The first was the tourist hotel, sort of isolated behind the gate, the second was the piazzola (little piazza) with many of the older Italian citizens and families in the surrounding neighborhood, and now I am living at the other end of town in the neighborhood of immigrants. I also spend a good deal of time in the Piazza, the central square of town with friends who are also old Italian families, but a different culture than the piazzola. Then of course there are those who live in the outskirts and the new sections of town, each very different from each other.

What has been interesting in the last few weeks is that the more ingrained into the village I get, it is more apparent the alliances folks have. It has always been my practice to live by the credo of the 1940’s radio detective, Boston Blackie who was “Friend to those who had no friends, and enemy to no one.” But the reality of life is that we always have our circles of friends, our groups, those who we culturally identify most with. For me it became apparent that at some point I would have to choose my preferred circle, and for me that means walking gingerly to keep all the wonderful relationships I have formed in all circles as I have worked diligently to learn the Italian language from the locals, because the relationships are always more important than the words. However, as the norm of any society, we form circles of friends, circles of society.

It is ironic for me that my immigrant friends here in Piegaro for the most part do not live in my neighborhood, they live in other areas. So as a person who grew up poor and lived most of my life in immigrant neighborhoods, these are the folks I least connect with. They are dear and have brought me nuts and fruits of the fields, and their children play in front of my house and are cute as can be, but they mostly speak their native tongues which is actually difficult for me as I try to learn Italian. Instead I find myself similar to them in that people have difficulty understanding my “dialect” but different in that I am not from one of these large immigrant groups, and thus not seen as an immigrant, instead I am “la Americana”. I am a culture all of my own here.

Now, there is one thing common in the culture of all these groups in my life now that I have become Catholic and finished the sacraments of cressima and prima communion, it is now time for my next sacrament, either the life of a nun or get married. This is very different than my American culture, no matter where I was in America. After a few misplaced knee jerk reactions on my part to these ideas, I am resting in the recommendation of my priest at confession, my friend Bruno, and even the words of the women of Mary’s as they sent me on my way: Piano, Piano Lisa (slowly, softy, take it easy). For all the well meaning love of my circle of friends of this village, there is plenty of time to make any next sacramental steps.

It is grace to have daily mass here, to partake in a sacrament every day. To experience with a variety of people in the grace of God, and to know that beyond cultural boundaries there is love and grace that goes deep. Friends here, in America, and in certainly the Spirit of God all speak with a unified voice beyond culture that calls for a life that is led softly and slowly. A life of graceful living.

Where have you experienced different cultures in your life?
Did you find grace or difficulty or both?
How do you live within the call of the Spirit, for you what does this mean? (for me piano, piano)

Shared Tears

My

Crissima and Prima Communione sacrament was full of memories that will stay with me. It was an experience that was a mixture of emotions. I am blessed by friends of a culture that has a great vocabulary to express that this was an emotional time. But I did not expect to feel the range of emotions from sacred joy to feeling out of place. In Protestant tradition there are 2 sacraments, baptism and communion, in Catholicism 10, including the two I partook of in just one day. Which of course meant it would be an emotional day.

As I prepared for the day and arrived in the Piazza it was great to see a mix of people, from different groups, the ladies of the piazza, the church, as well as my sweet friend Martina, the daughter of the waiter at the restaurant. We took pictures and I realized the ladies of the church would not be joining us as we drove to the big city of Perugia for the sacraments during worship at the University Church. I had prepared for the sacraments for 6 weeks under the watchful soul of Don Alio the rector of the church, editor for the Umbrian Catholic newspaper, “La Voce”, and head of the Ecumenical center. But as we drove away from Piegaro and I waved goodbye to the ladies of the church, it felt like a leaving from HOME, where the heart is. Although so moved by the support of my friends, it was hard to leave home for a different church for this auspicious moment.

It was truly a blessing to have many ladies joining us on this spiritual adventure, the ladies of the piazza who have been so wonderfully supportive in my learning of l’italiano and my joining the Catholic faith. Yet, they are not the ladies I attend daily mass with. They are not the familiar faces from Sunday’s noon service with its great group of young people singing, not even the faces of the procesioni of Easter, Holy week, or the Day of Miracles. Beautiful Christian souls, yes, but not part of the group that formed my faith here in Piegaro, yet here they were in this new chapter, on its opening page. My feelings were mixed and confused as we drove away.

A simple description of the University Church is that it is a grandiose structure with an unfortunate dome leak that means inside the church there is a large box of compressed wood product, to keep people away from falling water or debris from the roof. But it is huge, and at one time in a point of less faith had been converted into a Masonic Hall. Now it is a mixed bag of imagery, from large statues of law educators looking down from the walls, to paintings depicting royalty with merchants, to smaller beautiful mosaic icons with a sprinkling of religious posters. It feels like a campus ministry building almost anywhere, a building that has functioned for other purposes while maintaining an aura of education and advancement in society about it (and always the undertone of religion, even when serving secular purposes!).

But the greatest surprise of the day was my dear friend Martina’s response to sitting in this church, here in the company of women that she knew, but not well (quite similar to my own experience). She erupted into tears, when I asked why, she said the only time she had been in a church was for her grandmother’s funeral. This all reminded her of the funeral, but more importantly the grandmother she loved and missed. As she poured out her love, tears and words I had the opportunity to tell her that my first time to church was also my grandmother’s funeral, I felt a special bond to this sweet girl. I with her that I had always prayed in my life, even as a small child, but did not know others prayed until the funeral, and how important it was for me, and that I had gone to church ever since. We spent dear and precious time in embrace before the service.

This return to the Catholic faith for me was huge, it was a return to the faith of my family, and here was dear, sweet Martina embodying the importance of this return. Here were the ladies of the piazza, those who I loved, but were not part of my spiritual life, much as my 6 aunts at grandma’s funeral, sharing this sacred moment. It was a blessed coming full circle.

The greatest blessing of all was Martina, reminding me of the faith of my youth, the faith that sustains. Jesus spoke of the faith of children, and it is so beautifully pure that to share tears of joy, tears of remembering, tears of lost love with this sweet, dear girl was the greatest gift in this sacramental day. She was a beautiful reminder of the tears of joys shed for the love of God, love of neighbor, and the reception of love of others….the greatest blessings in life! For all the emotions of this day, the greatest was the gift of love and sharing love, love for grandmas, for God, and for friends.

What stories of childhood faith spill into your life of faith now?
How has your relationship with God changed, and remained the same over the years?
What special people have surprised you with grace in times of emotional and spiritual upheaval?

Preserving or Putting up Fruit

Figs and Blackberries are in Season now, beauty in the fields.

Here in Italy fruit preserves are known as marmalade, yet there is something I like about the idea of juxtaposing the word concepts of "preserving" or "putting up" the fruit. When I think of the notion of preserving I think of a caring aspect of keeping something going for a long time, like historical preservation. However, when I think of putting up, I think of mom saying, “I am not putting up with that anymore!” There is a sense of tolerance, patience and coping that comes with putting up something, even with putting up a guest for the night, which wouldn’t be said if you were thrilled to have them.

I love the first days of making preserves, the picking, cleaning, and slow process that is calming to my soul. After a while though it is good to take a break, otherwise, I would just be putting up the fruit. One of the sweet ways of making it truly a preserving spiritual practice is to remember all the wonderful people who have been part of my history of making marmalade and canning salsa. As I pick the fruit there is time to pray for all who have journeyed with me in this beautiful work. The memories of picking berries with my brother, who always ate more than ended up in bucket, my mom and various relatives who if we were lucky would be visiting us when the blackberries, aunt Judy’s raspberries, or apples were to be harvested.

I remember watching grandma and aunt Judy making their prized jams, and even have a picture of grandma in her kitchen, but boy was I young then. My first teacher of preserves was Kenna Jones, a sweet friend who had nothing but sons who were not inclined to cook, and was happy to teach me her art of making strawberry preserves. She then guided me through the process of apricot preserves from the fruit of our tree in the backyard. As a young adult, my neighbor Pasqualina Verdi would teach me how to make Italian tomato sauce and pesto. Through the years friends from Mexico would show me an array of ways to prepare salsa, depending on where I was living at the time and what was available in the local gardens. My friend Teresa at my last church in Seattle was a great scrounge and creator of preserves as well, we would harvest figs together and swap stories of where we obtained our fruit in the area, always proud of free found food, more for the hunt than for the free. A bounty of God’s good earth!

Here in Piegaro my friend Maria is great to show me where local free fruit can be found, and others will tell me as well. It is a great gift that now Maria doesn’t tell me where to find local wild finds, but instead asks me where I am finding my goodies, then will nod and say she knows the tree, but she has a tree in her yard so needs no fruit from my find. Maria Pia, Peppina, Renata and others have handed me large quantities of freshly harvested fruits of their family gardens, a joy to preserve. There is a common bond between friends who enjoy the harvesting of fruit, preserving foods for the cold days ahead, and swapping recipes. In this town as with so many towns I have lived in over the years, food is the heart of so many stories, something essential in life as an art form.

God gives us a bounty of food, so often forgotten in the fields, alleys, and even city neighborhoods that enrich our lives in many ways. To see this rich bounty not as something trivial, as something to Put Up, but as a treasure to preserve is a joy and gift for me. It takes me to precious memories of loved ones, to new relationships around this sweet topic, and will be a joy to partake of in the future…a gift of hope from the kitchen!

How do you most enjoy the bounty of God’s food?
What is your perspective on the preparation of food, what memories does it provoke?

Tutto a posto?

Tutto a posto, it is all okay, it is all in place. It was a simple question I was asked repeatedly as I worked to move into my new home. There were two big reasons for moving, one was that my previous house was too grand, the other was it was too expensive. When I say too grand that has two meanings that were both quite true, it was large and it was of a style that was elegant. With a large salon, a huge master bedroom and luxurious bath that all reflected a fashion of opulence, it wasn’t quite me. The tiny kitchen and the second bedroom with a window that faced a wall also noted that those things that weren’t luxuries, weren’t important did not fit well with my soul, it felt very out of place for me. To top it off it was out of my price range for living there for any length of time.

The joy of the place was my amazing neighbors, who are so fun, I still visit them almost daily, it is thank God a small town. Another joy was playing with the luxuries, such as rendering fabulous bubble baths in the opulent bath complete with music and singing, and my fave, camping on the terrazzo. The rooftop terrace was fairly private with an amazing view of the valley, quite, quite grand, and for me a perfect place to camp. On hot days in the top floor apartment, I could always rest assured that sleeping under the stars was a possibility, with a tent that would make any 5 year old proud, a blanket for a roof and drag up an extra mattress and I was good to go.

It was an apartment that didn’t quite fit me, but it worked well with the sweet people around me, but it was time to move on. In previous writing I spoke of the difficulty for me to move from house to house, I end up a nervous wreck, and was touched in the midst of this move when a friend asked how I was, because I looked nervous. The moving seemed to drag on, partly due to a cleaning process that was unusually long due to the fact that the home had been empty for years, and that there was additional maintenance such as paint and plumbing that needed to be attended to by people other than myself, it was both a work and wait process, thus came the question, “tutto a posto?” my friends wanting to know if all was in place yet, but even deeper, was I okay.

As eager as I was to be done, so were my friends, who could see my stress in the face of moving. Once it was finished I took some time to look back on the process, and be thankful for friends who took the time to notice how my face reflected my feelings, and my neighbors who were so amazingly supportive and giving, literally giving me housewarming gifts or providing me with things I needed such as a bed and dishes. I had plenty of food and support to make the move just that much easier and the ever present cheer: tutto a posto?

All during the time leading up to the move, to the moving process itself and in the 2 weeks following I was preparing for my cressima and first communion in the Catholic church. It is only now that I have really had time to rest and think about the space of being tutto a posto, with these two big things behind me. Yesterday when our priest asked how I was, I said tired, it was a busy 6 weeks and I suddenly found myself tired. I realized in the reflection that there never is a time of tutto a posto, when all is okay, when all is in place, for in the follow up to the moving there is now time for canning of fruits and vegetables, of preparing my new home for winter.

Following the cressima and first communion comes the preparing for the wholeness of life within this new culture of church I have chosen to embrace. Within this small town there are neighborhoods and I have moved to a new neighborhood, it will take time to settle in, the knowing that it is a small town and I will see my old neighbors daily comforts me in this time of change. In the new church commitment I find new expectations, and new opportunities, and for me I am leaning on the wisdom of the priest who heard my first confession and offered these words: “You have done much, lived much in a very short life, it is time to slow down. Don’t rush, just pray and live.”

My new home is a good place to do this, it is more than economical, it is cozy with the great heart of the home being a fabulous kitchen, that one reaches through the sweet entry room. For me a great metaphor for life; a welcoming entry into a warm heart and all else will fall into place, in time. My sitting room is not quite ready yet, or my closet in the bedroom, there is work yet to be done. Tutto a posto, by definition no, it is not all in place, but all is okay, all is right with the world, Thanks Be to God!

When or How do you feel all is okay, or in place?
How do you feel knowing and being in life when things seem out of place?
How can you rest with God in all times when things seem in or out of place?

"I can't help it, I was drawn that way"

This is one of my favorite lines from the greatly amusing movie “Who Framed Roger Rabbit,” in response to a comment on her amazing body. To have a great figure is a blessing and a curse and this line seems to say it all in such a sassy way, perfect for the cartoon character. In real life we all have bodies that come in different shapes and sizes, and we move them in different manners that reflect more our family lineage than even the forms of others in our family. I move similarly to my mother, with the added bonus of a slight swing of a leg that is slightly longer than the other due to a sports injury, the result is comically sexy at times…I can’t help it, it is the result of my parentage and life experience.

When my daughter was all of 5 we were walking to school with our friends when the other mom made a comment on her “swing,” she walks like me without the benefit of injury, she walks with a wiggle. My friend from high school summed it up this way at one time: I’d like to have a swing like that in my back yard, can I have some fries with that shake, and you have a fine swing, who is your batting coach? This is the source of much fun, much razzing by friends, and often makes life unfold in ways that seem to contradict the very people we are. For me a person who has led a religious life, for my daughter one who espouses ideals of feminism, and still we have the walk created by the history and experience of the life we were born into.

Take it one step further and there is the gift of being “drawn” by our creator God with curvy figures that people seem to idealize, but the reality is it is often a greater curse. I remember the final interview through the ministry candidacy process when a sweet well-meaning woman said she could finally approve my candidacy because I looked like a pastor, I was wearing a shapeless vintage suit from Pendleton Woolens of the 1960s. To be professional in the church was to look asexual, once that was accomplished I was ready to serve God. To have the figure of Marilyn Monroe I found was not helpful in a life of the religious, for this one person it meant an extra year and lots of fabric to overcome. The creator draws me one way, and well meaning people want it another way.

With the curves, and with the walk I could feel doomed, for this was only the start of some misadventures in the church regarding my appearance. It takes longer for people to take me seriously, but then why should I take it all so seriously? How to use all that I am to render creative mischief seems in due course now. There have been tragic beauties throughout history, such as Marilyn, who have felt doomed by the response to their figures and forms, but why should I? Especially when it infinitely more fun to play it up to the hilt, render surprise on people in fun ways that cause no harm, but in fact reflect the glory of God. My last memorial service as a pastor serving the UMC was for a biker, it was decided by the family that the look was not tragic black, but biker black. It was great joy for me to hear during the sharing of stories in the memorial service that the "Red is looking down from heaven with joy to have a "hot" pastor" (presiding in boots, tights and short dress).

This week I had the great joy to dance two evenings under the stars, in the beautiful park here in Italy. Here too there is an expectation of how a person who is religious is to be, but less so on my figure and appearance than how to act. I was advised on how to respond if my dance partners were too fresh, because it was bad behavior that was frowned upon. Not only did I get advice, but my friends were there to watch over me like hawks. To dance with enthusiasm while people who cared ensured my safety was a gift. Sure, a few teasing voices about this crazy fun, but dang I felt like David dancing in his ephod with joy before God, and isn’t that just sacred and special!?!?!? To not only have time of great enjoyment, but to have friends who support the wholeness of who we are?

I find that to live fully in my "design" of God life requires a sacred sassyness: intelligence + humor + sexy = sassy, when combined with spiritual it is the depth of sensual for me, sensing all my createdness. To honor the creator who put me in this body, in this soul, with my life experiences and education informing my being is to live a sacred life!

How do you honor the fullness of how God has formed you?
How do you live into your creation with enthusiasm with awe for a God who creates us all unique?

Dancing through Life

One of my cousins says her first memory of me at the age of 2 was that I was constantly dancing. Whenever my emotions are high there is nothing like the sweet relief of dancing. A fond memory with another cousin was when we were teenagers, teaching him to dance in the hayloft of the barn, so sweet to share my love of dance with my dear cousin, a strong emotional bond! With the celebration of new faith, many people were noting that I was emotional, which is not a bad thing here in Italy, just an observation.

Saturday night was a wonderful night of dancing for me, my friend Roberta and I had schemed to hit two local dances in one evening; the one here in town at Bar Fortuna, and one on Mount Arale, both outside under the stars and full moon. At last month's dance at Bar Fortuna I gained a new dance partner, Aldo, who is the father of my friend Omar and is equally likeable and a great dancer. For me nothing calms the soul more than a partner who is as content to see me and have a person to dance the night away with as I am. Having danced with Omar previously, it is easy to dance with Aldo, his steps are the same, sweetly familiar, no work, no worry involved.

For me there is a state of grace involved in dancing, when I was young it was nervous energy that propelled me to move and sway with the rhythm of the music. When my children were young it was a way to connect and joyously be with my loves, and now it was one more way to celebrate the love of God, the mystery of new life, and my utter contentment of being in this land that makes my heart sing.

What are ways you use to physicalize the joy of God?
What are ways you use to work out all of your emotions?
How you literally and figuratively dance through life?

Sorry for photos from winter - don't carry camera to summer dances

Praying with the Girls

Today is Ferragosto, the holiday of the Assumption of Mary here in Italy. In Catholic faith it is understood that Mary was assumed by God into heaven, she was received this day. This day I will be received into the Catholic church, returning after 30+ years following my baptism in the Catholic church as a baby. It does feel totally like a reception: reception into a faith so strong with women, miracles and meaning, reception by my lovely friends who honor me with their celebration with me in this special event, and reception into new life, new hope, new possibilities.

In the process of confession, my priest repeated words I heard from the dear women of the Church of Mary Magdalene, from my friends here in Piegaro,and that rang in my ears when I knew it was time for Sabbatical, the words of the Holy Spirit: "you have done much in a short life, it is time to slow down." My priest also advised it was time to focus on the women of faith: Mary, Mary, Mary (all of the Marys) and the women saints of the church as mothers to carry me through. To pray with them, to them, through them, living with the love of those who would offer and do pray with us through eternity, for life here is a brief spot in eternity and we've been given eternal life, an eternity to pray with and for one another.

In life it is so important to recognize the importance of mothers, our own, those who inspire us in life, and even ourselves. To recognize the holiness of the act of mothering that is practiced even by those who have no children, but live in the actions of caring for others. Loving mothering is a divine action of faith, it is faith living and breathing. It is so important to recognize the assumption - reception of Mary into heaven, as a sacred valuing of God of her holy place as Mother of Jesus/mother to God and us all. To recognize the sacred place of OUR mother.

How is your life blessed with mothering love?
How do/can you practice the holy act of mothering?
How do you receive, and receive others into the embrace of God?

Canine or Feline

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote that men tended to be more canine and women more feline. Here in Piegaro the cats are everywhere, but there are certainly dogs present. The women also tend to be everywhere and the men present, but not everywhere. Because it is something I see every day it had me reflecting on the differences in people and our reactions to one another, especially because people often tell stories of their animals.

My favorite animal is the town’s sweet cat, Nuvola (Cloud), who is 14 years old and is in mourning for her beloved owner who passed away much too young last year. Nuovala, they tell me is always looking for affection as she seeks the love she misses. Being a sympathetic cat person, I spend much time with Nuvola. In the process of spiritual reflection I couldn’t help but feel very similar in character to my newfound cat friend. She has had a great change in her life, she finds solace in a variety of new people in her life, seeking new relationships, but not clinging to one. She will walk up to me talking away, meow, meow, meow, but not stay with me if my hands smell of fingernail polish, she has great boundaries. But she is still my dear friend and spends quality time with me. She has that wonderful feline trait of talking to people who will talk with them, of choosing whom they spend time with, of being territorial and ever present in her turf, and of being most content and relaxed when in the embrace of another.

The ladies of the piazza think that I should find a place in my home where I can bring Nuvola in for the cold or wet nights. They think all people and cats alike should have family, and we seem to be a good match. However cats are so independent, I wonder if she would choose to accept living with the new person in town, of sleeping in a new place?

In the summer you see more dogs here, as everyone walks their friends about town. Canines, unlike felines, really need some control in their lives, they are not independent in any sense, they are not feline. Dogs are pack animals they need their group, beit other dogs, people in a family, or in some cases their pack will include family cats, but they NEED others around to be happy. It is interesting that Fitzgerald names men as canine, because socialogists say that women tend to be the more social of humans, however, they also say that men thrive when they have others around, whereas women can go through their days in a mix of solitude or company. The first dog I knew in town, Lili, is a wonderful guard dog for her family, and if they are in range of view she will protect her yard with fierce barking toward anyone not in the family. When there is no family, or when the family invites you in, she is the most loving greeter in the community. One canine trait is that they thrive with a job to do, many of the dogs here are for the hunting of game and of truffles, and these dogs are truly treasured!

Upon reflection it seems that both canine and feline aspects and traits are present in all people, although perhaps more so in some than others. In our small village here it is easy to see people displaying the feline trait of being territorial, and always in the same places. It is also to see people who are content with specific individuals, but not necessarily all. It is also to see protective traits and the work ethics of the canine in the people here. Pretty much like in America, for no matter where you go people are people. In my time here it has been a beautiful time for reflection on how similar folks are no matter where you are in God’s world. Just as it is easy to make friends of cats and dogs everywhere, it is easy to make friends of people everywhere.

Upon reflection do you see yourself more as canine or feline?
What does it say about your spiritual life?
How do you receive the strangers in the world you meet, how do you appreciate the differences and similarities you share?

It is said that the name of our town, Piegaro comes from a word referring to the plagues. Here in Piegaro following the plagues of the 1400's it has always been important to keep cats... for the plague arrived with rats. Piegaro has been said to be a healing place, I do believe the cats and I agree, it is a healing place!

Everything always comes full Circle....

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun. Ecclesiastes 1:9

Last week our little village here in Italy celebrated “The days of glass” – honoring its 800+ year history of glass making, as well as acknowledging the 150 years of a United Italy. There were events such as a dance competition, nightly meals and demonstrations of glass making from blowing glass to weaving the fiaschi at the bottom of the Chianti bottles. People who used to live here in Piegaro returned to celebrate the history of their hometown.

Yet in this week, I found it interesting that one guest at a local hotel mentioned he was having difficulty in our small town because he preferred to look forward than to look past, but he was very interested in the festival, for festival’s sake. Which had me going right back to my favorite book of the Bible Ecclesiastes, which has been quoted by so many writers from Shakespeare to the Byrds. It has always been my thought that if we really want to look forward, we must look back, because as a people, as individuals, our lives are cycles. Just an ever spinning wheel that seems to return to the same place at different points in time.

In this time in history there is much discussion over debts, countries failing economically, wars continuing throughout this world, and droughts caused in many ways by human mismanagement. This is not the first time in history, and God willing won’t be the last time. Besides these tragedies something else is constantly repeated, grace, the loving gifts that bless our lives every day: food, friends, life and always hope for a world of love. When we are hungry, when our friends seem lost, when our life seems sad, with Spirit, God and resurrection in Christ there is always hope.

Here in Piegaro things are not easy, they are as the rest of the world, facing economic hardships, everyday losses and tragedies and people are in need of hope. We are the same, everywhere, God’s children, and as Ecclesiastes says, “there is nothing new under the sun.” People have asked if it is better economically in America now, as they see tourists here, even in our little village. There are fewer tourists from America my friend Colleen tells me at her inn, but she stays full with Europeans who are staying closer to home for vacations. Even those who have resources worldwide are being more cautious with their money but still know the value of rest and quiet.

Thinking on what my life has been like here in Italy on Sabbatical, and now preparing for confirmation in the Catholic church, returning to the faith of my ancestors, it seems to follow that circular pattern. Troubles, concerns, and worries that felt like crushing weights were lifted when I had time to rest and pray, time for my focus turn to circle back to hope, to mystery, to miracles, ultimately to God beyond institutions. When the celebration of faith is so focused on the mysterious love of God who works miracles of salvation and comfort through Jesus, the Holy Spirit, Mary and the saints that have gone before us; we are transformed into the very witness of love.

Slowing down, remembering what is truly important in our lives, forgetting the trappings of a world spinning out of control for love of money and in sore need of love of neighbors is vital now, and always. History repeats itself, we can see similar stories of angst throughout the ages, throughout scripture….but there is hope, faith, and above love to set us back on the mark. I remember when the first dip of the recession came and the women of Church of Mary Magdalene for Homeless women during Saturday’s prayers lifted up: “I pray for those who ain’t been poor before, it’s hard,” “I pray that if people who need help getting used to being poor come to us, we can help them, because we know,” “I pray that all us poor know the love of God and stay strong.”

Are their times when you see your poverty in life of spirit or material goods and feel the presence of the strength of God?”
How do you utilize the love of God to get through a world of worry?
Is it a comfort to know that even when we suffer that God, through Jesus knows the depths of suffering and is there to love and care for us through to eternity?