Category Archives: unlikely

A Long and Winding Pentecost Story… Part 2

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So where was I? Oh yes… I was about to meet my cousins for the first time. This was a journey that would change my life.

A word about my life – as I said in the first installment. I hated my job but loved most of the people I worked with. As I was mired in debt and lost as to what my life calling was, I felt trapped. It did not seem like I could leave my job… I did not have a clue at what I wanted to do and I felt terrified about changing it or trying something else. Even though I was an executive with a good position, I did not feel competent to do much.

My depression was lurking, untreated and largely unnoticed. I just wrote a comment on another blog in which I said:
I recall days when I felt like I was walking around with a tunnel or a tube around me. I could essentially hear and see the world around me and even interact with it, but the whir of my own despair was a constant hum that created some distance. My depression was lived out in an entirely highly functional life.

It was May of 1995 and at that time my former employer still had what they called “Service Award Dinners.” These events were to congratulate employees on length of service; you would get a pin and people would say nice things about you. Oh yes, it was hokey, but it was also kind of nice. Those days are so long gone. That may have been one of the last ones actually.

One of my employees in the Chicago office, a woman who had helped me find some courage and integrity at one point, was getting her five year pin. I flew out to Chicago on Friday afternoon for the Friday night event. I couldn’t tell what I hated more – my job or myself.

Off we went to the dinner and I endured it as waves of anger and self-pity alternated washing over me. Don’t get me wrong, I really cared for this particular employee but I hated this dinner. One woman was getting a 45 year award. I thought to myself, “Oh God, kill me before that happens!”

The saving grace of the whole thing is that I was going to wake up on Saturday and take a train to Harvard, Illinois. There, my cousins, those prairie Jews from Rockford, would pick me up and we would finally be together. It kept me afloat.

On Saturday morning I ran over to the big Crate&Barrel store on Michigan Avenue to buy my cousins a gift. It was such a big, shiny, bright and beautiful store filled with bright,shiny and beautiful people working there.

And they all seemed… so happy. It was as if I were a hound a a scent had crossed my path! Happiness… Nose down and focused I looked all around me… Pillows, table ware, kitchen goods, vases and all sorts of lovely things! Wine glasses! Pitchers! Platters! Planters! And all the nice happy people who were selling them!

It hit me… A Crate&Barrel was about to open in White Plains, where I lived at the time. No… I couldn’t possibly.

Oh. Yes. I. Could.

Would I really embark on a career there?

No more time to consider that, I had to rush to make my train now after dawdling among the shiny objects of C&B. I got on my train, nervous and excited to meet my cousins.  And I spent the better part of the ride, watching Chicago yield to suburbia which became farmland and dreaming of life in a black and white apron, with the best accessory of all.

A smile.

To be continued…

A Long and Winding Pentecost Story…

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The spring of 1995 could qualify as one of the lowest points of my life. I had a job that I hated and that left me frustrated, I was deeply in debt and in so many ways, did not feel at home in my own skin.

Mostly I felt trapped. For all the time that I spent thrashing about, I would always be reminded that the shackles around my ankles remained locked.  Little did I know that the key was always at hand.

While I hated my job, I must say that I loved the people that worked for me. I remain friendly with many of them and thanks to Facebook, can keep up with whatever is going on in their lives. They were a balm to my spirit and encouraged me greatly, but there was no denying that I was a square peg in a round hole.

At that time I had been in touch via good old US Postal Service mail with my cousins, who I did not really know well at that time. When my mother died in September of 1991, my cousin Jeff reached out to me and his first correspondence changed all of our lives.

It is really something to look back to a time, not so long ago, when pen would make contact with paper and ink would flow and a kind of correspondence that we see less and less of, would make its way between people. Pen and paper letters do make for more thoughtful and reflective interchanges than what we see out here in the intertubes.

Jeff was (well technically still is!) a reform rabbi and at that time was at Temple Beth-El, in Rockford, Illinois. Now you are correct if you are thinking that this was not the most Jewish place in the world, but you would also be surprised how many Jews there were in Rockford and the surrounding areas. Jeff’s considerable skills as a rabbi and religious reader helped to build a good sized congregation.

Jeff’s wife Stephanie and two sons, James and Josh were as yet unknown to me, only through these letters. And in fact, to say I “knew” Jeff would be a stretch as I only remembered vaguely one childhood interchange.

In any case, our letters from late 1991 to 1995 had brought us closer together and I did long to meet Jeff and his family one day. Ah – letters, the pre-email and facebook days!

Our chance to meet was about to emerge and with it, a major life change for me.

And yes – there is a Pentecost element to all of this, as unlikely as it may seem.

To be continued..

A Rose Among The Thorns – A Story of Life

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How unlikely it all was. She was 43 when she gave birth to her daughter in November of 1957.  When she missed her period and then missed another, she chalked it up to menopause. Then another and another. Things were not really storybook like, unless you think storybook like means a sad story.

There were the things done to her – the love of her husband that was so often and tragically expressed by furious anger, verbal assaults, physical release of all sort.

There were the things she did to herself – the chain smoking, the black coffee from 7am to about noon, followed by the pffft-pop of that first can of beer opened  at 12:01 and that continued to sound off, every hour or so during the day. Terms and conditions like lactose-intolerant had not yet been discovered so she just avoided any dairy, food that made her so sick. Food for her meant buttered white bread, canned peas and pieces of meat so overcooked as to be inedible. And man – could she swear like a trooper! 

At about 5 months, the bulging tummy indicated that this might be more than menopause, so a doctor’s appointment was scheduled. Imagine everyone’s shock and surprise when they found out that a baby was well on the way. A baby thus far not really cared for or prepared for.

Now what?

It is not beyond the boundaries of imagination that termination of such a pregnancy was considered despite the legality of such an act and the morality, of course. I am not sure that it was the latter that drove this, more the former if there was even a conversation. I can’t imagine, knowing all the characters involved in this story, I can’t imagine that it did not pass through at least one of their minds.

Some way, some how – so unlikely, but then God is always very unlikely in how God acts and chooses – a baby was born at 9:42am on that second Tuesday of November.  She bore a remarkably healthy and vibrant girl, weighing in at 6 pounds, 14 ounces. Not bad when you factor in the pre-natal care, conditions and so forth.

She brought her baby home and thus began another thread of life in this most unlikely of families, a most unlikely baby to a truly unlikely mother.

The mother was truly a rose among the thorns, but she was a rose indeed, ever blooming, albeit it tragically so much of the time.

That was my mother, Rose Rossi. This is my 19th Mother’s Day without her. I cry at this one as I have cried at all the others. Despite all the unlikely and so often unhappy things I bring up, my life is a testament to a woman who endured much and who in her own way, gave her life for me.

I love you mama, I love you.

It’s A Beautiful Day!

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This day marks so many things. They all point to joy. They all cause me to feel gratitude beyond imaging. 

Talk about a sacramental marriage… This is all about marrying a person, a family, a parish, a community, a world.

There is so much to be grateful for… It is all gift. Mark, Erica, Gracie, Boo-boo, my friends and neighbors, my new career – such as it is. All gift. All joy. All. It is also all so unlikely.

And yet – Here. We. Are.

Stories from the Mount of Olives

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The taxi dropped me off at Dominus Flevit. It was a hot day at the end of May 2006; the morning sun was already baking the Mount of Olives. The taxi driver was a bit rude; he wanted to take me to Bethany; I did not want to go. He persisted, so I finally I just ignored him and I did not like that.

Exiting the taxi I went into the church. A cat was running around, skittering here and there, seeming to play with an imaginary cat toy; it was not a cute cat, it was too lean and hungry.

A Franciscan came along – he seemed very agitated and and started to yell at the cat; my prayer was interrupted by his angry words. I don’t even know what language it was. I started to ask him a question and he scowled, said something and left.

I sighed deeply, once again reminded that I could not “create” religious experience just because I was in a particular place or because I wanted to. You’d think I would know that already. I do know it, but I am persistent in my pursuits, so I guess I keep hoping.

After taking a photo through the window behind the altar, I left and made my way down the hill, passing the gold domes of the Church of Mary Magdalene. This was my second trip down the road; I was there in 2004 too. This church is intriguing, but only open at certain times; once again my timing was off.

In front of the Magdalene church complex gate, there was a man with a white mule. He smiled at me, I smiled at him. He said, “Peek-CHOOR?” Yes, I could take his picture. He posed and after I snapped, he put out his hand and offered me a toothless smile. *sigh* Some shekels and I parted company and he smiled again. I kept going down the hill.

My next stop was The Garden of Gethsemane. The trees are ancient and gnarled, standing like sentinels. The quiet was penetrating, no one else was there. After some time in the garden,  wondering about Jesus praying there so many years ago, I entered the Church of All Nations. 

If there is something bizarre to me about Jerusalem, but maybe not, it is that finding a time and place to go to mass is a challenge.  So I entered the church and in the dark silence of the entrance, I scanned a sign and it did appear that mass would start soon.

The church was cool, dry and dim. I sat down, no one was there. A group of tourists came in, I think that they were Polish. They were noisy, running around, touching things and having animated conversations.

What was it about creating religious experience that I did not understand? This was religious experience, just not one that I could control.

They left and soon thereafter a priest entered. He went to the altar and I thought that mass would begin. He looked about 35 and was wearing a cassock; he went to the altar table, then to the chair, where he sat and prayed.  Eventually he left and once more, I realized that another plan of mine was foiled. No mass. I felt angry.

Some other people came in and out, groups of 4 and 5, from different countries. There were some very loud Asian people who went up on the altar and took photos of each other. My inner hanging judge was on high alert.

Creating religious experience again, not accepting what was. A theme.

Then they sat down and became very still. One of them, a woman, went over to the rock where Jesus is thought to have prayed and sweated blood, and she lay down up on it.  I pretended to pray with my eyes closed, but I was actually watching her. She prayed and stayed there a long time and I thought about how I would never do that. I must admit that I thought this with an air of superiority. That’s how Ms. Planned Religious Experience rolls. How annoying I am – to myself.

They left and I remained, a tightly wound ball of control issues, anger and judgment. Nothing worked. Maybe I should have gone to Bethany after all.

My eyes closed and I went into my favorite form of contemplative prayer – sleep.

About 15 minutes later I awoke with a start and I knew what I had to do. I got up and walked up to the altar and turned around; the church was empty. Next thing I know, I am on my knees next to the rock.  A moment later, I am draped across the rock and I begin to weep.

Yes, I myself am laying on the rock and I am now sobbing uncontrollably. In my heart and through my tears, I hear myself making a promise and a big one at that. As I literally press my entire body, shaking through the tears as it is, against the rock, I hear myself saying that I am giving my whole life to God.

I don’t really want to be saying this at some level, but I am saying it nonetheless. And I know I do not want to say it because it is true and I can’t bear it.  It is true and I can’t bear and I do not want to be saying it, yet at the same time I begin to feel a weight lift and I feel some tremendous relief.

Then I realize that I am in a public place, flat upon a rock, crying and sobbing, on an altar for God’s sake. I get very still, just staying where I am. It reminds me of when I was little and would not want to be seen. Back then it seemed that if I got really quiet and really small no one would see me.

Of course, I was not little or small so I simply got up at one point and surveyed an empty church.

I returned to the chair I had been sitting in before and collected myself. A barrier had been broken; I had made it clear to God that I was in. Buyer’s remorse danced around the edges of my consciousness. I mean, I was already more religiously inclined than most. This was different however, very different.

It was also too late to turn back.

His Gal Friday, Part I – Another Entry in the Unlikely Series

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Way back in August, when I began this blog, I started to write about my life and was using the word unlikely in the posts and as a tag. 

For various reasons, I have drifted away from the memoir, but I am back for a moment as I consider my current employment as a secretary. It is most unlikely for numerous reasons.  The title of this post comes from the euphemism that was quite popular into the 70’s in which you would call your secretary or assistant your “gal Friday.”

When I got out of college in May of 1979, I was pretty lost as to what I wanted to do. Well – I was just lost, period!  I knew that I wanted to work in the media business. Secretly I wanted to be a journalist – in print or broadcast (thank you Mary Tyler Moore!), but I had zero self-confidence, so I was afraid to express that to a single living soul.  When I graduated I had a good, albeit general knowledge of the business, but was not trained to be a journalist.

My earliest jobs fell into the category of “glorified secretary.” Being a “real” secretary meant going to Katherine Gibbs, knowing steno and typing quickly and having excellent organizational skills. I was none of the above. Plus I went to college! I was smart and going to be important, right?!  And I was a woman! Hear me roar! I wasn’t some dumb-girl-secretary! Yeah- whatever. Ugh.

Add to that my own vast inner emptiness and unhealed, supperating wounds – which meant that I was not capable of the service that secretarial work required. I did not know at the time that all real work requires deep service, but we will get to that at some other time.

So me being a secretary was unlikely. Me being a glorified secretary meant starting out, so I tried to deal with it.

I had zero capacity for this work. I could not type well, although who did not love the IBM Selectric with its fabulous tiny, shiny balls of different fonts! (hey watch it, not those kind of balls!) And I was horribly disorganized, with no ability to actually file or keep things in order.

When my wounds were not oozing, some tiny inner refraction of light revealed that I actually was good with people, so that got me pretty far along the road, but the road was often crumbling with my bad attitude.

And I would *not* make coffee – even when my job required it. My friend Richard, a man about 10 or so years older than I would always try to do that when it was called for, so that I did not have to. God bless this man, he was a savior to me in many ways. (And I still know him!)

Here I am today… After having found my way through the glittery and sparkly pathways of the media world, having made it to the not-quite-corner-but-big-office, I am in the most unlikely of jobs. Not only am I a secretary, but I am a church secretary.

Typing is not as vital today and I have gotten better at it after years at the computer keyboard. My organizational skills still leave something to be desired. I am happy to make all the coffee that anyone wants. (Especially since we have one of these at the office.)

And not only do I serve as a secretary, but I serve as a secretary to a man, a Catholic priest no less, in a Catholic Church.

And I love my job with every fiber of my being.

Unlikely. Most unlikely.

To be continued…

Living Ourselves Into A New Way of Believing – The Baptism of the Lord

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This Sunday we mark the end of the Christmas season with the Baptism of the Lord. There are various readings that each parish can choose from and you will find them all here.

The Gospel remains the same however and comes from Luke 3:15-16, 21-22. Luke starts out with complete clarity:


The people were filled with expectation,

That says it! And we remain a people filled with expectation, don’t we? And it is funny how we react when those expectations don’t unfold as we imagine that they would or should.

Luke goes on and tells us this:

all were asking in their hearts
whether John might be the Christ.

People were so hungry for a messiah. We have one and we still feel this hunger!  And it seemed that John just might be the one from what everyone saw at that time. John knew better however and let them know that he was simply “a finger pointing to the moon.” Meaning, that he was there to prepare for one much greater.

Expectations not yet met, hopes not yet fulfilled.

It is very remarkable that we see that Jesus does come to John and John baptizes him.  In the Gospel of Mark it is much more clear that John is a little taken aback by this… If Jesus is the true messiah, why would he allow himself to be baptized by John? Why wouldn’t Jesus do the baptizing? As always, Jesus is found in unlikely place or found doing many unlikely things.

This is, in my mind anyway, an invitation to get out of our heads and out of our expectations. We believe that Jesus is Lord and we have certain expectations about that fact.

Jesus IS Lord, but how do we respond to the invitation to get out of our own way, blocked by our expectations and limited beliefs?

What is that old line – we don’t believe ourselves into a new way of living but rather we live ourselves into a new way of believing. Something like that!

If baptism is to open our hearts and minds, that is exactly what we must do. It is not easy, but it is simple. I am going to give it a try for once, I hope that you will join me.

There is No Church of One. A Post About The Urge To Connect, Pilgrimage and The Power of Community

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 Actual photographic evidence of my journey!

On Sunday morning I set forth in the frigid morning, snow falling and began to drive the two hours from my house to Rutland, VT. My objective was to go visit Caminante, to worship with her at her church and to then break bread in another way.

For a little history, I had visited Caminante in August 2008 when she was living further north in Vermont. A few months later she moved to Rutland and it seemed that we might see more of each other. Sadly, time and circumstances conspired otherwise and it took us until now to pull this blogger meet up off.

For those who do not know her, Caminante, she is an Episcopal priest and has been for almost 16 years; this month is her ordination anniversary. Knowing her and being in this online church with her has given me great comfort and joy.

It is entirely unlikely that I would become an Episcopalian, but my Catholic life is tremendously enriched by all my Episcopal and Anglican blogfriends. Who understands these things? Not I – but I revel in the grace that results from it all.

The driving was treacherous but not the worst I have ever been in. I would have turned around if I thought I could not do it. My two hour trip was more like two and a half hours and that is not so bad! I was reminded of my August visit and the rich green of Vermont as I drove through the white-out version!

The interior of Trinity Rutland.

The liturgy was beautiful; she presides so beautifully and her preaching is truly wonderful. You can read her sermon if you visit this link to her church blog. The message of her sermon illustrated that we are a pilgrim people, a pilgrim church. She touched on matters of the Incarnation and I will now want to be barefoot in church more often; she weaves in the power of community and mission. Oh the simple truth of the notion that there is no church of one.  I found it brilliant.

 This is the smaller chapel space, very beautiful and prayerful.

It is very edifying for me to hear a woman proclaim the Gospel, to preach and to preside at the table of the Lord. It is a reminder that our time and our plans are not God’s time or God’s plans. It is a theme of my life that things that are unlikely or unexpected happen all the time. So while I put no money on these matters happening quickly in my own church, I can take solace in that the fact that they likely will at some point.

Thanks be to God. (see below to meet some of Caminante’s kitties!)

Epiphany

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Unlikely, unexpected, out of the ordinary, not what you might think.

Such is Epiphany.

I really wanted to write about Epiphany and the the fact that the unlikely appearance of the baby in the stable. I did!

However I had an Epiphany of sorts and found a new blog called The Open Tabernacle.

So all the time that I was going to be writing about the Epiphany was spent having an actual epiphany.

So be it. Go follow a star, do something unlikely, stand with those far outside the circle of so-called respectability.

Maybe you’ll find God in some unlikely corner and in yourself while doing so.

Mary the Mother of God

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January 1 is the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God. If you read these pages you know I have been very Mary-ish of late. Of late? I am *always* very Mary-ish. Once I had a Protestant boyfriend who wanted me to join his church and my constant reply would be “No Mary? No Fran.”

It’s not idolatry, but I can see how some might see it that way.

Today I read a heart-stoppingly great post by Eileen at Episcopalifem in which she shared some thoughts about Mary. One of the things that comes up is the image of Mary that we are given, which is so disturbingly saccharine and one-dimensional.

In any case, I have written/spoken about Mary twice recently – here and here, if you wish to have a look. Both times I address some of this perceived weakness, if that is the right word. It is easy to get caught up in that and give up on Mary, but Mary is the one who spoke to me when I was returning to Church and I stick with her.

I mean let’s face it – God could have gone down a lot of roads to find ways to enflesh the spirit. Even going the traditional pregnant woman route – he could have chosen a woman from a higher class… but no. God, being God – used the unlikely and goes with a very young woman who comes from Galilee. That is a theological statement- anything that comes from Galilee and not Jerusalem is “lesser than.” This was no mistake.

So he calls upon this young girl, one from the margins and that is how God is made human. When people question my love of Mary and my Roman Catholic faith I want to point them here and say – “Are you kidding me? This is so outrageous! Extreme and unlikely and how could I not be completely in love with all of this?”

Which brings us back to our feast day on New Year’s Day… This feast, once again celebrating Mary the Mother of God, the Theotokos – the God bearer. All the sweet little images can come and go; this is a woman of some serious substance and the way that God is made manifest in human form, through her. Wow. 

It is completely radical and subversive in so many ways! All hidden in plain sight – amid the little lady dressed in blue devotional materials. No offense to those by the way- I had to enter in through that door. I bought the whole thing hook, line and sinker.  However, like any meaningful, intimate relationship some level of maturation is required. You can’t stay where you were when you met if you expect to be in relationship in an authentic way – right?

So I think of Mary as many things – sweet, subservient and meek is not among them. As for the virginal – I will quote myself here, referring to one of the links from above:

We are all called to give birth to the Christ in some way, from our own virgin territory. Oh – that. It doesn’t matter, we all have virgin territory, those places in our souls, however seemingly tiny and shrouded, where we have the tender untouched, flesh given to us by God.

If I distill this down it is that we all must find our inner virgin. The very word is so loaded in our culture – enough for a whole other post sometime. Face it – we disdain virgins in our culture, we do. And by doing so, we disdain a very essential part of our own inner being.

Our virginity – and I am speaking very broadly here – is not something to quickly rid ourselves of and be done with, like an old and slightly embarrassing piece of clothing.  Think about this and reflect on what this might mean.

In any case, if we get lost in the little lady, the virginal as expressed through the context of patriarchy and oppression- well then we might lose the thread of Mary. And if we do, we lose something essential. She is the golden thread that really pulls the true Golden Thread into the weaving.

Before I go, I must point you to another post that is must-read material. Michael Iafrate is an amazing young Catholic writer who blogs at Vox Nova (a blog I often have trouble reading) and at his own place, catholicanarchy.org. I highly, highly recommend reading his work.

In any case, he did an end of year post that pointed me back to something he wrote in September, about the Rosary. You can find that here. It is a rich piece of writing and he shares this post from Brother Vito, a Capuchin, who suggests the Subversive Mysteries for the Rosary. Oh my – go read this, it is amazing!

Well I have gone on far too long – no wonder someone I know calls me “Ramblin’ Rose.”  Anyway, it is the Feast of Mary the Mother of God and I am delighted to begin this year celebrating her.

Happy New Year to all.