Journeys

I have just returned from the massive trip that was two years in the planning and two weeks in duration.  Right now I am in the shell shocked, over exhausted, and slightly sick recovery state.  A few more days of normal sleep (trying to get back into this time zone) and finishing my laundry will put things to right again.

The trip was incredible.  No matter how many World Youth Days (WYD) I attend, each one in it's unique way is absolutely wonderful and the occasional disaster.  This one blew me away in some major and innumerable small ways.

The incredible large moments were the Living Stations of the Cross and the overnight vigil and Mass with the Pope.  The Stations were indescribable.  Over the course of 3 hours, actors re-enacted the Passion narrative using the landmarks of Sydney as their backdrop.  To see the Opera House transformed into Pilate's palace and Jesus transported with his cross on a simple flat float were stunning images that I am still processing.  What spoke most to me was the casting of an Aboriginal man, in traditional garb, as Simon the Cyrene.  After beginning to learn more of what the Aboriginal peoples of Australia suffered, the image of this man helping Jesus to bear the Cross was one of the most moving moments of the two weeks.  

The overnight vigil was incredibly cold, down to 46 degrees overnight, but was a beautiful witness to the universality of faith among young people.  Our small group from the U.S. was surrounded by Germans, Tongalese, a large group from the United Arab Emirates, and an enormous group from California.  All of us were willing to brave the chilly temperatures, occasional issue with malfunctioning toilets, and canned tuna to pray together at night and close the WYD event with the massive Papal Mass on Sunday morning.

The small moments were the things that no news agency would wish to cover, but which made the trip more meaningful.  Watching group members care for individuals struggling with the confusion, teens pausing to pray instead of sight-seeing, finding old friends in the midst of thousands of strangers, these were the moments that helped to ground the experience for me in a complex reality.

What is difficult is the reactions of the teens.  WYD is primarily geared towards those 18 and older.  By taking a significant number of 16 & 17 year-olds, the dynamics change.  I obviously cannot have young people roaming long after midnight through a foreign city.  This means curtailing our evening activities.  With a diverse group of people, there is a complicated matrix of needs and wants to work with that rarely coincide with each other.  Inevitably, people have disappointed expectations or are pushed beyond what they had imagined the trip to be.  Young adults are more ready, developmentally, to face these challenges and make decisions accordingly.  In the case of teens, they often will become antagonistic, shut themselves off, or begin the time honored tradition of complaining.  I struggle greatly with this.  I want to take teens, but I question the wisdom. 

I had teens complain the trip wasn't religious enough.  Others that it was too religious.  Some wanted more freedom, while others  I knew required structure.  Balancing all of this is an impossible act.  Of course the nay-sayers are the most vocal, which makes it more difficult.  With my present exhaustion I am a bit more negative myself.  Time will give perspective.

Until then, I will continue attempting to reorient myself to this time zone and enjoying the quiet.

Peace.

Needs of the Many, Needs of the Few

Within ministry, the choice between the needs of the many and the few often is a difficult one to make.  The hardest moments are when the needs of the many, those you minister to and with, come in stark contrast with the needs of the few, yourself and those you love.  

This morning was the normal frantic routine of final packing of toiletries, rechargeable batteries, and the ever misplaced glasses case.  Then, just as I hung up after calling my mother, my cell phone rang while still in my hand.  I was thrilled to see it was my closest friend, one who just moved out of state and I miss dearly.  A bit surprised to see her calling so early, I just chalked it up to her wish to talk a bit before I leave.  I only wish that was the case.  Instead I learned her father had just passed away.  Knowing this moment was coming due to a long illness, I long ago made the decision that as soon as I got this call I would pack a bag, grab my maps, call in to work and head down to help her.  After all, her kids treat me like an aunt, I know what those first days after a death are like, and it was just the only thing I could see myself doing.  Contrary to those plans, all I can do in these few hours before I leave the country seems too small.  I made a few calls, got a friend to take care of sending flowers in my name, plan to have Mass intentions set when I get into the office.  

It is these moments when my duties and call to youth ministry divide my heart and challenge my will that I find myself most disheartened.  I know that the pilgrimage I am leaving on will be a wonderful experience for all involved.  I know that my friend understands and would not wish at all for me to cancel my trip.  I know that I will see her just a few days after returning.  I know what I need to do, but it most definitely is not what I want to do.

So I will close, turn off this laptop, pack it in my backpack.  I will pray yet again for my friend, her family, and even for myself.  I will load my car, head to work, then to the airport.  But with all that I have packed, a bit of my heart will be torn off and left with my friend and her family.

Nerves

All the helpful comments of, "You are brave" or "Better you than me!" have officially hit the pit of my stomach.  Within 24 hours I will be on my way to World Youth Day.  Over two years of planning, thousands in fundraising, and countless hours of preparatory meetings and administrative frustrations culminate in this two week pilgrimage.

Alas, all the 'helpful' support of friends and co-workers who express their amazement or general relief that I and not them take on this trip has resulted in adding to the already high level of stress and nerves I am experiencing.  Of course the shorter than expected hair cut is not quite helping.  Yes, I am at that point in the life of a youth minister where it seems God's sense of humor, or maybe irony, appears to be plaguing me.

Overly dramatic? Probably. But short hair, stress, and the frustrations with the visas are adding up to give me cause to live off of Tums and coffee.  Not good.  At least there are some treats from Whole Food's salad and deli area for super.

Due to the pilgrimage, posting will be sporadic (still).  I do hope to share some of the thoughts and reflections of the trip.  Escaping for a few minutes at the end of the night to the silence and space of the blogosphere will be a comfort!

On Vacation in Another Wilderness

Though on vacation from youth ministry (at least as much as one ever is), I felt this was something to post.

I am fairly well traveled.  I have seen and met people in and from many countries, felt myself to be stranger and family.  I have seen and experienced sights and places that cause you to feel far from home yet are hauntingly familiar.

Never have I experienced anything like the wilds of Alaska.  Though I was here before, it was in the dim twilight of November and my explorations were constricted to Fairbanks.  This trip has included a winding road trip of over 1,100 miles from Fairbanks to Kennicott to Anchorage to Talkeetna to Denali Park and back to Fairbanks.

The drive to Kennicott in particular and the hike to the glacier there was awesome in the true sense of the word.  Though my brother laughed when I tried to express it, my impression of the overwhelming peaks and breathtaking vistas was like trying to understand a higher language.  There is the practical language of nature - being able to understand the calls and sounds of animals, read the paths in the woods, or find sustenance in the brush.  Some of that lower language I can read and speak.  Years of Girl Scout camp helped with that.

This loftier and deeper language is one that hints at the voice of God.  The height and grandeur of the mountains.  The tumble and froth of the rapid creeks.  The sedate, patience rivers.  The blue coolness of the creeping glaciers.  The warmth of the sun on the wild, hearty flowers.

I felt if I was still enough, for long enough, perhaps I might just be able to make something of the quiet cacophony of this majestic language.  

Of Many Languages

Sunday was Pentecost for those that follow the Roman Catholic liturgical calendar.  On this day, as we read in Acts 2:1-11:

When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled,
they were all in one place together.
And suddenly there came from the sky
a noise like a strong driving wind,
and it filled the entire house in which they were.
Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire,
which parted and came to rest on each one of them.
And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit
and began to speak in different tongues,
as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven staying in Jerusalem.
At this sound, they gathered in a large crowd,
but they were confused
because each one heard them speaking in his own language.
They were astounded, and in amazement they asked,
“Are not all these people who are speaking Galileans?
Then how does each of us hear them in his native language?
We are Parthians, Medes, and Elamites,
inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia,
Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia,
Egypt and the districts of Libya near Cyrene,
as well as travelers from Rome,
both Jews and converts to Judaism, Cretans and Arabs,
yet we hear them speaking in our own tongues
of the mighty acts of God.”

To hear one's native language in a sea of foreign words and experiences is such an immense feeling it is difficult to describe what it is like.  My senior year of college I ventured to Rome to visit a friend studying there for the semester.  After experiencing Florence and its homage to the vast artistic history of humanity, we traveled via train to the seaside city of Naples.  From there we were to take a ferry to Capri.  We had tickets and we had maps. We were experienced travelers and felt that this was a simple enough journey.  Men plan, God laughs.

Our train dropped us in Naples just as the afternoon stretch where shops close and Italians generally take to their homes for a rest from the heat of the day.  Thus we found ourselves picking our way to the docks so we could find our ferry.  For over an hour we roamed through what was the commercial and industrial docks looking for the tourist ferries.  No one was in sight.  Finally, as our exhaustion and hunger caught up with us, we heard voices.  That alone was enough for us to cheer up and begin searching out the people that went with the voices.  Finally we discerned the language they were speaking.  It was English! American English!  We practically ran at full tilt towards this middle aged couple.  I'm sure the band of three bedraggled college students rushing them was a sight.

Providentially, not only were they English speakers with a clue as to what we needed to do, but the woman was actually my friend's advisor in the very university we all attended.  Somehow in the midst of Napoli's docks, we not only found English speakers, but a couple from our very own town.

That sense of relief, belonging, and acceptance that is based on nothing else than hearing words you understand when you expected to be mystified will never leave me.  When I hear the words of Acts in this Pentecost reading, I can understand the amazement and wonder of the people listening to the disciples.

As I was listening to our associate pastor's homily, I began to question myself and my ministries.  When the kids come to our youth ministry events, when the adults come to Theology on Tap or Ya2acht Club, do they feel that sense of acceptance and belonging.  Does the language I use make sense to them?  Any profession, ministry, military, government, medicine, teaching, has a nomenclature.  Am I careful to make sure what I say can make sense and touch the souls of others?

Furthermore, Pentecost is a moment when God spoke to all of us.  Through the mouths of the disciples he was able to show his glory, his compassion, and greatness.  The truly universal message of the Good News was directly related to each individual in the crowd.  Do my actions show that same universal love of God?  Do my own words and actions testify to the presence of Truth?  Do they speak of compassion, understanding, and acceptance?

It's Coming

Summer's coming.

When will a rest?

I've started the heaving planning for summer events.  I am a bit intimidated by the summer schedule.  While I do get to run away to a far, far away place, the rest of the summer is quickly being packed with summer events.

A trip to Cedar Point, a lock-in, the World Youth Day pilgrimage, Apples to Apples apple party, glow in the dark putt putt, picnics, and the Nuts and Bolts conference will force June, July and August to quickly pass me by.  When you toss in planning the 2008-2009 school year, podcasts, and the usual Bible studies it is a formidable schedule.

It is tempting to, as the kids do, blow summer off.  To say that it is a time of rest and relaxation not needing programs or events.

For that very reason it is more necessary to reach out the kids.  To connect the incoming freshmen with the community and help them acclimate to the new environment of high school life.  To provide graduating seniors with the tools and mechanisms to move on to the next phase of their life.  To spend time as a group joining in social events.  The summer provides an unique opportunity to focus on community building and pastoral care.

So I will enjoy my vacation in June to see my brother in the land of the midnight sun.  I will use those days to relax (if not exactly catch up on sleep).  I will then come back knowing that the ensuing months will be just as busy as the rest of the year.

Vindication

They laugh.  They mock.  Inevitably, they ask for it.

One of the essential items I pack for any youth ministry event - whether it is a retreat, camping, service project, or international travel - is duct tape.  This miracle product will repair ripped jeans, hold up broken airline tray tables, suspend just about anything, and will, without fail, be used on each and every event.

Somewhere is a stunning picture of me standing in front of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.  I have my day pack slung over one shoulder.  On the other shoulder is my flute with a role of duct tape on the strap.  

With two retreats just wrapped up and the massive undertaking to attend World Youth Day now less than 80 days away, duct tape has a comfortable position on my desk.

For all those who have ever mocked me (and there are plenty), here is a bit of higher vindication. 

Moondust and Duct Tape