My Aunt Mary

From the Pews in the Back is becoming more and more real every day (we just received the proof pages!). As Jen & I gear up for the book's printing, my mind is wandering more frequently to the kinds of conversations and questions that might happen around this book.

My Aunt Mary is my dad's oldest sister. She's in her mid-60s and was at a Franciscan college during Vatican II. She loves the liturgical changes and is always ready for a theological debate. I saw her over Christmas and she was eager to tell me that she is an avid reader of the Call to Action Young Adult Catholic blog. A friend of hers had forwarded her the link and they both read daily and discuss it occasionally.

This is so exciting to me! I love that these women are excited about what young adult Catholics are thinking and blogging about....and I am very impressed by their tech-savviness.

I am hopeful that this book and blog engage conversations and discussions.

What kind of conversations would you like to have with Catholics of older or younger generations?

Kate Dugan is one of the co-editors of From the Pews in the Back and is indebted to Aunt Mary for countless conversations about American Catholicism.

New Year's Resolutions

I can't help myself. This time of year always gets me into the resolving mood. Increase the number of miles I jog a week. Start yoga. Find a meditation group that I like. Cut mint chocolate chip ice cream out of my diet. Keep my personal blog updated. I'm always disappointed in how stereotypical I am about it...and amazed by how my resolve crumbles by my birthday at the end of February.

And it's a beautiful time in the Catholic calendar. We start of the year celebrating Mary, reminding ourselves of the potential for goodness and sacredness all around us. It is an invigorating time of the liturgical year

I have a friend who thinks about New Year's Resolutions in a beautiful way. In recent years, she has decided that her re-commitment to ideals around the first of each year would be less about a "grin & bear it" resolve and more about a change in attitude approach. Her approach makes January a month of reflection and evaluation and deciding how to direct ourselves in the next year, rather than guilt-ridden re-commitments

I like it. I'm inspired by it.

What are you inspired by this January?

Advent & Addictions

I'm reading Sarah McFarland Taylor's Green Sisters: A Spiritual Ecology, a really wonderful survey of the incredible way Catholic nuns are pushing the bounds on environmental issues--from hybrid cars, to eco-friendly remodels, to CSAs, to commitments to only wear second-hand clothing. One of the women Sarah interviewed talks about how one of the ways she sees her environmental commitment is as an effort to slow addictions--addiction to fossil fuel and television and speedy food, obviously. But she also mentioned addiction to work and to perfectionism. And these things caught my attention.

Greg (my husband) and I are just six weeks back from our three-month adventure in Argentina. I've been a scurry of stress to find jobs, cars, an apartment, furniture, renters' insurance, finish some work on From the Pews in the Back, keep up the blog. I've even found myself working about how quickly I can make some friends! Is it possible I've become addicted to my own life-creating busy-ness?

What I haven't done yet is go hiking in the Olympic National Forest that is almost literally out our backdoor. It's the third week of Advent and I'm still promising myself to teach Greg "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." Our Christmas tree stands light-less and ornament-less in the corner, waiting ever-so-patiently for us to find our collective moments of joy to decorate it.
And I know that these things, more than cars or the perfect couch, are what really make life.
So as I enter these final whispers of Advent renewed in my commitment to be careful about the way my addictions to busy-ness hurt me and my loved ones. And, if you feel so inclined, I invite you to do the same.

Kate Dugan is one of Olympia, Washington's newest residents and one of the co-editors of this blog & From the Pews in the Back.

Mate' Communion

Argentina is well-known for its yerba mate' culture. Mate' is everywhere here—sitting at the ready in the cubicles at my English students' workplace, enjoyed during my Spanish classes, passed around at the language intercambio on Tuesdays.

There is much to say about mate' and the way it facilitates social relationships. Here's the rough & dirty of the tradition: yerba mate' is placed into a shared cup (often with sugar) and passed around the group. Everyone drinks through a straw and the cup is refilled regularly.

It's really a beautiful tradition.

The other day, it dawned on me that it's a lot like Catholic Communion. A community of people sharing in this goodness. There's no fear of the exchange of germs, there's no concern about running out of yerba. The sharing of mate facilitates conversation, makes people relax, and encourages a warm, open environment. When someone pulls out the mate', the entire mood of a conversation shifts into companionship.

The historical roots of Communion are similar—a meal shared, conversation enjoyed, people together. That's how mate' feels too—time together, a chance to chat with people.

I love that there are the connections in our rituals. It reminds me that we humans have a sort of instinctual need to share with one another. It makes me feel hopeful.

Rethinking Universal

The other day, my English students here in Mendoza wanted to know if Catholicism in the USA is exactly the same as in Argentina. One of the young men is a regular Mass attendee and turned to his compañero and exclaimed that, yes, of course it is. It's Catholicism. It means universal.

But the inquiring student wasn't finished—exactly exactly the same? How can that be? The Mass attendee recanted a bit, saying, well, no in the US Mass in English and here it's in Spanish. But, yes, he stayed firm, it's the same.

We were already so far into this digression that I didn't have time to explain any idiosyncrasies of my beloved American Catholicism—I just quickly pointed out two differences I've noticed so far and we moved on to the many uses of "should."  But the question has been haunting me for several days. What does it really mean that we call ourselves universal? For my student, there's at least an assumption that Mass in Provo, Utah, will move, smell, and feel a lot like his Mass in Mendoza. And maybe it would, to him. A familiar oasis amid a foreign land.

In an age when I can video-conference with my sister in North Dakota over Skype from an internet café in Mendoza, Argentina, and the verb "googlear" has been added to the Spanish lexicon, maybe our understanding of "universal" is shifting. Maybe universal does mean familiar amid the foreign; a way for Catholics to be re-grounded in new or scary situations. When I walk into a church here in Mendoza, I feel a sort of welcome that far outweighs the countless kisses on the cheek I receive here. I can breathe a little more deeply, I can understand the Spanish with a bit more ease.

Historically, churches have always been sources of sanctuary for the lost or forlorn or needy. Maybe a "universal" Catholicism is meaning that again—a Catholic-ly recognized place of welcome sanctity.

My SoDak Catholicism

I spent the last week in South Dakota with my family--mom, dad, two sisters, and new husband. I water-skied on Lake Kampeska more than I can ever remember and savored several sunny days, and even sun-burned my pale Alaska skin. And, of course, we went to Mass at my home parish. While the priest has changed several times since I graduated from high school, the parishioners have not shifted too dramatically. Maybe it's a bit sacrilege, but I love watching people I grew up with go through the communion line. It's like watching a real-live yearbook. I see who has had kids, who is married. Who else is home for a visit. And I get to watch the parents of my friends carry grandkids or hold each other's hands because an empty nest has rekindled a newlywed sensibility. It feels like I think communion is supposed to--reconnecting with my community and the people who shaped my Catholicism.

After Mass, we crowded awkwardly around a few pews, visiting. I saw my 5th grade Catholic school teacher, my friend who recently left the monastery, the parents of a friend who has three kids. We stay in touch like this--through our time at Mass, through this sacramental coming together.

Last year, I was married in this parish. When the priest was doing the paperwork, he was sort of amazed to see that I have received all my Sacraments in this parish--from Baptism and First Reconciliation right on through to Marriage. We buried my grandparents here and I grew up here. It really is how I am Catholic. And its funny; when I'm away, I sort of forget about this way of being Catholic that is just part of the water, the air...as natural to me as water-skiing on Lake Kampeska.

kate