Author: Gayle Catinella

I really miss singing. It struck me the other day as I was humming a hymn that I hardly sing at all these days. Since the pandemic has quashed singing in church for the duration, my opportunities for expressing myself in prayer that way have really dried up. I sing a little bit around the house, but even that has been rare these days.

Singing is such an integral part of praying for me. When I am the most deeply lamenting and the most stunningly joyful I naturally sing. It expresses so much more than words. It is physical. Using the very body God has created to give expression to my relationship with God. I am sure my neighbors have raised their eyebrows, as well as drivers at a variety of stoplights. 

Since I noticed I am missing it, I have been more intentional in including singing in my personal worship. And it has made clear to me that I am not a victim or in any way disadvantaged. Nothing can separate me from God’s love and nothing can contain my worship. I will keep everyone as safe as I can, and I will praise God, and express my laments, as well.

Worship. Pray. Don’t be daunted. We need to be connected with God more than ever, and more deeply than ever!

I was talking to someone recently about how hard it is to keep track of days. Just yesterday I thought there was a zoom call that is actually today but I got mixed up and said where is everyone and someone got back to me and said, uh, it’s tomorrow. Sigh.

I think this is a symptom of grief. We have experienced wave after wave of grief. Life isn’t the same, fear is constant. Church isn’t the same. We can’t do what we want. People are dying, people we love are dying. Every decision carries with it the weight of unknown dangers. 

The way we get through grief is one day at a time. Some griefs never leave us, like the death of a loved one. Some griefs work themselves out, like moving or a new job. Some things we think are a loss are just changes that are inevitable, like aging. But one thing is certain, grief will not be ignored. 

And so we have to recognize grief for what it is, a time of adjustment, a time of reordering, a time for asking who we are in this new normal. And do we love those questions, no we do not. Grief is a beginning, and we determine how that goes. We write the next chapter.

First, we have to recognize the grief. We have to be honest about our losses. We have to be open to feeling crummy for a while. The unending grief we are experiencing requires heightened kindness, patience and calm. We are all suffering, we are all afraid, we are all anxious, we are all trying to figure out how to keep ourselves and others safe. Let’s be nice to each other. 

Prayer, exercise and reaching out to friends are healthy ways to cope. They take practice. Ask for help when you need it. Know that Jesus loves you, and so does your church.

The plan was that this outdoor service in June would be our annual Hawaiian shirt Sunday. One of my favorite services of the year!!  I love all the color as I scan the congregation. I love the creativity. I love when families all dress up together, or when someone passes out leis. And I truly, truly love passing out pineapples. It is a highlight for me, and has been a moment of fun in a year of solemnity and dignified worship. 

This year we will not be having a Hawaiian shirt Sunday. It was discussed at the Executive Committee meeting that the symbol has been coopted by White Supremacist groups. And we want to be crystal clear that we have nothing to do with that. Crystal clear that we do not stand with or for racism. 

Some will say that is an extreme response, that no one will notice, especially since we have been doing this for years. Some will say that we are giving those groups too much power by changing anything. And I understand that. 

Years ago, at my previous parish, I wrote a weekly parish email. I was trying to make a point about something and wrote, “Boy you would not believe…”. One of my members who almost never came to church sent me a scathing reply, saying the origin of Boy was what male slaves were called to demean and dehumanize them, and I had to be more careful and thoughtful with my language.

At first, I didn’t pay much attention. Because she didn’t participate much I didn’t take her seriously, didn’t think she had a right to criticize. But after some prayer and humility, I realized she was absolutely right. If I hurt even one person by being careless about my language, that was too many. And it helped me to be careful about how I craft a message, to think about from more than just my own perspective. 

So we will not be wearing Hawaiian shirts on the 21^st. Because we only want to be a part of healing and welcome and love. And every precaution is worth not hurting one more person. 

At 11:25 last Sunday, a group of people from St. John’s and a few friends of the parish walked over to the corner of Wick and Wood for the march against racism. The marchers were asked to wear black for mourning, to wear masks for safety, and to be silent out of respect for those who died. It was organized by a young woman who had a vision for an appropriate expression of grief and outrage. 

When we arrived there were already hundreds of people. Even with masks I recognized friends and colleagues. There was excitement at the large turnout, and people had banners and signs expressing their thoughts and frustrations at a system that would allow the murder of an unarmed Black man to occur, not just once but regularly.

We couldn’t hear the directions very well but people were encouraged to spread out, be careful and respectful. And people did. There was a sense of respect for people’s safety. We marched down to the courthouse. Police officers closed the streets and kept people safe. When we all arrived and gathered and spread out, there were a series of speakers.

With absolutely appropriateness, the speakers raised some painful truths, expressed deep grief and anger, stirred up people’s hearts. There was some dissension, but there always is. What struck me was the depth of anguish that was expressed by the Black community. 

I was there to express my condolences. It was not a time for connection or unity. It was a time for the African American community to educate white people about the extent of their pain. I was there to listen. It was not to offer easy solutions, diluted promises or false hopes. It was to be present and brokenhearted. 

And it still is. My job in this time of reckoning is to be an ally. My job is to stand with the leaders of the African American community as they lead the call for immediate change. My job is to talk about how racism is a public health crisis, and how white advantage often prevents us from being honest about our own complicity. I will show up, I will listen, and I will act nonviolently to create a world of equity and justice. 

I hope you will join me. 

To the Black Community following the events of Memorial Day weekend,

I cannot imagine what you are feeling right now. I can’t begin to guess. I know in my heart I feel outrage, disgust and a certain amount of helplessness. But my feelings don’t really matter. I am white, privileged, protected. I know I am. 

I want to be an ally. I want to help. I want the nightmare of racism to be over. 

I commit to working for justice. I commit to speaking up when I hear or see injustice. I commit to thinking about racism when I don’t have to, staying uncomfortable even when I could be comfortable. I commit to listening instead of speaking. I commit to zero tolerance for hate. I commit to standing beside you, following your lead. I commit to educating myself, and not being afraid to know the truth. I commit to having a broken heart until all hearts are safe and healed. 

There is a lot I don’t know, so much I don’t understand. But I do know this, racism is a sin, a crime, an abomination. And I will not rest or be silent until it is over.

Last week one of my younger members called me in distress. They had talked to a family member about the children in detention, and the discussion did not go well. After talking through the frustration of not being heard, I suggested that the most effective way of helping people understand your position is to tell them your story. People’s hearts are moved by a personal story. So this is mine.

Three of my children are adopted. They are siblings and we got them because they had been removed for the final time from their biological parents for abuse and neglect. It took a few weeks, but eventually I noticed that the middle child, my son Tim, the back of his head was flat. Flat. Still is.

I asked the social worker about this, and she put the pieces together for me. She said that when Tim was 6 months, he was dying. They admitted him to the hospital and diagnosed him with Failure to Thrive. After investigating it was discovered that he was never picked up except to be fed, and even then they would prop a bottle most of the time. He wasn’t touched, he wasn’t comforted. He was simply ignored.

All three of my adopted children have problems stemming from the abuse and neglect they received as small children in their biological family even today. What we might not realize or understand is that abuse and neglect cause permanent damage. Permanent. This is something that doctors cannot fix or medicate, it cannot be undone.

And it is not lost on me when I witness the abuse and neglect of children in the human detention camps who have been removed from their parents, that they are being permanently damaged. That the longer these children remain in these camps, underfed, under-resourced, emotionally neglected, the smaller becomes the chance that they will ever recover from this trauma. We are permanently damaging other people’s children.

It is also not lost on me that when this horrific treatment happened to my adopted children, it was considered unsafe and against the law. The law protects children in the United States from being treated this way. The law sends people to jail who perpetrate these crimes against children. And yet, here is our government, who is supposed to protect people, perpetrating these crimes.
My heart just breaks.

As a country, we are better than this. We stand for freedom, we stand for human rights, we stand for justice. And we stand for these things not just for our citizens, not just for people with power and money, but for everyone. And certainly for innocent children. Certainly for people who want to be a part of what makes our country the place of innovation and prosperity and common good to which we aspire. We are better than this.

We live in a democracy. And each voice counts. I know not all of you agree with me on this issue, and I respect that. However you stand on this issue, contact your Congressperson, your Senator and your President. Your voice matters.
Now my children are all grown and I am a grandmother. My grandkids are lively and trusting, smart and funny. They are little, and they depend on the adults in their lives to protect and provide for them. That is how they grow into people who will protect and care for others. I want them to see our country as a good and welcoming place. I don’t want them to be tainted by hate and injustice. I want them to be people of hope.

We have to create that world, and we are all responsible for making that happen. It is our moral and civic responsibility that we make sure all people are treated with dignity and decency, that all children are safe regardless of their color- that our country lives up to its moral obligations.

Last Saturday St. John’s participated in the Community Block Party, a yearly event co-sponsored by the Greater Youngstown Community Dialogue on Racism and the local Health Department. The purpose is to help families be healthy.  Mahoning County has the second highest black infant mortality rate in the country. We have to do something to change that.

So the Block Party has vendors who give out helpful information on health and welfare. There are games, food and a raffle.  And that is where we came in. Members of the church donated 3 huge boxes of diapers for the raffle. People were so grateful. Diapers are expensive!!

Now one time I won a deluxe mattress cover in a raffle, donated by a local company who made it, and it was and still is a very nice mattress cover. However the person after me won a string of lovely pearls. I admit, I was miffed. And so I think about the words winning and box of diapers in the same sentence, and wonder how I would feel.

But that is my privilege talking. If I needed those diapers, I would feel grateful, relieved, maybe even elated.  People won tomato plants, and they were beaming. Maybe in a difficult world, any win is a lovely thing. And that is why we donate diapers. It may be what is wanted, and it may be what is needed.  But it let’s people know they matter, that we care, and that we are invested in supporting life. Healthy babies, moms and families should be a priority for every member of the Jesus Movement.

I have always taken a position that all life is holy, a gift from God. This doesn’t mean there are not times when I might want or need to make an exception, but that is the ethic that I would like to define my life. In light of that, I am not personally in favor of abortion as a method of birth control. I am also not in favor of making that choice for others. In fact, as a person who no longer needs to be concerned about pregnancy, it would be hypocritical for me to make these decisions for someone else.

I understand that states are passing the most restrictive abortion laws they can get away with in a race to see who will get to try to overturn Roe V. Wade in the Supreme Court. This is a nasty business, and I believe a race to the bottom. It is about power, and who has it, and who does not. And frankly, it isn’t going to work. One does not change a system by being a bully.

I offer a few anti-abortion proposals that have a reasonable chance of actually working:

1. Take away the economic reasons for abortion by fully and generously funding our social service system. I am not the first to make the point that we care about a person before they are born but not willing as a country to give them much attention or support after they are born.
2. Fully fund supportive services and costs for domestic adoptions. Adopting foster children or older children is complicated and these adoptions will not last without a great deal of support. Adoption is a reasonable choice for parents who don’t want to be parents. Let’s make it practical for anyone who has a heart for it.
3. Triple the jail sentences for anyone who rapes a woman or sexually abuses a child. I hope that does not need justification.
4. Finally, if there is to be punishment, it has to be for both people, men and women. In today’s world of genetic testing, paternity is not hard to establish. Any punishment a woman would be eligible for should absolutely and equally be given to the father of the child. Anything else is discrimination.

This is not an easy issue. People I love very much have had to make this decision, and my heart breaks for them, then and now. How we treat each other in these difficult decisions defines who we are. Let us be defined as people of compassion, creativity and support.

In our Lenten discussions we have been using the book “The Stories We Live” by Kathleen Cahalan. The book explores the many ways we learn what God is asking of us in the moment, offering us a vocation for now. We are reminded that we are never just one thing, never just called to be one thing.  I am a priest, but also a mother, grandmother, friend, volunteer, etc.

I was struck last night by the realization that we are called by God in and through our suffering. None of us has an easy life. We all carry sorrows and griefs in the secret places of our hearts. We don’t put off loving and serving God until everything is settled and neat. Our most powerful callings come in the rawness of a moment, in the depth of our vulnerability.

Who knows better how to hold someone’s grief than one who has grieved? Who better understands the exhaustion of chronic pain than one who has been in pain? The situations are never the same, but they don’t have to be. We all know fear, we all know frustration, we all know pain and we all know sorrow. And through that, we have been loved. And through that, we can love.

Our prayer in those times of our own pain and in light of the pain of others is, how can I use this for the good? Who is in need of my understanding? Where would you have me now, God? How can I help with the compassion of my own sorrows? Ask and God will point the way. Ask and someone will appear who needs just what you can offer.

We want to be loved and understood. We don’t always see that the way to that is through the giving of ourselves as a holy and life-giving sacrifice. When we offer ourselves, it does not add to our pain, it balances it. God offers us comfort and compassion and love. And we pour that out generously in the world. That is the Christian life.

I have been witness to the grief of several families recently. No loss is easy, it
doesn’t matter if it is sudden or expected. I am always grateful when families have
had a chance to talk about dying and death and all that implies. So often, people
put that off because it isn’t going to happen tomorrow. But truly, you never know.
Our bodies are not meant to last forever. And even if you are young, you just
cannot count on 50 more years.

So I encourage you, when there is relaxed and spacious amounts of time, when
you are not worried about saying the right thing, to ask a few questions. Here are
the ones I think are most important:

• what does quality of life mean to you?
• would you rather have your faculties or not have any pain?
• when is enough enough?
• how do you want your life to be celebrated?

There are no right or wrong answers to those questions, except maybe the last
one. As people have moved away from church life, they are less inclined to want a
full funeral service, and I hear more and more people saying their loved one
wanted nothing at all. Very hard to compromise with that position.

But here is what we need to remember, our funeral or memorial service is not for
us. Those who have died no longer need consolation, they are with their Loving
God, and know only joy. It is those of us who remain that need to support each
other in our grief. And do to that we need to gather. So understand that the right
answer might be anything, as long as it is something. For me, I want a spectacular
church service with beautiful music and a short sermon, I want to be cremated,
and I want my ashes dug into a garden. And I want, instead of a grave, to dedicate
in my honor a park bench in a place where people might need to rest.

Talk about this with people you love. It will make their lives, and your life, so
much easier when they lose you.