Author: Gayle Catinella

Years ago I wrote an article in my parish newsletter. I don’t remember what the topic was but I do remember that it caused a small stir. I used in my article the phrase “Boy, you wouldn’t believe…”. As in you wouldn’t believe how many people showed up or you wouldn’t believe how cold it was. And one of my parish members took offense.

She wrote me an impassioned email about how the use of the word Boy was derogatory toward Black men, that it was a word with a history and I should have known better than to use it that way. She was quite shaming. And when I first read her response I was shocked, a little hurt. As they say, I didn’t mean anything by it. But it dawned on me as time went on that now I knew. I knew that used in a certain context Boy was a hurtful word. And once you know, you can’t ever un-know. Once you have received the wisdom of others, you have to decide how you are going to be changed, and hopefully improved by it.

I think of that incident, and I am grateful. I am grateful someone had the courage to say something to me, and that I was smart enough to know it was true. To hear someone’s story, someone’s heart, is a powerful thing. We don’t do that enough. We don’t ask people to tell us about their lives, how they came to be who they are, what choices and chances led them to this moment. We are, for the most part, not used to listening. And we suffer for it as a country and as a culture.

I think about the young men who mocked the Native American drummer at the Lincoln Memorial. Unfortunately for them the whole world knows about their poor choice, their rudeness. But now that they know, what will they choose? Will they listen? Will they take the hard lessons they have been taught and allow themselves to be transformed?  Who will help them with that?

I think about the men who put the noose around Jussie Smollett’s neck in Chicago.  They knew full well what they were doing. And if you are horrified by that, by the hate that requires, what are you going to do about it? Because sometimes we learn from the wisdom of others, and sometimes we learn from their mistakes. Now that you know, now that you have seen the deep hatred, can you turn away? Can you just give into the busyness of your life and wait for the next bad thing? I find waiting for something bad to happen much more exhausting than action.

If we don’t take a stand, if we don’t say unacceptable, if we don’t demand change and lead change, we are a part of the problem. We can’t ignore it anymore. It is a race to the bottom and we are all in a lane. I know it is hard to figure out what to do, but I have an invitation, an opportunity to take a stand against racism and hate.

Greater Youngstown Community Dialogue on Racism is about to kick off their 4th set of interracial discussions. You meet with a diverse group for 6 weeks, each meeting lasting 2 hours. You follow a format created by the group Everyday Democracy, which involves telling your story and listening to the story of others. And if you are thinking that you might be a little tired of just talking, at the end every group creates a short term action plan for something good in the community. People who have participated say it is life changing. It is really an amazing process that creates incredible opportunities for relationship.

You are invited to come to St John’s Episcopal Church on February 21 at 6:00 for pizza, information and possibly to join a group. We all have to commit to do something.  This is one possible thing. I hope to see you there.

I was scrolling through Facebook this morning when I came across a plea from my friend Scott Barker, the Bishop of Nebraska.  He was writing a sermon for an ordination and asked the world what he should say, what was important for a new priest to know??

He got some great responses.  Kindness was a favorite. Taking care of oneself, which is always a challenge.  A common theme was humility: listening, not taking yourself too seriously, developing community and  full parish leadership. Of course prayer was mentioned and cultivating a certain level of detachment, so that it is about God and not anything else. All of these things were lovely and appropriate, and if I know Scott, it will be a great sermon.

And it got me thinking. I was wondering about how we encourage each other in general.  What do we say to the person in the pew who gets up every morning and takes on incredible feats of ministry—taking care of aging parents, keeping their integrity in a toxic work environment, driving to work in the midst of snow driven road rage, putting one foot in front of the other in a world that is harder and harder to navigate.

This past weekend members of our congregation joined the Episcopal church, being confirmed or received. They made promises about living out their Christian life, which they know will be hard to keep. They agreed to do that amid a community of caring support and with God’s help. It is a big deal and I admire them, and anyone who makes those promises, so much.

I want to say to you, to you who live a good and faithful life, who think about how to bring Jesus into the world, who work hard to love the unlovable and do justice—I want to say to you, I notice your ministry, I appreciate your hard work. As a priest, I could not be a minister without you.

I want to say thank you for accepting your vocation, for understanding that your life matters.  Your. Life. Matters. We all need to believe that and live it. From our hearts. We are in this ministry thing together with all of our gifts and challenges.  Thank God for that!!

Once again as a nation we find ourselves in a crisis of compassion. In the wake of the government shutdown, the closing of car plants, the uncertain economy, some of our family and friends are in trouble. And it is in times like these when we are called by whatever we believe in to become more than we are, to be our best selves. It is in times like these we see people’s hearts. And sometimes it is disappointing.

While I have my opinions on all of the crises we face, this is not a political commentary. It is a plea for community. It is an invitation to step up, not to step back, to commit to caring, and to act on it.

Maybe your neighbor is a contractor with the federal government who has no current income. Maybe your mother lives alone and is going to be snowed in. Maybe your cousin is on food stamps because they are developmentally delayed, and they don’t know if they will get food stamps because of the shutdown.  Maybe your best friend works at the GM plant and has no clue about their future. I guarantee you that you know someone who is hurting or afraid right now, someone who needs you.

I listen to the news, and I hear the meanness.  I hear the judgement. I hear the anger. And I get some of it. People are frustrated, people want change, people want their lives to be safe and healthy and stable. And…in a democracy we cannot achieve those things by putting others at risk or taking away our neighbor’s security. We cannot build our own security or wealth on the insecurity of others. In a democracy we are as secure and stable as the one who is the least secure and stable. We are essentially working against our best interests when we allow others to suffer.

Some people say that it is human nature to judge or put people into categories of us and them. They say that we can’t help it, we have to look down on others to feel good about ourselves. Some people say this country was built on those in power taking from those who are not, that ensuring our own power and advantages are just how things go. Those people who say that are simply wrong. Again, in a democracy, we have a vested interest in each other, and we have to act for the good of everyone.

I know that some hearts will remain closed. But for those of us who believe that we can make a difference, that goodness matters, and that practicing kindness makes us whole, there are some things that we can do.

First, call your neighbors, friends, family who you know are at risk and ask them how you can help. They might have no idea, but the fact that you asked, that they know you are on their team and that they matter to you, sometimes that makes all the difference. Be a supporter!

Second, be nice. Flippant remarks hurt people. Being casual or callous about the suffering of others is cruel. Frankly meanness doesn’t look good on anyone. Thank people who are kind. Say no when you are invited to be mean or when jokes are not funny. Be the example you want to see, or as wisdom tells us, treat other people as you would want to be treated.

Finally, be honest. Most of us are one or two paychecks from disaster. So refrain from judgement.  Understand that most people carry sorrows and worries that you do not know about. Life is precious and precarious. You never know what will happen next.

If you are one of those who are suffering, who need help, let someone know. Call the 211 hotline and see what is available in your area. There is help for you. Don’t be afraid to ask for it.

This is a time when we need to pull together, to be the compassion we want to see. Don’t be distracted or seduced by meanness.  We need each other. Let’s be the caring community that we know we are.

Please tell your daughters God is not a man.

Please tell them that God believes they are precious and beloved and important.

Please tell your daughters they are created in God’s very image and are perfect and beautiful as they are in this moment, and that they have inherent dignity.

It is our daughters that I am worried about as the chaos explodes in the Senate. Our daughters, many of whom have been sexually assaulted themselves, many of whom statistically will be in their lifetime, are hearing that a woman’s violation and pain do not matter, are not politically expedient. And this will damage them.

So I don’t want them to lose God. I don’t want them to mix God up with politics or power or old white men. I don’t want them to think even for a moment that God thinks it is OK for them to be hurt, demeaned or publicly humiliated. I don’t want them to think that God in any way has made them less.

It is a tragedy that they have to witness their government doing that. Hopefully that will make our daughters determined to vote, to change things, to be the powerful people that they are. I hope they are furious enough to demand better.

But to do that, they will need the unconditional and eternal love that God offers them. They will need a community who will stand with them, lift them up, pray for them and cheer them on.  They will need a community that will not always agree with them, and so teach them how to reconcile. They will need a community that understands that investment of passion and compassion is never a failure.

Our image of God is critical. It forms and informs us. So please teach your daughters that God is love, which isn’t as easy to conjure up a picture for as a human being, but is a force that cannot be stopped or thwarted. Teach them to fill themselves up with that love, which God offers us every second. Teach them to use that love as fuel to work for justice and the dignity of every human being.

After this week it should be clear that we need our daughters to change the world. So let’s give them what they need to do it. And stand with them as well.

There is something about the walls of a church. They seem to be steeped in prayer. Holding the hopes and dreams and sorrows of hundreds of people over the years. The prayer radiates, captures you, invites you to add your own. The walls are solid, safe, and able to handle whatever your prayer concerns might be.

I felt the solidness and comfort of church last Sunday as I accompanied a bus load of people on a church art tour. We visited 7 churches in 3 hours, with a camaraderie that comes from the wonder and excitement of exploration. At each site we heard about the history of the church building and looked at the art, architecture, stunning stained glass, and statuary.

People were entranced. Each church was lovely and holy and inviting. The stained glass was especially radiant. But for me, it was always the walls. Sometimes painted, sometimes stone. Sometimes covered in icons, sometimes deeply polished wood. I wanted to touch them, to lean on them, to be held up in the best way. And they were ready for whatever I needed.

God is in those walls. God is our grounding and our support. God is ready to meet our every need. And while God resides in all places, always waiting for us, there is something about a place created to honor God that is holy and comfortable.

The walls of St. John’s are always available.

Most mornings at varying times I find myself driving down Logan and Andrews Avenue. From my house there are 3 lights I have to pass through on my way to church. The first light I almost always get through, the third as well.  The second is a three way light so I almost never make that one. If I make all 3 lights and go just slightly over the speed limit, I can make it to church in about 5 minutes. I consider it a good day when I make 2 out of 3.

However…I find it very irritating when other people do not take those lights seriously. As in they go right through the red, especially light number 3. There I am, sitting there like a good citizen and waiting for green, and cars drive around me to go through the light!  Especially if it is early in the morning. It irks me. Secretly I want to drive through those lights too.  But it is simply unsafe. So I wait and build up road rage at those who do not.

I am not a rule follower.  You may be laughing right now if you know me. I am selective about rules. They have to make sense, be justice based and convenient for me to pay much attention. But some rules are about safety. And while I am in as much hurry as the next person, I still observe the stop lights.

On good days I try to imagine that the transgressor is rushing to the side of a dying parent, or something.

The other day I was sitting at one of those lights contemplating my options when I realized that I had to love the person going through the light, and the person I was trying to protect by not going through that light equally.  They were both my neighbor, someone I had to love as much as I loved myself. Someone I had to treat like I would want to be treated. Not that the rule breakers should not be held accountable.  But that I couldn’t hate them.  Or want to be like them.

I think I will be working on this for a long time.

I was recently travelling on 80 through Indiana and I stopped at a rest stop for obvious reasons. I am a patron of Starbucks and I needed to refresh my caffeine supply. So I got in line and checked my phone and after a few minutes realized I hadn’t moved, and that the person in front of me was highly agitated.

The staff there was clearly inexperienced (I am being nice). They were trying, all 3 of them, to negotiate an unusual method of payment on their register, and as they explained in a way that made no sense what was happening, the person in front of me was turning shades of red. Finally the crisis passed and more orders were taken.

But by then the line was long, they didn’t know how to work the microwave, not sure about how to make some of the drinks. Painfully slowly the very long line moved along. There was a young woman, obviously a college student travelling with her family, who was waiting the longest. Her father kept encouraging her to complain, and her response was “I trust the system.”

All of the older adults knowingly rolled their eyes. Trusting the system. Nope. Never a good idea. In the end it turned out there were three of us waiting for a chai we had each ordered in a particular way. The barrista managed to make a chai that none of us had ordered. I took it, told the barrista about the patient and trusting young woman, and made a run for it.

And as my passengers snoozed I thought about trust, and trusting systems, and how much I admired the faith and hope of that young woman. I do not trust the system, but I am willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. I also think we have to be savvy evaluators, and use our Christian values as a litmus test to every situation.

So when I am determining, discerning, the good of a situation, I am holding up Gospel values—is this situation life-giving, compassionate, respectful of all people? How would I behave if Jesus were there? Is there a victim, and if so, how do we advocate for those who are being hurt? I wanted to say to that young woman, have your wonderful attitude, and be open to intervening for justice. Or in this case, her overdue chai.

Recently I was at a training on Nonviolent Communication. When we think of violence we usually think of physical violence, but emotional violence has an even more insidious impact, and many times that is spoken. We call names a lot in our culture, and that is getting more and more brutal. We have to be careful about the spiritual damage we do to ourselves when we are violent to others.

However I have been thinking about the violence we do to ourselves. We do not take very good care of ourselves most of the time. We overwork. We don’t sleep enough. We worry. We eat too many carbs and drink too much of things that are not good for us. We are constantly evaluating ourselves against others—do I look better, am I smarter, am I nicer, do I have more overachieving children????  You can tell me you don’t do this, but on some level I would bet you do.

What I would like us to pay attention to is how we talk to ourselves. Not do you mumble about where you left the remote or yell at the radio news when there is no one else in the car. I am referring to how you refer to yourself. Example-when I was mad at myself I used to call myself cat-tastrophe.  Get it?  Last name Catinella? Clever right?  Sometimes I was even more blunt, idiot being my preferred slight to myself.

At some point I realized that calling myself names wasn’t helpful. In fact, it didn’t motivate me, it just made me feel worse. I know when I have screwed up. What I need, from myself, is the belief that I can do better. And with God’s help all things are possible.

Now I don’t really call myself anything, but I do try to give myself positive messages and self talk. “You can do it. It will go better next time. You can feel appropriately proud of what you have just accomplished.” I try to acknowledge, usually pray for, other people who have helped me, inspired me, motivated me. In general I try to encourage my best self.

And it really does make a difference. I encourage you to pay attention to how you talk to yourself, how you refer to yourself, and make sure you are being as healthy and positive as possible. God resides within us, and we can engage God in helping us be a sign of love in the world. We have to love ourselves first though.

The elephant in the room is that I went ax-throwing when I was in Chicago last weekend. It was my friend Stacy’s fault. She is always looking for new, fun, out of the box things to do, and she knows I am willing to try almost anything. When she suggested this I thought it was a joke, until I got the receipt she had bought the tickets. With our friend Carrie, the three of us giggled on the train as we made our way there, nervous, unsure but determined not to be the one who chickened out.

When we got to the event we were put on a team with a group of young Muslim women.  The opposing team was a tech company having a bonding experience. You could tell some of them had done it before because they were good. The worker, who was hysterical (funny), coached us in how to throw the ax with maximum efficiency, and then we played three games. One was simply which team got the most hits, then a game where you added up the score to exactly 31 and then it was an elimination game to end it. I have to say while I wasn’t that great, I did hit the target a number of times.

I am competitive, but I don’t consider myself violent. My friends and I are practitioners of nonviolence, so the whole throwing a weapon thing was like this guilty pleasure, we couldn’t stop laughing about it all evening. There was something physically quite satisfying about hitting the target. It felt powerful.

But much more fun was cheering for everyone, even the other team. Giving high 5s as the young women we were with explored being strong and powerful. Laughing when everyone inevitably did something humorous. I hit the floor several times. It was the bonding that really made the evening, the shared experience of doing something out of the ordinary and taking pictures of it.

What I realize in retrospect is that the power didn’t come from the ax. I don’t have the ax now, it was just a moment. It came from believing that we were strong, bold and daring. Those are the qualities that will get me through the next crisis in my life, not a weapon. Because of that moment, we were able to believe in ourselves a little more, gain some confidence, and possibly scare our children. That made it well worth it.

I was walking through the Target parking lot Tuesday after work for a quick pre-holiday run to the store. I had a project I wanted to get done-hanging a new shower curtain- and I most needed hangers. So I probably had a determined look on my face as I was fighting against the incredible heat of the day to get back to my car. I never park close because I want the steps for my daily total, but sometimes I regret the optimism of arrival.

So I am pushing the cart to the back of the lot when I pass a young black man. Like I said, maybe I looked mean in the heat of the moment, literally. But he was looking at me with a resigned, cautious look. I smiled, he smiled, and it was all OK. But I am haunted by that look.

I realize I have been distracted from racism in our community by the racism happening on our southern border. I am so heartbroken by children being taken from their parents that my energy for compassion overall is wounded.

But as I thought about it later, that young man was anxious about me. And he had every right to be. Not that I am bad or dangerous in any way. But the news reports almost daily white women calling the police about black men for ridiculous and arbitrary reasons. I would be wary about me too. It is so irrational that anything can seemingly set off alarms.

In the Gospel this week, we hear Jesus sending his disciples out to heal. And, by the way, it worked. Healing happened through them because of their belief in Jesus. They called upon God and God answered them. They healed people.

One of the YSU signs flashes something about peace beginning with a smile. Every time I have seen that I have thought, what a low bar. But it is true. Peace was given to that young man and I in that moment because of a smile. Maybe that can be the heart of our healing mission, that we treat all people with the smile of kindness and assurance and solidarity. We are sent out to heal. And that can happen even in the Target parking lot.