Back when I was planning retreats, teens would often grumble about giving up an entire weekend. Many would have their parents call and try to weasel a few hours off the obligation on account of choir or sports or other activities. I never understood why the teens didn't all want to come to this fantastic event we were working so hard to plan. "It's good stuff," I'd want to tell them. "Come enjoy it!"
The roles flipped on me this weekend. I was required to attend a two full days of training as part of my pastoral ministry with the Clackamas County Juvenile Center. I grumbled. Do I really have to come for two full days? The topic: Restorative Justice. Ever heard of it? I had not, and I was not thrilled at the prospect of missing classes on Friday and giving up one of my two days off, including missing a soccer match.
I'm glad I did.
Like most of the teens that attend retreat, my world was realigned in a new and exciting way. Restorative Justice has the power to change our legal system, and two days of learning about it made me into a supporter. Let me briefly explain the concepts behind it.
The way our legal system is set up currently, when a crime is committed the offender is the focus. We find the offender, try them, and give a punishment that is most often not connected to the crime. For instance, a bank robber going to jail has nothing to do with the bank that was robbed or the impact the robbery had on the community. This is retributive justice.
Restorative justice puts the emphasis on three stakeholders in the process. When a crime is committed, there are offenders, victims, and community. In a restorative process, the offender accepts responsibility for the offense and seeks to fulfill the obligation created to the victim(s) and community. The offender takes a significant role in deciding what that obligation should be. The victim(s) also take part in the process as the community (often represented by an office like Clackamas County's or through some governmental agency) contacts the victim to check in and see what is needed to move forward. Ideally, the community also takes part in rehabilitating the offender, bringing them back into society, caring for the needs of the victim, preventing future crime, and in other ways of healing. It's a beautiful picture of a restoration.
Sound too good to be true? The main criticism of Restorative Justice is that it is too soft on crime. But what we found in this training is that jail time and the death penalty don't create any sense of change or healing. They more often create shame, greater expense, and lack of reform.
Restorative Justice, though presented in a secular context, echoed many teachings I have encountered in the Christian faith and especially in Catholic teachings. At one point I wrote in my notes that the three stakeholders (offender[s], victim[s], and community) needed contrition, reconciliation, and communion (not the Eucharist but the sharing of life) to move forward.
As I work with teens that have committed minor offenses, this Restorative Justice model is put into practice. Clackamas County has incredible, meaningful programs that help youth serve the communities they have wronged. For instance, Green Corps teaches the youth life skills in a community garden in which they grow fruits and vegetables to sell at a Farmer's Market, the proceeds from which go toward paying restitution accumulated by the crimes committed. Another program puts the teens directly back into work for the community getting paid restitution money to clean up the places they vandalized. The consequence is tied to the victims and community. There is no sense of shame for the offender, but there is an understanding that he or she created an obligation through his or her offense. The person is not the problem; the crime is.
I cannot relay all the intense and wonderful things we discussed in this program, so let me end with a note about one of the most influential methods within Restorative Justice. It's called victim-offender dialogue. In this, the person that committed the crime faces the victims in person with a mediator. This meeting does not occur haphazardly. Both parties must agree to meet, and often lengthy (months to years to even decades) preparations take place. We ended our training by watching a documentary called "Meeting with a Killer," a true story in which a man who killed and raped a woman in Texas meets the woman's daughter and mother 15 years after the crime. The process includes much pain but even greater healing for both sides.
In our training group of about 15 people, at least four expressed that they had been abused or had been connected to a crime-related death involving a family member. For each of this people, victim-offender dialogue touched their lives or had the potential to do so in ways retributive justice could not. How many more people are hurting from crimes and have never had the chance to heal and restore?
I'm no criminal justice expert, and I know things are far more complicated in crime than I can learn in two days. I also realize Restorative Justice on a large scale will take some serious thought and care to implement effectively. However, there is hope in this philosophy. I really believe there is hope. Do yourself a favor and watch "Meeting with a Killer" below. It's 45 minutes well spent if you watch all four parts.
And to think, I didn't want to go to this training when the weekend started...
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Perspective
I would like to discuss an experience from a couple weeks ago. For the first time in my life, I served as an acolyte at Mass (the grown-up version of altar serving). Somehow in all my Catholic life, I never altar served. I am trained as a lector and Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist (EME). I sang in the choir. I helped organize liturgies. I presided at Service of the Word with Communion. But I was never an acolyte until coming to Mount Angel.
To begin, the thought of screwing up frightened me. What if I missed my cue? Everyone on the hilltop seems to be watching in daily Mass, so if I lacked confidence or forgot to do something, it would be noticed. To compound the stress, the acolyte with whom I served was also brand new. I couldn't lean on anyone's experience. We had a 15-minute training on Friday, and Monday morning we were expected to be ready.
For the most part, the Mass went smoothly. As I think should be the norm, we faded into the background as acolytes. Process in. Keep hands folded in front. Bow at the altar. Keep those hands folded. Hold the Sacramentary when Father says, "Let us pray." Put the Sacramentary back. Fold those hands (this is a challenge for me!). Place the purificators and chalices on the altar before the gifts are presented. Fold hands. Fold and remove the corporal after communion. Hands -- you guessed it -- are folded. Process out...with hands folded.
Aside from keeping my hands folded, the hardest part was taking in a new perspective. When you go to Mass, do you sit in the same spot? I bet most of us do. We human beings create habits and stick to them. I am no exception. As an acolyte, I had to sit in a new place and experience a forced change of perspective. It was good.
I was closer to altar, more aware of the prayers, alert because I had to follow the cues, and generally engaged in a new way with the liturgy. Liturgy, translated loosely, means the work of the people. Serving as an acolyte helped me see that work with fresh eyes.
Is it time for a change in your perspective? It was time to change for me. Perhaps as a small way of entering into this Year of Faith, we can sit in a new section, meet new people, reflect on the readings in preparation, or pick up a new liturgical ministry. Perhaps we can find a new perspective and enter deeper into the sacred mysteries. Will you enter in with me?
Aside from keeping my hands folded, the hardest part was taking in a new perspective. When you go to Mass, do you sit in the same spot? I bet most of us do. We human beings create habits and stick to them. I am no exception. As an acolyte, I had to sit in a new place and experience a forced change of perspective. It was good.
I was closer to altar, more aware of the prayers, alert because I had to follow the cues, and generally engaged in a new way with the liturgy. Liturgy, translated loosely, means the work of the people. Serving as an acolyte helped me see that work with fresh eyes.
Is it time for a change in your perspective? It was time to change for me. Perhaps as a small way of entering into this Year of Faith, we can sit in a new section, meet new people, reflect on the readings in preparation, or pick up a new liturgical ministry. Perhaps we can find a new perspective and enter deeper into the sacred mysteries. Will you enter in with me?
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Snapshots
First midterm test at seminary: Done. Quiz in Latin this morning: Postponed until Monday. Lunch: Eaten. Sun: Shining. To do list: Can wait for now.
It's been over a week, and I am overdue to post on this blog. Much happened. Here are some snapshots:
More than a moral victory.
We hosted a doubleheader of soccer games on Saturday against Willamette University and Sunday against Reed College. I haven't written much about the soccer team yet, in part because we only played one game prior to this weekend, and in part because I was still forming thoughts on the experience. We play other small colleges in the area, with Oregon State being the exception. OSU has a full-fledged club team, but we get their "B" team and apparently get slaughtered every time. Our opponents have significant competitive advantages: Larger pools of players for choosing a team (we have about 200 seminarians compared to a couple thousand students at other schools), more time and commitment from players, superior facilities (we spent hours filling in the holes on our field with dirt Friday), and coaches or players with strong soccer backgrounds. As you might guess, we don't win many games. I'm writing an article about sports at Mount Angel for the Portland Archdiocesan newspaper, and my teammates suggested I title it something related to "sacrificial lambs" or "exercises in humility."
That made our win on Sunday very sweet. No one could recall the last time our team recorded a victory. Granted, Reed was down a player, so we didn't face a full squad, but we dominated the match, winning 3-0, missing a penalty kick, and hitting the post. It was a solid performance for the Guardians of Mount Angel. One of my seminarian brothers, a 20-year-old college student who looks like Bishop Mike minus 50 years, took a large Vatican flag to our field and celebrated each goal by waving it on the run and shouting for joy. The Reed players probably thought us obnoxious, but when victories are rare, we savor them.
Singing Competitively.
I tried out for choir on the hilltop but didn't make the cut. The last time I recall not making the team was my freshman and sophomore years of high school in soccer. It hurt then. I tried to pretend it didn't hurt now, but it did, just a little.
I've not been in a choir since fifth grade, and the only formal training I've had was two quarters of voice lessons in college, so I don't feel too bad. But the competitive side of me keeps looking at the members of the choir wondering, "Am I really not as good as any of them?"
I know it's ridiculous of me to be so petty. Actually, I probably would not have accepted the invitation to choir had I made it because I wanted to invest my time in other activities. Still, I wanted the invitation.
Rather than continue moping and seething, I decided to join the one choir on campus that doesn't require a tryout: Spanish Schola. We sing for the Spanish Mass on Wednesday mornings. Our choir director is extremely Canadian, doan cha know, and doesn't speak "a lick" of Spanish (her words). There are three white guys and an Asian, quite a few Mexicans who embrace the mariachi sounds, two guitars, a piano, one jembe, and a good beat. It's a nice place to sing, work on singing better, and make use of the competitive feelings I can't seem to wipe away.
Seeing Teens.
I miss the teens from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. I keep in touch with some of them, but it's not the same as being part of their lives each week. Luckily, my pastoral assignment gives me an hour each week with some teens, though the setting is quite different. Almost all the seminarians have a once-a-week pastoral assignment working at assisted living centers, area churches, food banks, and charitable organizations. My assignment is with one of the Benedictine monks, Br. Nicolaus. We drive 45 minutes every Thursday afternoon to Oregon City and the Klackamas County Juvenile Center, where we facilitate a discussion group for teens that have gotten into trouble for minor offenses like smoking marijuana, breaking curfew, or expressing too much anger toward a teacher. The discussion group focuses on decision-making skills and how to be a healthier, more mature individual.
To this point, we have observed and contributed to the discussion, but we have yet to facilitate. That should start next week. We have five or six teens each week on a rotating basis as they complete the course and new ones enter in. I'm really looking forward to seeing the growth of these teens, though as I discovered in youth ministry, planting seeds doesn't always yield visible fruit. Hopefully Br. Nicolaus and I have the skills (or can develop them) to draw out of the teens more self-awareness and confidence to be healthy, contributing individuals in their schools, neighborhoods, and homes.
My First Midterm.
My first non-dental oral exam went well. I had to nail down the talking points of five philosophers and explain them to my professor concisely for Philosophic Anthropology. It's a fancy name for the study of the human person. We cover one philosopher's approach to the human person each week. So far, we've talked Plato, Kant, Marx, Freud, and Sartre. If you've taken philosophy, you know these guys can be depressing. Marx: We're all alienated by the capitalistic economic and social conditions that form our being, and the proletariat will rise up. Freud: We have no free will, only subconscious drives that were established from our oddly sexualized first five years of childhood. Sartre: We are condemned to be free, and the only ethical guide we have is to do whatever we want with that freedom. Yikes.
Not all philosophers are devoid of hope, but I will be glad to see glimmers of goodness about humanity as we move to new thinkers. The point here is that the test went well. I described the philosophers like I knew their viewpoint, walked out with an 18 out of 20, and got set for a free weekend. Three more midterms are upcoming, but they are spaced out -- one this week, another two the next.
Year of Faith.
Today opens the Year of Faith declared by Pope Benedict XVI. Each year a theme is given by the Vatican as a point of reflection for the faithful. In the past we celebrated a year of St. Paul and a year for priests. The Year of Faith marks the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Second Vatican Council commencing and the 20th anniversary of the Catechism of the Catholic Church's publication, quite a cause for reflection and renewal. Catholics are called to celebrate this special time by rededicating ourselves to spiritual acts of faith in our Lord. I am looking for a new and invigorating spiritual practice this year but haven't found one yet. Have you? How are you celebrating the Year of Faith? I'd love to hear ideas if you have them. Know that wherever you read this, we can join together as a Church family, as one body, as Christ's hands and feet following in faith. To borrow loosely from the old text of the Mass, let us lift our hearts and minds together as with one voice, we acclaim the mystery of our faith!
It's been over a week, and I am overdue to post on this blog. Much happened. Here are some snapshots:
We hosted a doubleheader of soccer games on Saturday against Willamette University and Sunday against Reed College. I haven't written much about the soccer team yet, in part because we only played one game prior to this weekend, and in part because I was still forming thoughts on the experience. We play other small colleges in the area, with Oregon State being the exception. OSU has a full-fledged club team, but we get their "B" team and apparently get slaughtered every time. Our opponents have significant competitive advantages: Larger pools of players for choosing a team (we have about 200 seminarians compared to a couple thousand students at other schools), more time and commitment from players, superior facilities (we spent hours filling in the holes on our field with dirt Friday), and coaches or players with strong soccer backgrounds. As you might guess, we don't win many games. I'm writing an article about sports at Mount Angel for the Portland Archdiocesan newspaper, and my teammates suggested I title it something related to "sacrificial lambs" or "exercises in humility."
That made our win on Sunday very sweet. No one could recall the last time our team recorded a victory. Granted, Reed was down a player, so we didn't face a full squad, but we dominated the match, winning 3-0, missing a penalty kick, and hitting the post. It was a solid performance for the Guardians of Mount Angel. One of my seminarian brothers, a 20-year-old college student who looks like Bishop Mike minus 50 years, took a large Vatican flag to our field and celebrated each goal by waving it on the run and shouting for joy. The Reed players probably thought us obnoxious, but when victories are rare, we savor them.
I tried out for choir on the hilltop but didn't make the cut. The last time I recall not making the team was my freshman and sophomore years of high school in soccer. It hurt then. I tried to pretend it didn't hurt now, but it did, just a little.
I've not been in a choir since fifth grade, and the only formal training I've had was two quarters of voice lessons in college, so I don't feel too bad. But the competitive side of me keeps looking at the members of the choir wondering, "Am I really not as good as any of them?"
I know it's ridiculous of me to be so petty. Actually, I probably would not have accepted the invitation to choir had I made it because I wanted to invest my time in other activities. Still, I wanted the invitation.
Rather than continue moping and seething, I decided to join the one choir on campus that doesn't require a tryout: Spanish Schola. We sing for the Spanish Mass on Wednesday mornings. Our choir director is extremely Canadian, doan cha know, and doesn't speak "a lick" of Spanish (her words). There are three white guys and an Asian, quite a few Mexicans who embrace the mariachi sounds, two guitars, a piano, one jembe, and a good beat. It's a nice place to sing, work on singing better, and make use of the competitive feelings I can't seem to wipe away.
Seeing Teens.
I miss the teens from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. I keep in touch with some of them, but it's not the same as being part of their lives each week. Luckily, my pastoral assignment gives me an hour each week with some teens, though the setting is quite different. Almost all the seminarians have a once-a-week pastoral assignment working at assisted living centers, area churches, food banks, and charitable organizations. My assignment is with one of the Benedictine monks, Br. Nicolaus. We drive 45 minutes every Thursday afternoon to Oregon City and the Klackamas County Juvenile Center, where we facilitate a discussion group for teens that have gotten into trouble for minor offenses like smoking marijuana, breaking curfew, or expressing too much anger toward a teacher. The discussion group focuses on decision-making skills and how to be a healthier, more mature individual.
To this point, we have observed and contributed to the discussion, but we have yet to facilitate. That should start next week. We have five or six teens each week on a rotating basis as they complete the course and new ones enter in. I'm really looking forward to seeing the growth of these teens, though as I discovered in youth ministry, planting seeds doesn't always yield visible fruit. Hopefully Br. Nicolaus and I have the skills (or can develop them) to draw out of the teens more self-awareness and confidence to be healthy, contributing individuals in their schools, neighborhoods, and homes.
My first non-dental oral exam went well. I had to nail down the talking points of five philosophers and explain them to my professor concisely for Philosophic Anthropology. It's a fancy name for the study of the human person. We cover one philosopher's approach to the human person each week. So far, we've talked Plato, Kant, Marx, Freud, and Sartre. If you've taken philosophy, you know these guys can be depressing. Marx: We're all alienated by the capitalistic economic and social conditions that form our being, and the proletariat will rise up. Freud: We have no free will, only subconscious drives that were established from our oddly sexualized first five years of childhood. Sartre: We are condemned to be free, and the only ethical guide we have is to do whatever we want with that freedom. Yikes.
Not all philosophers are devoid of hope, but I will be glad to see glimmers of goodness about humanity as we move to new thinkers. The point here is that the test went well. I described the philosophers like I knew their viewpoint, walked out with an 18 out of 20, and got set for a free weekend. Three more midterms are upcoming, but they are spaced out -- one this week, another two the next.
Today opens the Year of Faith declared by Pope Benedict XVI. Each year a theme is given by the Vatican as a point of reflection for the faithful. In the past we celebrated a year of St. Paul and a year for priests. The Year of Faith marks the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Second Vatican Council commencing and the 20th anniversary of the Catechism of the Catholic Church's publication, quite a cause for reflection and renewal. Catholics are called to celebrate this special time by rededicating ourselves to spiritual acts of faith in our Lord. I am looking for a new and invigorating spiritual practice this year but haven't found one yet. Have you? How are you celebrating the Year of Faith? I'd love to hear ideas if you have them. Know that wherever you read this, we can join together as a Church family, as one body, as Christ's hands and feet following in faith. To borrow loosely from the old text of the Mass, let us lift our hearts and minds together as with one voice, we acclaim the mystery of our faith!
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Today's Gospel
"No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the Kingdom of God."
Sometimes a passage read in Mass pierces the soul unexpectedly. As the Gospel ended with this line today, I was pierced.
I frequently think about my life in Seattle (what was left behind). Sometimes I long for it. It's the little things -- my own apartment, playing soccer at lunchtime, the friends I saw each day -- and the big things -- the fulfilling work in youth ministry, establishing a community and a network over eight years, the community of faith at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. I miss it. I look to what was left behind. Does that make me unfit for the Kingdom of God?
As in many of my posts, I pose the question without a clear answer. This blog chronicles the quest through queries, not answers in stone. In my process today, I've had three thoughts. At first, I panicked slightly (as much as one can inwardly panic while sitting in Mass listening to the Gospel).
"I'm doing something wrong," I thought to myself. "I have to immediately cease thinking about my past."
This is probably overstating my feelings, but the gut reaction scared me. Could I be doing something so wrong as to inhibit my ability to study and discern at seminary? Then I caught myself justifying: It can't be that bad to reminisce and pine for the old times a little bit, can it?
As Mass concluded and classes commenced, the passage continued playing inwardly. I felt called to reflect on it in greater detail. I still do. Another pervading tidbit stuck with me: I know I am guilty of "looking to what was left behind," so does that mean I am not in the right place? Since I am guilty, am I not fit to be a seminarian for the Kingdom of God?
Negativity pervades both of these thoughts. I am either doing a moral disservice by dwelling on the past, or I am unfit to be a seminarian because I long for the way things were. My rational side says neither of these readings is right, that more reflection is needed and that I must rid myself of the emotional entanglement involved in my immediate understanding of Jesus' call.
The more positive reading points to a weakness I am experiencing and the need to work on it. God loves me just the way I am, but God also loves me too much to let me stay the way I am. This passage pushes me to reform. To evolve. To change my way of understanding. To celebrate the gift of being here and not simply wanting to be there. I have work to do.
That piercing sense remains. Though I'm not sure yet of the prescription in these words, something is there for me to hear if I stop to listen carefully, willfully, with an open heart and mind. I will grapple with this passage further, praying as I go, "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening."
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