Author Archives: Mary Keenan

A lesson in hope and gratitude

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On a pretty regular basis, I help out at a center that serves men and women in our community who are homeless. It is a worship service and meal. Simple and incredibly moving. The reasons people come are diverse. Some are chronically homeless, others recently lost jobs or had a major illness. For women, domestic and sexual violence are a pretty common reason for ending up on the streets. There are people there who volunteer and they have their own diverse reasons for being there. I am no longer surprised, but always brightened that folks at that service pray for me as we work together setting up, singing, and cleaning.

This week there was a different vibe and I am not sure why, probably just the coincidental convergence of the people there that day. That, and all the various struggles they had. In any case, when it came time to ask for prayers, nearly all of them were about mental illness.

“God, I hope my family will talk to me more often and I hope for bi-polar to be gone from the earth.”
“I pray for the man I saw yelling at no one and everyone on the street today.”
“Thank you for a church that is honest. I will not be as sick as my secrets.”

There has been a lot of public discussion lately about mental illness and how we can better “handle it” as a society. Mostly those who have mental illness are seen as the perpetrators of violent and scary behavior, so “handling” them is supposed to make us all feel safer and correct a lot of social ills. But in my experience–in my family, through the center where I volunteer, through friends–I know that people who struggle with mental illness are more often the victims of violence than the perpetrators. So I am pretty sure that what most people mean by “handling” mental illness won’t fix the problems they expect.

Despite their struggles, the men and women I see in this small worshiping community do some pretty healthy things from a spiritual perspective. They seek out the company of friends and helpers, they look for ways to help others, they are grateful for all that they have. One man approached me after the meal to ask if I knew of a shelter for him that night. He had been kicked out of one the previous day, but was suffering from flu and needed to be inside during what was expected to be a very cold night. “I broke one of the rules,” he said, “Mea culpa, it was all my fault.” I wondered how many of my friends would face such immediate and harsh accountability for our behavior? I surely would not.

While not everyone who is homeless is mentally ill, their challenges often hold up a mirror to struggles we all face–a magnifying mirror. Health and illness, inclusion and exclusion, love and indifference. I face all of those, but the impact on my life is usually not as harsh as it is for my neighbors who live on the streets. The judgements and barriers they face every day magnify the violence and injustice woven through our whole society.

And still they pray. And sing. And hope.

The woman who prayed for bi-polar to be gone from the earth later closed our intersessions that day. “Lord,” she asked, “I wish for a car so that I could drive old people to get to the doctor.” I’m going to hold her up as my role model for hope and gratitude this week.

 

Epiphany and the beauty of gray

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The season of Epiphany is upon us, and I have already seen several essays and photos on the theme of light entering a dark world. But the need for light to break through–the astounding difference it can make in a bleak creation–doesn’t really resonate with me. The slightly darker days of a Texas winter are a relief from the brilliant sunshine we get most of the year. I am not trying to make my friends in colder climates upset. Honest! I used to live there, too, and longed for the sun to stay above the horizon more than 8 hours a day.

But now, I could use a bit more dark. In summer, the light here is so bright it is actually harder to see. It saps my energy and strains my eyes. Everything slows down to conserve energy and plants beg for water, or at least shade. During winter, when the light is not as strong and we are blessed with a few cloudy days, things look much different. Much of the wildlife around here (and my dogs!) are more lively in the cooler weather and the parched ground softens with rain. (Also, we get more visitors this time of year, but so far none have been magi.)

I suppose wherever you live, there are ways that the natural world shows us reminders of the holy. Light, dark, cold, warm, stillness, activity. Holly and cactus. The gray light of January and February reveals more to me than the blinding light of summer. It is a perfect time to celebrate the revelation of Jesus to the world.

Pregnant Pause

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I know it is almost cliche to think about pregnancy as a metaphor for Advent–the waiting, the preparation for baby Jesus to come. For me, this has literally been true more than once; each of my pregnancies was in the early stages during the Advent season. Putting myself back in that frame of mind and looking forward, I certainly experienced pregnancy as I have often experienced Advent: waiting and preparation to celebrate the arrival of a longed-for child. Getting the house ready, buying clothes and bedding, even reading the special pregnancy scripture–What to Expect When You Are Expecting. LIke I said, cliche.

But looking backward, I see that period in a different light. When you are pregnant, you see that period of time as preparing for the baby. Looking back, it seems more like pregnancy is not the time during which you make room for baby, it is the time during which you prepare to change your life forever. And this happens whether you get the right kind of diapers or not. It isn’t your old life plus one; it is a whole new way of being.

I have never adopted a child, but I am willing to bet the waiting period for adoption works the same way. Once you know it is going to happen, but before your child officially joins your family, you have a waiting period. During that time, you get your house ready and acquire all the things your child will need. But more importantly, you are getting ready to be changed, to enter a whole new life.

This Advent, I am trying to keep that in mind. I’m still shopping and decorating like I did for the arrival of my own children. But I’m also trying to imagine what it means to have Advent make us ready for a whole new life that includes the incarnated God. I may not get it exactly right, which also happened when I had my children. But I’ll get the chance to take that pregnant pause again next year. Changing an inch at a time toward that whole new life.

Welcome to the Hall of Marys

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Mary Livingston Haden

On December 8th 102 years ago, my grandmother Mary Eliza Livingston Haden was born and became the first Mary in our family. My mom and I both carry the name forward as best we can; the original is a hard act to follow.

When she was a tot, my grandmother contracted polio, which colored the rest of her life. Her childhood included more than a dozen surgeries, being pushed by her mother to exercise and do things on her own, looking different with her clubbed feet and uneven hips. When she was in her 80s she told me that she thinks the experience made her more compassionate towards other people who were different. Indeed, during the civil rights era, she was the privileged white lady who pushed others to think inclusively.
A faithful Christian, she served her church and mentored many would-be priests. I am certain that if she had been born 30 years later she would have been a bishop. She didn’t have a lot of patience with people who clung to tradition for tradition’s sake and was usually leading the way when it came to liturgical updates, gender equality, or even LGBT inclusion. (She was Carter Heyward’s godmother.)
She did a lot of things she was not supposed to because of her health. She danced, drove a car, had three children. I guess the risk proved worthwhile because she later was Gaga to seven grandchildren and got to meet three of her nine great-grands.

Gaga had a good sense of humor and was sometimes funny without meaning to be. After a particularly bad illness she told me her electrolytes almost went out. A sharp wit was a good trait if you were married to Bob Haden, a character in his own right. (Really, he could be an honorary Mary with the stories we have on him.)

For this reason and so many more, Mary Livingston Haden is the first Mary to be inducted into the Hall of Marys. Others will follow, some more well known, some still living. I know she will welcome them all with Southern hospitality and her famous pickled shrimp.

 

What would Mary do?

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Blue or purple? There are some in the church who enough time on their hands this time of year to debate which is the proper liturgical color for Advent. At Maryology, when such questions arise we ask, “What would Mary do?” Clearly, based on many images of Mary of Nazareth we can see her choice:

Virgen humildad, Fra Angelico

 

Light and darkness

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I am a huge metaphor addict. Truly, I stumble across visual and verbal analogies just about everywhere. There is not much practical use for this tendency in daily life–it has never gotten me anywhere on time and doesn’t get my kids dressed and fed in the morning. But I think it might come in handy this month. Today is the beginning of Advent, a season brimming, bursting with metaphorical possibilities. It is compared to pregnancy, a journey, light. We see blues and purples and pinks with their symbolic meanings. Captivity and freedom. I could go on–and probably will in future posts.

So, you can imagine my dismay when, after lighting our first Advent candle at dinner tonight, I discovered my son has very little regard for metaphor. “Light?” he smirked after reading a passage from Isaiah. “They had light every morning. What is the big deal about light and darkness ? And why is darkness so bad anyway. I like darkness.”

This wasn’t a matter of him not understanding symbolism. He does. But he dissed the whole enterprise. Every time I tried to toss him a metaphorical bone, he tossed it back. I am so flummoxed I can’t even think of what this is like. It is worse than bone tossing.

We’ll be lighting that candle again tomorrow night. He can’t argue or snark himself out of hidden or revealed meanings this time of year. After all, there is a reason he won’t know what his presents are until Christmas morning. They are living in a land of great darkness and light won’t shine on them until…oh, snap!

 

Beware: Snark Ahead

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I am a fundraiser who has donor fatigue. Can I give this advice to the booster club at my child’s school:

It is true that you need to ask if you want to get a donation. But it is also true that you can ask too many times. Seriously. And it is especially true that when you use my child’s creativity/pride/desire for plastic stuff to get donations for me my patience wears thin!!! STOP ASKING!!!!

We have not yet reached Thanksgiving and I have been asked to support the following fundraising activities FOR THE SAME SCHOOL: art you can order on tchoches, book fair, cocktail party, school directory sponsors, gift wrap, and school carnival (and sponsorship). They even changed the annual Fun Run into a fundraiser–with plastic stuff as a prize for how many donations you get. That is 7 fundraisers in 3 months.

I am starting to catch on to their insidious plan–I will pay them to leave me alone.

Crumb by crumb

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I often serve as a Eucharistic minister on Sundays…wine or bread. Our service is casual and kind of chaotic. Plenty of small children run around during the service and are welcome to take communion with the rest of us. And over the years, I have seen something that bothered me at first, and then inspired me. Crumbs.

Growing up, I was taught that crumbs of communion bread were precious and not to be stepped on. Spilt wine was quickly wiped up and any leftovers went down a special drain in the sacristy. When I began serving communion in the Chaos Service, these rules were not so closely observed. Crumbs and drips end up on the floor and the rug, played with and walked on. I obsessed about them. Could I swoop down to get them before the next person in line came with their hands held out? The body of Christ was being trampled upon by…the body of Christ.

One Sunday it occurred to me there was something poetic happening with these crumbs and drips. They were being carried out into the world on the soles of our congregation. And this congregation was particularly good about walking those crumbs into all sorts of justice-making places. They host refugees and feed the homeless. They are making our city cleaner and greener. They educate children and protect the abused.

Those little bits of bread and wine are looking different to me now. Crumb by crumb, they are feeding our hearts, helping us see and serve Christ all around us everyday. I’m not gonna drop them on purpose, but I’ll follow them out the door to see what good we can do together.

Let’s give this a try…

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Maryology…the study of Mary?
or
“overthinking something starting far in advance in order to best prepare yourself for an upcoming event. discussing an event or project with absolutely everyone you talk to in order to gather as many outside opinions and insight about the subject. to complete all planning of an event or project… at least 6 months before the beginning of the event or project.” from Urban Dictionary

I guess we will have to find out. Although, so far, the second definition fits the launch of this blog pretty well.