Trinitarian Musings (from a Unitarian)

September 20, 2013 at 1:00 pm

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Trinity this summer, especially after reading Forrest Church’s The Cathedral of the World, a moving and beautiful book on Unitarian Universalist theology.

One of the reasons I was first drawn to Unitarianism was the whole unity part. God is one. After a childhood growing up Baptist and Catholic, I was more than a little weary of high Christology.

I had been asked since I was small if I believed “Jesus had died for my sins” and if he was “my personal savior.” I’d been fed the images of Jesus on the cross, Jesus with the stigmata, even Rapture Jesus (yes, the Baptist youth group has us read the Left Behind for Kids series).

I’d parroted the lines of the catechism, read the Nicene Creed aloud at Mass in harmony with all the other voices. But I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe that Jesus had died and risen.

I couldn’t believe in a God who needed to sacrifice his son (Which, by the way, where did that son come from? I could never get a straight answer from my Sunday school teachers about whether he’d always existed, or had been born, or whatnot. It wasn’t until I started studying religion at BU that I realized it was a controversy that had rocked the church over the ages, from Arius to Jefferson) for the sins of human people.

*     *     *

One of my most fruitful conversations with an evangelical happened at a conference that had nothing to do with religion. It was about the Millennial Generation, and he and I were both students who had won fellowships to be there. We got to talking about religion when he heard my major.

He was very interested in learning about Unitarian Universalism, but had to admit the comfort that he found in his own tradition, saying, The feeling of being so loved that God sent down his own son as a sacrifice for my sins–for me–is what brought me to Christianity.

It’s a beautiful story, I replied. I see why it’s meaningful to you.

What drew you away from it?

I wanted to believe it. I wish I could believe it. But I just…couldn’t.

He looked at me and nodded, a look of sad understanding in his eyes.

*     *     *

I once read a blog post by a Unitarian Universalist complaining about how people say that “UUs believe whatever they want.” He argued, “That’s not the problem. If we believed whatever we wanted to, most of us would still be in the traditions we were raised in. Many of us are UU because we couldn’t believe in them, much as we wanted to.”

I think that’s accurate, at least for me. I love the drama of the Christian story. I love the structure and the mythos and the literary richness of it. I love the meaningful and symbolism-soaked holidays and rituals.

But that darn Trinity. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t embrace it.

I could say that I believe Jesus was a great spiritual teacher, a model for leading a Godly life. I could say that I believe he was a son of God in the way that we are all children of God, with a divine spark within us. I could even say that, yes, maybe he had a special connection with the divine that not all of us (but some other figures throughout human history) have achieved.

But I could not elevate him to being on par (“consubstantial,” as the revised Nicene Creed puts it) with God. I could not believe in a bodily resurrection.

Then I read Forrest Church. And he introduced me to a new perspective on the resurrection, and on the Trinity.

Church views the story of the resurrection as a metaphorical testament to the power of love over death. I won’t copy his whole chapter on it here (though it is genius), but in sum, he is saying that Jesus was a model of love, and that even after his death, his teachings of love lived on and spread. And so it is for us–when we die, we leave our bodies and our earthly lives behind, but our legacy of love continues on and keeps touching others.

As for that darn Trinity, Church looks at it in a different light. He sees the three elements as the three different ways that God is embodied in our lives–God above, God among us, and God within us. The presence of God throughout the universe, the presence of God in those around us, and the presence of God inside ourselves. Father, Son, & Holy Ghost.

*     *     *

This year for my birthday, my boyfriend gave me a Claddagh ring. Traditionally in my Irish family, the parents give their daughter this quintessentially Irish ring, but I had unfortunately lost the ring my parents had given me in a particular choppy sea a few weeks earlier.

A traditional Claddagh ring has two hands (symbolizing friendship) holding a heart (standing for love) with a crown on it (for loyalty). However, Evan picked out one for me that he thought was slightly prettier, with Celtic knots on each side instead of hands.

He, of course, did not know that the knots were Trinity knots, and that he had purchased another traditional iteration of the Claddagh ring, where the Trinity knots holding the heart symbolize the friendship of God.

I wear the ring every day, and I’ve joked about it with some friends–the Unitarian wearing a Trinitarian ring. But when I look at it now, it doesn’t fill me with the same discomfort that thinking about the Trinity once did.

Now, it is a reminder of the constant presence of God–in the world, in my fellow beings, and in my own heart.

By aclauhs | Posted in Abigail | Comments (17)

Searching for Home

September 18, 2013 at 10:51 pm

Despite my hellish attempts to retreat headlong into the world of ideas and imagination, it seems father time demands that I rest my feet on some solid ground and call it home. Of course one cannot deny Thurman, "How good it feels to center down," but there is so much calamity in rest. Rousseau claims the act of placing a stake in the ground and calling it one's property as the origin of inequality in the world. How could one deny the logical premise embedded in this claim? It is in delineating the mine and the yours, the this and the that, the you and the me, which serves as the basis for all discrimination and dispute. And in some traditions this sort of distinction is the root cause of all suffering.

Deep in my heart I feel that all division is illusion, so a concept like home becomes quite problematic for me as all must be home and yet home cannot merely exist in one place. But enough of philosophical conjecture, the old man with the clock beckons me to make a call. Be it a growing sense of maturity or merely a concession to the established order, but it is clear to me that I must find a place within the church to call my home. The time is nearing where I must place myself within a tradition, a history, I must vote my ticket in the great debates which have plagued (perhaps too harsh a word, perhaps not) the the followers of Christ for centuries. Shall the priest marry or not? Is the bible alive or dead?Does the spirit move or not? Is God a God of the rocks or a God of the rapids? These questions and many, many, many more must be explored if I wish to take an issue such as denomination seriously. It is in the exploration of the great debates of the christian faith that I shall find my home.

Yet, I wonder if there is another element to this, call it the movement of the spirit if you may. Where does a seeker such as myself go to find peace and solace, where can I place down my personality and come into contact with my authentic self? Where can I seek God by asking what that means? I wonder if there is a place for a person such as myself who does not seek merely to be preached at (and from the other side of the pulpit, merely to preach to) but where can I enter into genuine communion with God, entering through  the depths of my own spirit and seeing with the eyes of others. Perhaps if I can find this I will no longer be so uncomfortable calling it home.

 

By djwalker | Posted in Demarius | Comments (0)

Walking With You Is My Prayer

September 18, 2013 at 10:42 am

This September, I began a brand new adventure in my life by coming to Boston University. As I settled in and started to find my place here, I kept coming back to a simple hymn that we sing in my Unitarian Universalist community. “Walking, Walking with you, Walking with you is my prayer”.

On my first day here, I walked down Commonwealth Avenue with the rest of the freshmen as we made our way to the Class of 2017 Matriculation Ceremony. As I walked, mindful of the sprinkling rain, talking excitedly and introducing myself to as many new faces as possible, I began to see how walking together could be my prayer. There is something intrinsically spiritual about walking along side people who share your worries, your excitement and your uncertainty about the future. None of us had a clue that first day what we’d gotten ourselves into; coming to a new school and a new city, but walking together, our common path was a prayer of hope and gratitude for whatever lies ahead on our journey.

As the days started to fly by, walking with members of my new community has become my spiritual practice. As we laugh and share stories about our high school adventures, our pets and families, and all the new college experiences, I feel myself becoming happier and more comfortable here. Walking to the dining hall or on an adventure around Boston, our conversations become a common prayer. I think that’s the point of the walking prayer, as we walk together we listen deeply and learn more about the other people. “Walking with you” allows me to experience the divinity inherent in building spiritual bonds with another person. As this semester continues I hope that I take time to savor a walk with you, because walking with you is my prayer.

 

By jdingus | Posted in Jaimie, Uncategorized | Comments (2)

I’m Back!!!

September 15, 2013 at 10:19 pm

I’m back! It has been a whirlwind past-seven-months, where I was in Madrid for four months, followed by one in my hometown of San Francisco, followed by two months in Hong Kong for an internship sponsored by the United Methodist Church, and then back. I visited so many places, learned so many things, and I am completely at a loss whenever people ask me how my summer/abroad experience was.

 

The first thing I want to say (and the thing I say most often) is “It was amazing! It was phenomenal! Oh my God I loved it!” This is absolutely true. I’ve said for a while that I split my time between the two best cities on earth (San Francisco and Boston), and now I can add two more cities to that. I truly felt an instant connection with Madrid, and although it took a bit longer, I love Hong Kong as well. I had more unique, culturally challenging experiences in a short period of time than many people have in their entire lives. I met amazing people, ate amazing food, did amazing things, and did everything I was “supposed” to do abroad.

 

However, sometimes I find myself answering with, “It was amazing, but difficult and lonely at times”. Both Madrid and Hong Kong were difficult in their own way. When I was in Madrid, I felt like I was ripped away from my faith community right as I found my place at the chapel. I experimented a little with different churches, but I was not comfortable worshipping in Spanish yet, and the Catholic culture in Spain is very different from what I am comfortable with stateside. I sort of gave up the search early because what I really want was to just be back at Marsh, and found myself only entering churches to see the architecture. Madrid was also difficult because although I met so many amazing people, I never really found the one group that I clicked with. All of my good friends were in other cities studying abroad, and although I never would’ve traded Madrid for anything, I just wish they were with me.

 

Hong Kong then presented its own challenges. I found a faith community that I loved, only to find out that my schedule would not allow me to worship there. I went to church more often, but it was a tradition that I am still finding my footing with, and I tripped a little. I made quite a few friends in Hong Kong, but HK’s culture was so foreign to me that I was exhausted almost every day from constant stimulation of “Asia’s World City”. I felt so small in that city, which had never happened to me before, and I felt lost. Often literally, because signage was unclear and in a different writing system, and figuratively, for much the same reason.

 

It is impossible to express all of this when somebody just asks me “How was abroad?” because I am so worried of coming off like a privileged brat who was ungrateful for his experience; I would not trade my last 9 months for the world. It clarified a lot for me in my vocation in ways that I am still processing, with the help of all my resources at the chapel. These experiences, as well as smaller trips I took to Italy, Morocco, and the Philippines, gave me a worldly perspective that now has transformed the way I look at the role of the Church in the world.

 

The one response I will always give when someone asks me about my experience is that they need to go abroad as well. Travelling abroad, and especially the experience of studying abroad, is life changing. The experience might not be “ideal”, but it will transform your perspective. And I’ve been bitten by the travel bug, so at least for me, I’m definitely going back!

 

By lucchesi | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (0)

Prayer for a New Year

September 14, 2013 at 2:37 pm

This summer, I began a new practice--spiritual journaling. I'm not calling it prayer journaling, because I don't just write prayers--there are poems, stream-of-consciousness scribbles, and all sorts of things that I wouldn't necessarily characterize as prayer, but that nonetheless are part of my spiritual development.

I find it relaxing and centering. Which, for many, probably seems strange--writing on top of more writing (aka the papers and essays and responses and so on that are constantly due in the world of academia)?

But it's a different kind of writing. A conversation, if you will, with your spirit. And with the Spirit (of the holy variety). A communing of sorts.

And I've always loved words. I've always written, be it poetry or short stories or essays. But this is my first spiritually-focused writing. And I quite like it.

There's something more solid-seeming, less ephemeral, about writing prayers down. I admit, I'm one of those people who lies in bed saying her nighttime prayers and then just ends up falling asleep in the middle of it… So this is good for me.

It also allows me to look back and track my progress, in a way. See what was concerning me, what was uplifting me, a week or a month or a day ago. It's a way to remember.

But enough talking about the process. Let me share with you one of the prayers I penned, right at the beginning of classes this year:

Dear God,

Give me the strength to carry love aways at the forefront of my being, before complaints or fears or worries. Help me to see my fellow spiritual companions with eyes clear and unclouded by my own selfish preoccupations.

Help me to foster spiritual wellness within myself, that I may serve to foster that same wellness within others.

Remind me, in my walk today and every day, that peace is every step. I know this is a gift you will not just bestow upon me, but an effort we embark upon together.

Let me never forget the light of that divine spark burning within me, and within the heart of every other living being. Everything is connected.

Amen.

By aclauhs | Posted in Abigail | Comments (0)

The Year in Review

May 15, 2013 at 10:58 am

I don't trust my memory alone to remember things for me. I feel much more secure having things down on paper. Every New Year, I take out my journal and make a page titled "The Year in Review." I write down important events, things I learned, and my resolutions for next year.

I think there's something valuable about marking the passing of time like that. If you don't record it, it tends to blur away in your mind. You have trouble remembering your triumphs--or your low points. I recommend you try it.

Though it's not the end of the calendar year, it is the end of the academic year, and so I am offering you my own (Academic) Year in Review.

Admittedly, I probably wouldn't do this at the end of every academic year on my own (it is just after the exhaustion of finals, after all), but I am lucky enough to have gotten a 4-year renewable scholarship from a foundation back home in South Carolina. To renew the scholarship, every year I have to write a letter detailing my academic year.

It has actually been incredibly helpful, because now I can look back on those old letters and remember how I felt at the end of those other academic years--what I cared about, what I was proud of.

So I thought I'd share this year's letter with you, so that you could see the past year from my point of view:

Dear [Scholarship Director]:

For the past three years, I have received the [Scholarship] from [Scholarship Foundation]. This scholarship has allowed me to attend and to continue my studies at Boston University. I am writing now to share my experiences of this year at Boston University and to request a continuation of funding for next year.

As I wrote in my letter last year, I became involved with the Boston University Interfaith Council at the beginning of my sophomore year. Now, in my junior year, my passion for interfaith work has grown even stronger. I strongly believe that increasing people's religious literacy and helping them to engage with people of other religious traditions (or no religious tradition) are important to foster a pluralistic, peaceful world that can celebrate and embrace difference and diversity.

The Interfaith Council, of which I am the president, put on many exciting events this year. We hosted a “Religion Mythbusters” panel series, aimed at breaking down stereotypes about various religions, including Islam, Sikhism, and Mormonism. In the spring, we held the First Annual BU Interfaith Fair, an educational celebration of the rich diversity of religions on campus. We had musical performances, a buffet with important foods from various faiths, and booths with student representatives from different groups—including Muslims, Sikhs, Baha'is, Buddhists, Catholics, Episcopalians, Hindus, Secular Humanists, and more.

On a larger scale, this fall I founded the Boston Interfaith Campus Coalition (BICC). Last spring, I had worked with various local colleges to put on an interfaith food drive event called HUNGERally, which raised awareness about hunger in Boston. Seeing how powerful cooperation between colleges was, I decided to formally create an alliance, so that we could all work together on more interfaith events in the future. And so BICC was born; it consists of over fifteen colleges, including Boston University, Harvard, MIT, Boston College, Tufts, Brandeis, and more.

I organized two service major events this year through BICC. In the fall, we had a Thanksgiving meal-packing event, which raised over $10,000. At $0.25 a meal, we were able to pack 40,000 meals for hungry children in Boston. Students from BICC, as well as locals from the community, helped fundraise and pack these meals together while engaging in interfaith dialogue. In the spring, we had Cards & Scarves, where we made cards and scarves for the homeless of Boston and participated in interfaith conversations about the meaning of service in our various religions. Excitingly, we are already in the process of planning what our next big service event will be this coming fall.

Apart from my extra-curricular interfaith work, my interest in religion is also fulfilled in my academic studies. As a religion major, I have taken many interesting classes this year, including “Women, Gender, and Islam” and “Atheism and Agnosticism in US History.” In the spring semester, I also began work on my senior year thesis, applying for approval from the Institutional Review Board and creating my prospectus. Entitled “Millennial Christianity: The Wild Goose Festival and the Response of the Religious Right,” my thesis will be an ethnographic study of a contemporary evangelical Christian festival and its reception by conservative Christians; I intend to study whether the influence of the Religious Right on American society is waning or merely changing form. I will be doing my research for the thesis in August at the Wild Goose Festival, which happens in North Carolina.

My advisor for my thesis has been an incredibly helpful guide and a wonderful educator. In fact, I have found many incredible mentors at Boston University. My three years of college with all these advisors have helped me to discern what I want for my future. I aim to do humanitarian work in religiously diverse communities, especially in ones where religion is a source of tension and friction and where interfaith-based humanitarian work can begin to heal these conflicts. There are many humanitarian issues in which I am interested, including gender inequality, homelessness, and hunger, but all of them ultimately center around the issue of poverty and giving voice to those whose voices are not normally heard by society.

Through working with non-profits and NGOs (I am open to working anywhere in the world, though my experiences and opportunities will no doubt influence where I find myself able to work) to increase interfaith engagement and fight poverty through service, I hope to heal divides and empower people.

In the more immediate future, I am currently preparing applications for graduate fellowships abroad, such as the Fulbright and the Rhodes scholarships. I will submit those in the fall; the programs of study I hope to follow if I receive one of these fellowships would focus on peace-building and religious conflict resolution. I am also planning on applying to graduate schools within the United States in the fall. To continue with my theme of religion and humanitarian work, I am looking at dual degree programs for a Masters of Divinity and a Masters in Social Work. There are many schools, including Harvard, Boston University, and the University of Chicago, which offer this program, and I have already been able to make some school visits and find out about the exciting opportunities these various institutions offer.

More immediately, however, I am looking forward to this summer, which I will be spending in Italy. I have studied Italian since I first came to Boston University, and now—after saving up for multiple years—I am able to actually go to the country (it will be my first time abroad). I will be doing a program called Conversation Corps, in which I will live with an Italian host family and teach them English. I have already been matched with my host family and have been emailing back and forth with them, and I cannot wait to use my passport for the first time, get on a plane, and see them. I have always had a hunger to travel, and this is, I hope, the first of many journeys I will make to different places around the world.

It is hard for me to express in words the joy and wonder I feel about my experiences here at Boston University. In just three years here, I have transformed and grown as a person. Inspirational professors, professionals, and fellow students have shared their worldviews with me and offered me countless opportunities. I have discovered new passions, new people, and new possibilities.

On one hand, I feel somewhat sad to know that next year will be my last at Boston University. But it is a sadness unsullied by regret, because I know that I have taken full advantage of all that Boston University has presented to me. I want to thank the [Schoalrship Foundation] again for awarding me the [Scholarship] and enabling me to get an education at Boston University—in the fullest sense of the word “education”—and I humbly request a continuation of funding for this last and final year.

All the best,

Abigail Clauhs

By aclauhs | Posted in Abigail | Comments (4)

Boston Strong.

April 25, 2013 at 10:47 pm

I've been trying to write this blog post for a week.  A deadline has come and gone, and another one is fast approaching.  I've been overwhelmed by this week and a half, by the regular insanity of life, by my to-do list, trying to figure out how to handle and process the waves of emotions that have gripped me like a tide, encompassing me from time to time as I remember what this week has involved, fading as I get wrapped up with daily life, returning as I see the images and hear the stories that have become inextricably tied to the Boston Marathon.  I could write a hundred blog posts about this week, and I've written and rewritten many of them, but we'll go with this one.

The last nine days in Boston have been absolutely surreal.  First there was Monday -- I'll get to that later.  I woke up on Tuesday, in disbelief that Monday had happened, and that I had to pretend everything was normal and go to class.  It was an entirely unproductive day.  On Wednesday and Thursday, it took all of my physical will to get out of bed and go to classes and work.  I felt emotionally drained.  Thursday night rolled around.  Just after Sean Collier was pronounced dead, I fell asleep.  When I woke up the next morning, my entire world seemed to have been changed irrevocably--for the second time in a week.  A shootout, more deaths, the worst cabin fever I could've imagined.  Friday was certainly the longest day of my life, and probably the most bizarre.  I tried repeatedly to turn off the news, but someone would call asking if I'd heard about the latest development, and I couldn't stay away.  The days since have been emotional, as more and more details have emerged about the bombing, the suspects, et cetera.

But through the midst of the horror that gripped our city for what felt like much longer than a week, and that will be in our minds for many more years to come, I have been completely floored by the outpouring of love and solidarity that Boston has shown, and that the rest of the world has shown for Boston.  I admit, I may have flooded my social media accounts with these stories.  Whether that's a note from the Chicago Tribune to the Globe, the resiliency of Dunkin Donuts, the way Obama made this tragedy personal with his description of the Boston people, the tireless work of medical professionals across the city, messages of hope from countries that feel Boston's pain every day, soldiers who had just finished the Tough Ruck (the 26.2 mile march in fatigues with a 40lb pack on their back) and jumped into the midst of the finish line wreckage to help survivors, my own coworker, an Athletic Training major who was working at the medical tent and became a first responder, messages broadcast on the MBTA buses this week, or, last but not least, Yankees fans singing "Sweet Caroline," Fenway's anthem -- each of these stories made me feel that, no matter how terrified we may have felt for a few hours that Monday afternoon, there is a resiliency in our people, a will to overcome, and a fabric of community in Boston that may not always be this tangible, but is very, very real.

I was privileged enough to have direct contact with that deeply gratifying sense of Boston community during this past week.  On Monday night, a friend involved with a campus RHA asked if I could help him organize chaplains in the residence halls.  I called Brother Larry right away.  Before I could get a word in edgewise, he asked me to come to the chapel.  "We have people," I remember him saying.  I didn't really know what to expect.  Grieving people?  Hurt people?  Shocked people?  Throngs of people?  At this point it was around 5:30 -- just a couple of hours after the bombs went off.  All of my friends seemed to be accounted for.  But I was still totally in shock.  I was so cold I was shivering, even though it was beautifully sunny outside.  I changed my clothes before I left for Marsh so I would look more professional.  On a day like this?  How ridiculous.  I put on my puffy grey vest.  My favorite item of clothing.

At Marsh, the people gathering were mostly runners who had been turned back before they reached Kenmore, when the race had been closed.  Most were cut off from their families, and their belongings were at the BAA -- downtown and inaccessible.  They were mostly in good spirits, a bit tired and cold but still talking and laughing every now and then.  Shortly after I arrived, a group of three middle-aged women came in.  They hadn't been able to finish the race, and between the three of them had only gotten ahold of once space tent.  They sat down in the nave, and Jan Hill asked if they needed water.  They spotted a diet soda, and asked for that, instead -- didn't want to get a tummy ache.  They needed to get in touch with their friends so they could get a ride home to Worcester, so I lent them my phone, which at this point was almost dead because I had been relentlessly checking the news for several hours.  One of the three women started to get really cold.  Someone gave her a sweatshirt for her arms, and I offered my beloved vest for her lap, with my debit card, ID's, and keys still in the pockets.  At that point I started wandering around the Chapel somewhat aimlessly, looking to charge my phone and help out anywhere else I could.  There wasn't much else I could do, so I went back to the nave.  The three Worcester ladies were making jokes - I don't remember what about - and laughing and chatting.  Something about that made me breathe a little easier.  If these women who had just run twenty five miles, only to be cut off with the news of the bombing, cut off from their belongings, their loved ones, and the coveted finish line, and still smile, surely I could carry on as well.  They used my phone to call a friend.  I wandered off again.  I came back upstairs, and they were gone.  My vest was carefully hung over the end of a pew.  Other runners were still coming in, and we filled water cups and helped them call family or cabs and gave them somewhere to sit and pointed them to the restrooms.

A little over an hour after I got to Marsh, Soren told me that all students were being advised to stay in their dorms.  I asked to go home, and, relieved of my duties for the night, emotion took hold for the first time. I couldn't catch my breath, and started to cry.  What was happening?  This beautiful, beautiful city that I loved had been attacked.  Rumors were flying about more bombs being found across the city.  It felt a bit like we were under siege.  I went home, talked for hours with my friends about was happening, calling my parents every thirty minutes.

On Tuesday, I got a text message from a number I didn't recognize.  "Is this Emma? The girl from the church?"  Yes, it's me.  It was one of the 50-something runner ladies.  "Thank you for what you did for us."  What?  Me?  I barely remembered Monday night.  I just remembered the relief I felt when three marathoners showed me what Boston resiliency looked like.  Later that day, I got a Facebook message from one of the other ladies.  I'll post it here to prove something--not that I think I did anything great on Marathon Monday, because the people who did were several miles away at Copley Square, at the hospitals, in the law enforcement departments--I was just a lost girl at work.  But the relationship that started that day with these women goes to show that there is never an act of kindness too small.  I almost didn't take off my vest.  I was cold too.  I almost didn't let them use my phone, because I wanted to charge it so I could connect with my parents and loved ones.  But I did, because they breathed reassurance and relief back into my life, and I wanted to do anything for them that I could.  This tragedy brought out a million acts of kindness between Bostonians.  These messages were acts of kindness that affirmed my interest in ministry, my belief in feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, in loving others as we were--are--loved.  I'm not sure if any of this has made any sense, but I hope it's clear that I continue to be touched and amazed by the community -- sometimes invisible -- that I'm a part of, and the way that it has gelled and surged this week in the face of adversity.

"Hi Emma this is Shari I was one of the girls you helped. I want to thank you so much for everything you did for us. We felt so comfortable at the church we had everything we needed and such great people with us. With all the bad in this world it's so good to know all the good still stands strong. Thanks again. [We are] so happy you were all there for us. All the people in that chapel opened their hearts to us and we will never forget it, thank you all for making a very sad day turn into a great experience."

By Emma | Posted in Emma | Comments (5)

My Prayer for Boston

April 16, 2013 at 11:45 am

As I sit down to write my weekly blog post for Marsh, there is only one thing I can think of to write about. The thing that is heavy in the air in Boston today. The explosions at the Marathon.

I had been in New York for the weekend, visiting grad schools. As Evan and I had been taking the subway earlier that morning under Manhattan, we had started to talk about how New York City was just a little too cold, a little too unfriendly for us. How we love the vivacity and colorfulness of Boston. Hey, everyone might not be friendly that way I am used to in the South, but in Boston, they'll curse you out with vigor and be your best friend if the Red Sox win.

There is a boisterous joy for life in Boston, from the way we celebrate our sports teams' victories to the crazy way the Massholes drive. It's slightly irreverent (our favorite Catholic feast day is the one where we drink Guinness and deck ourselves out in green, after all) and rebellious (anyone remember the Boston Tea Party?), but it's also strong and uniting.

Marathon Monday is one of those days where that spirit is particularly strong. You wander into the streets, pressed against strangers who are suddenly friends, cheering on the runners and squeezing to get to the front, so close you could reach out and touch them. The atmosphere is boozy and loud, but it's welcoming. You don't care if you get separated from the people you came with, because it's just as exhilarating to cheer along with strangers as with those you know.

I was sad that I was missing Marathon Monday this year. It had been the only long weekend when I could get down to New York to visit schools, but I read jealously the excited statuses of all my friends back in Boston on that Monday morning. I'd gone to see the Marathon all the other years I'd been in Boston, and this was my first time away.

I found out about the tragedy on our bus back to New York. It boarded at the same time as the first explosion. The bus passengers were frantic as we began to move, grabbing snatches of news from people across the aisle. Those with smartphones and internet access were questioned desperately by others for news. Rumors floated between the seats. Phone calls begin to pour in from people checking to see if their loved ones were okay.

My family members kept calling, relieved to find that I hadn't been in the city. Meanwhile I tried to get in touch with my friends via email and Facebook to see if they were alright (phone service was down in Boston). I read article after article and tweet after tweet as more horrific details and images appeared.

Finally, I just cried, watching the New York City skyline fade into the background, the almost-finished Freedom Tower rising from the site of Ground Zero.

When we got back, South Station was strangely empty. We walked down the stairs into the T station for the Red Line. It was quiet, haunted. Armed policemen were our only company while we waited for the train.

And then it came, and we got on, and I melted into the comfort of being back again, of the familiar sounds of the MBTA. We had just been in New York, with its big trains and blinking lights that announce where the next stop is. But we were back in Boston now, with the plaintive squeaking of the Green Line when it takes a corner and the dinging bells that sound before the doors are about to shut. I closed my eyes and listened hard and tried not to cry at how familiar it was.

But when we passed through Copley, I couldn't help it. The tears started to come as the automatic voice announced "Copley" over the intercom. We slowed down but didn't stop. The lights were off in the station, but you could see the glint of the wall tiles and the shadowy signs as we passed. And all I could think of was that right above our heads, through a few layers of soil and steel and pavement, it had happened.

It had happened on the same sidewalks where I had walked a few days ago, touring a visiting friend around Copley Square proudly. On the same sidewalks where one of my closest friends had been standing an hour before the explosion happened. On the same sidewalks which, in pictures I had just seen while scrolling through news articles, were now covered in blood.

Spring had just come to Boston. We were just starting to remember, after a snowy and miserable winter, why we loved this city so much. The trees were blooming; the sun was finally warming the ground. And it was Marathon Monday, with its buzzing energy that someone who has never experienced in Boston can never understand.

When I got back to the apartment, I locked myself in the bathroom for awhile. I needed the catharsis of some shoulder-wracking sobs. I cried for the victims and for their families. I cried for the ones who saw such horrors happen. I cried for all the Bostonians that no longer would feel safe in their city. I cried for a Patriot's Day that would be irrevocably changed.

Finally I came to a point where the tears subsided, and then I prayed, stumbling over words, my hands clasped and my forehead pressed to the cool bathroom wall.

My prayer was for the next day, and the days after that. For warmer afternoons and more flowers and people spread out on the Commons in the sunlight. For cheers filling Fenway under bright lights and the crack of baseballs against a bat. For sunsets glinting gold off the Statehouse and church bells tolling the hours on Park Street. For strolls through the North End and cannolis from Mike's. For cramming into the T during rush hour as the trains creak through the tunnels.

For cheering on the runners at next year's Marathon.

For joy instead of fear, and life as it can only happen in Boston.

That--my city, my people, my friends--was my prayer, and it still is today.

 

By aclauhs | Posted in Abigail | Comments (366)

Baseball Season

April 12, 2013 at 4:36 pm

I don't necessarily consider myself a sports fan.  I usually have some consciousness of what's going on in te world of sports, but don't spend a whole lot of time following it in detail.  I am, however, a die-hard baseball fan.  Living abroad and in different cities for so long somehow precluded me from attaching myself to one team or another, but my mother's entire family loves the Red Sox, and when I moved to Boston nearly three years ago, they stole my heart, too.

The summer after my freshman year I stayed in Boston, working days at the Admissions office, and evenings and nights at Fenway Park.  The atmosphere in that place is truly unbelievable.  The "church of baseball" metaphor may be somewhat overused, but I'm not afraid to say that Fenway is something of a sports cathedral to me.  The energy in that ballpark, the history enshrined therein, the appeal to every sense and the way the game enraptures the soul--something about it just defines baseball.  It gets my heart pumping to be in the park, to wait for the home runs, to feel crushed by the strikeouts, to celebrate the wins and mourn the losses.

In a semester that has been supremely stressful, when I've not had a lot of time to just sit and do leisurely things I love (don't get me wrong--I LOVE my work and studies), I'm really looking forwards to getting to attend four Sox games in the next two weeks.  My hat's been collecting dust on my desk all winter, I've burned my Youkilis shirt and laundered my Ellsbury jersey, and dug out of storage my Sox fleece with the subtle "B" on the chest; the outfit is ready to go.  Tickets have been purchased for the bleacher section (let's be real, that's where all the action is), and the schedule has been hung up above my desk.  I am a devotee of the cult of the Red Sox, and I'm not sorry.  I can't wait to take some time to care about something that has no weight on my future, on my career, on my academics--besides providing me with pure joy.  Go Sox.

By Emma | Posted in Emma | Comments (3)

A Lenten Spring Break

April 3, 2013 at 10:36 am

Throughout my time at Boston University, Spring Break has been a time of year when I've completely run out of steam and need to just sit on a beach and sleep for ten days.  This year, since I already had more on my plate than I could possibly digest, I figured why not throw Alternative Spring Break coordinator in there?  And it was one of the best decisions I've made at BU.

Sheena, my co-coordinator and I, were assigned to the Hartford, CT ASB trip.  It's the first year that ASB has gone to Hartford, so we definitely had our work cut out for us.  After months of planning and contacting sites and failing to get very many meals donated, I was in full-fledged panic mode in the week leading up to our trip, certain that we and our volunteers were going to starve and probably get mugged on the streets of Hartford.  I was almost dreading spring break.

But as we met under the shadow of Marsh Chapel on an incredibly bright, sunny day, all volunteers on time and looking impressively energized, I suddenly felt much better about the trip.  From that moment on, things went more smoothly than I could possibly have asked for.  The people we met along the way were enormously hospitable, getting around was much easier than expected, and the service we participated in was genuinely life-changing.

Often times at BU we get stuck in this Comm Ave bubble, forgetting our back yard, let alone other communities within the New England area.  Spending time in Hartford, the capital of a state where many BU students come from, in homeless shelters, food pantries and soup kitchens, hearing the stories of people who had never expected to become homeless, who had experienced illness, had been laid off, evicted because the building they were living in was unsafe--it all reminded me that the lifestyle we see on Comm Ave is a lot more fragile than we sometimes care to think.

In the Ash Wednesday sermon that we gave, the Marsh Associates emphasized living out an active fast.  My Hartford ASB trip reminded me, particularly in the last three weeks of Lent, to be particularly conscious of the things I have in my life that I too often take for granted.  I'll never be able to repay the people I met during my trip for the lessons they taught my and the experiences they shared with me; my best bet is to continue giving my time to serve others, and remember constantly how lucky I am in my own life.

By Emma | Posted in Emma | Comments (2)