Category Archives: Family Spirituality

In honor of World Day of Migrants and Refugees Sept. 28, three blogs this month will focus on immigration issues

People who feel overwhelmed by the cruelty and incompetence of the current administration may well wonder how to protest most effectively. Massive turn-outs like “No Kings Day” have shown the will of ordinary citizens to resist the take-over by a would-be dictator—who blatantly admits his domineering goal and is making rapid progress towards it. But time and resources are finite. How to best channel our energies?

I’m no expert on the civil rights movement, but have undying respect for its leaders, and the courage of its participants. Reading Joy Unspeakable by Dr. Barbara Holmes has shown how their wisdom might guide us now. It was, of course, a totally different era with different issues and perhaps a comparison is unfair. But we see again a similar venom directed at the vulnerable, and the contempt for brown skin that some government officials once had for black, leading them to deny basic human rights.

It would serve us well to remember Holmes’ key point about the civil rights marches: they were contemplative. Looking at photos of the marchers, we don’t often see faces twisted with legitimate rage. Instead those famous faces radiate strength, serenity, conviction. Clearly, they draw on an inner wellspring, a theology created for the movement by Howard Thurman. “While weary feet traversed well-worn streets, hearts leaped into the lap of God…you cannot face German shepherds and fire hoses with your own resources; there must be God and stillness at the very center of your being.”  (p.143) A certainty they were God’s beloved daughters and sons, deserving of dignified treatment they were not receiving inspired and invigorated.

The penalties for protesters now may not be as severe (yet), but the grounding must be the same, lest we descend into violence. For nonviolent protesters following Gandhi and King, “walking in community to challenge the forces of evil and death…the shrine was within.” (p. 144)   Marches then and now don’t happen in officially sacred space. But they move forward in hope, “toward the fulfillment of God’s promises.” It is not God’s plan that any beloved children be treated as lesser, shunted into detention centers without due process. But the current administration boasts of the numbers they have already treated inhumanely, planning more prisons for more innocent victims. The human rights at stake now are similar to those that were then: standing up to corrupt leadership is as compelling. Then as now, dominant powers expertly hide the rot “so that those who act in opposition find themselves facing the illusion of an impenetrable behemoth.” (p. 146) As prayerful marching around Jericho brought the walls tumbling down, so we march too with high hopes it could happen again.

In honor of World Day of Migrants and Refugees Sept. 28, three blogs this month will focus on immigration issues.

Everyone responds in his or her own way to the current threats to our democracy, the cruel denial of due process to immigrants, the blatant violations of the Constitution, the chaos of our government. Some organize protests, others march with clever signs, some write their congresspeople, some pray fiercely, others tutor in EAL/literacy programs for refugees, some volunteer in resettlement efforts. This is what one group did in San Diego, CA.

FAITH (Faithful Accompaniment in Trust & Hope) is an ecumenical program that has religious leaders (including three Catholic bishops) and volunteers present at San Diego’s immigration court to offer support and comfort to those who need it. It was started by the Catholic Diocese of San Diego, Our Lady of Guadalupe parish, and other faith-based community members. On World Refugee Day, June 20, 2025, Bishop Michael Pham and other clergy accompanied immigrants to the federal courthouse in downtown San Diego. Rev. Scott Santarosa, SJ, former Jesuit provincial, now pastor of Our Lady of Guadalupe parish was part of the original group.

He later asked at a special worship service, “if you are affected by what is happening in this country with immigration right now, please raise your hand.” Tentatively, the hands emerged. Seeing that need and a place where the church should stand, volunteers developed a form which enables people who have court hearings to fill out and request accompaniment. Because the newspapers are filled with immigrants’ tragic stories, they seem familiar: a father of five US citizens and the primary breadwinner of the family, deported–without a criminal record. A mother of three and housekeeper, whose medical condition made her catatonic after ICE seized her. Hard-working people with green cards detained without cause; families torn apart. Any response seems inadequate, but FAITH in San Diego seems like a model which can be replicated elsewhere.

A FAITH volunteer named Margie reports about her training: “When Bishop Pham started to share his story of leaving Vietnam as a frightened, unaccompanied 8-year-old on a rice barge, it prompted me to think of my Dad leaving Ireland on a ship after getting released from Kilmainham [the notorious British prison in Dublin, Ireland], and my 17- and 24- year old non-English speaking grandparents coming from Hungary, which caused my tears to well up.” In court, “It has been absolutely heartbreaking to watch ICE (in teams of 9 or 10) grab people of all ages as they leave the courtroom and handcuff them — especially older grandparents whose grandchildren sob in the shock of the moment.”

While this presence may not prevent arrests, it says clearly to asylum seekers, “You’re not alone. Some of us remember our immigrant ancestors, and are grateful for what this country gave them. The way you’re being treated is a travesty of democratic ideals. Everyone in the US isn’t a racist.” Clergy and lay people from many traditions participate — Episcopalians, Methodists, Lutherans, Muslims, Jews, Quakers and even people of no faith.

As reported in America magazine, (https://www.americamagazine.org/short-take/2025/08/26/san-diego-bishop-immigration-court/) volunteers said, “We can change no outcomes. We enable no results. We are powerless. Why do we do this? We do this to remind everyone that regardless of what happens in any courtroom or detention center or deportation, God made us all the good and dignified sons and daughters that we are. We stand with migrants because we believe that.” Goliath is growing, with a budget increase of over $45 billion to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement to build new detention centers and hire some 10,000 additional officers. Against huge odds, this David-like group believes in and works for the impossible. The final word isn’t in yet, but hope is kindled. Somehow but not always, the impossible has been transformed into the possible. Could other people of hope follow their model?

Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552

“When an alien resides with you in your land, do not mistreat such a one. You shall treat the alien who resides with you no differently than the natives born among you, you shall love the alien as yourself; for you too were once aliens in the land of Egypt.” Leviticus 19:33-34.

At a Bar Mitzvah I recently attended, the rabbi began with an announcement of where, in case of an ICE raid during the service, people could find private spaces beyond the reach of the masked men. The sanctuary itself was public space, but the synagogue had carefully established safe zones where refugees would be protected. Abundance of caution? Perhaps, but the cruelty is rampant in California. In Los Angeles alone, ICE arrested more than 2,000 immigrants who had no criminal records.  On August 12, seven people with no criminal records—including a 17-year-old boy with Down Syndrome–were deported from their home in Oakland, and sent to detention centers around the U.S. According to neighbors, they were quiet and hard-working, going daily to their jobs in a fast food restaurant. (https://www.eastbaytimes.com/2025/08/20/oakland-ice-arrest-response/)

From a moral standpoint, Bishop Mark Seitz of El Paso, TX (who once donated a kidney to a sick parishioner!) clearly condemns the administration’s bullying. “It is not the undocumented who represent a threat to the rule of law in our country. The vast majority of migrants would not hesitate to regularize their situation lawfully were it possible. It is the fault of lawmakers unable or unwilling to establish sane and lawful mechanisms to manage migration in our country, at the border, and abroad.” Furthermore, actions such as closing the border to the vulnerable, depriving hundreds of thousands of people legal status, denying due process, “are all morally indefensible from a Catholic perspective. These actions will divide families, divide communities, undermine the rule of law, and increase the numbers of those dying at borders.”

Seitz continues fearlessly: “in the case of this administration, the speed with which these actions are being carried out, the dystopian rhetoric and sharp attitude, the unapologetic belligerence towards neighboring states in the region, the elevation of self-interest as the criterion of legitimacy, and the disregard for the rule of law and due process are without precedent.” He reminds us that in Christian churches, the practice of sanctuary was common for over a millennium. The call to all people of faith now is: protect the anxious and fearful, educate refugees about their rights, offer legal services, accompany to immigration hearings. (“The Living Vein of Compassion,” Commonweal, 6/1/25).

But the Deporter-in-Chief understands only the language of money, not the work of compassion. His “big, shameful bill” added $76 billion to ICE’s 2025 budget of $10 billion, for recruiting more agents and building more detention centers—50 since January 20. Perhaps Mr. Trump (who, ironically, does have a criminal record) could answer the question: why should taxpayers now foot the bill for the airfare and detention of mostly innocent people (70% with no criminal record) yanked from jobs which made them self-supporting?

According to Cal Matters, undocumented immigrants contribute not just their labor; they also pay significantly into the government treasury. In 2022, they paid $8.5 billion in local and state taxes in California, including into programs they can’t draw from. What is true for California must be true in some degree for the rest of the country: the seismic economic effect of mass deportation could inflict billions of dollars in direct damages to small business, agriculture, construction, hospitality and child care. If undocumented immigrants “magically disappear, you’re going to erase 10% of California production,” said Giovanni Peri, professor of international economics at UC Davis. “We’re talking about hundreds of billions of dollars.” (https://calmatters.org/economy/2024/11/trump-deportations-california-economics/)

The video has gone viral of a woman addressing her Republican congressman in Nebraska, presenting a list of similar expenses, then asking, “How much is fascism going to cost us?” As we approach Labor Day, I muse on workers we may take for granted, jeopardized by the Mass Deportation Policy. On our daily walk to her elementary school, my granddaughter and I pass a complex project, which involves big machinery for flood prevention, changing underground pipes and replacing blocks of sidewalk. Unsurprisingly, all the construction workers are Spanish-speaking. They are capable and courteous, hoisting their “Slow” or “Stop” signs to traffic so the children and their caregivers can pass the construction safely. Only a severely distorted lens could see these people as threats to the national security.

Dr. Barbara Holmes writes in Joy Unspeakable, “On this planet, we are all indigenous strangers; some of us just have the good sense to know and embrace this reality.” How many of us are native Americans? Or as Leviticus says, “you too were once aliens.”

 Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552

In scripture, gardens are important places where heart-stopping events happen: Eden, Gethsemane, the post-resurrection site where Mary Magdalene mistakes Jesus for the gardener. And she isn’t totally wrong: that image has enormous appeal. Imagine Jesus in his floppy straw hat seeding, creating, tending, nurturing, fertilizing, pruning the frail shoots of our lives.

The more I learn about gardens, the more I respect them as sacred spots where extraordinary marvels occur. Consider, for instance, the clever ginko tree. When a male tree senses that there aren’t enough female trees around to produce berries, it turns into a female. What sleight-of-hand. The London plane trees were planted during the Industrial Revolution because the bark wouldn’t absorb the pollution that could kill the tree, instead would just peel off. The coastal oak doesn’t have the traditionally shaped oak leaf. Instead, a round leaf turns upward around the edges to cup moisture from fog, so they survive drought. What kind of God creates the mimosa tree, pink puffballs catching the afternoon light or—show-offs pirouetting and pivoting in the breeze?

The Creator must’ve really run amok with dahlias: such enormous variety. One has creamy centers, petals tapering out into pale lavender. Another, a spiky burst of sunset colors, one with meticulously sculpted petals, aligned gracefully as ballerinas. Delphiniums aptly named “The Wave” swell from deep purple to aquamarine to pale blue to white, like water rolling in, foaming and crashing on shore.

Two African-American writers are eloquent about their gardens. Ross Gay’s Book of Delights shows in countless way how his community garden nourishes his delight. Even weeding bindweed, he reflects, “And if I think I’m in a hurry, or think I ought to be, …the teeny bindwood sprouts will sing out to me, “Stay in the garden!” (p. 199) Asked what hope looks like, Camille Dungy in her book Soil responds, “my garden.” (p. 151) The names of her plants sound like music. Specifically, she names “azaleas in technicolor purple and gold. Forsythia mimicking the sun, golden and dazzling.” (p. 116)

Visiting a Botanic Gardens (in this case Filoli near Palo Alto, CA) monthly for half a year reveals a sunrise/sunset progression. Pots which in March filled with hyacinths are now full of begonias. Apple and pear trees blooming then now brim with red-gold fruit. Its’s a comfort to think that all that time I was doing laundry, eating lunch, reading, sleeping, traveling, etc. apples were going through a mysterious process from flowers to clusters of fruit dusted with the same colorful red-pink as blossoms. The processes of the natural world continue, regular and reliable as tides, so that in the rare case where something goes haywire, we sit up and take notice.  Almost always, the quiet, steady growth of a garden soothes the soul.

The garden at home is full of surprises, volunteer plants from seeds I never sowed: the morning glory twining around the tomato plant, the tomato poking through the roses. And the sun glazing the fountain waters is as vibrant as when it shines on vaster oceans, lakes or rivers. In this microcosm, it’s easy to understand Thomas Berry saying that exuberant delight and unending gratitude are the human’s first obligation. No wonder he warns that we mustn’t become too alienated from the natural world of the “shining forth” (the meaning of the word phenomenon). Instead we must “participate creatively in the wildness of the world about us,” with wildness here referring to our first home. He continues: “The natural world offers us wonder for the mind, beauty for the imagination, and intimacy for the emotions.” How could we be too busy to neglect this treasure, too preoccupied to miss the marvels, many of us rarely taking a daily walk outside?

The White House rose garden has recently been destroyed and paved over…  

***

Retreat at Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women–Kathy Coffey

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552

In this season of abundant harvest, my son offered me a perfect slice of peach, poised on a knife, glistening and ripe. I thought of that juicy moment when I saw the cover of Joyce Rupp’s newest book,  The Years of Ripening. The gold-rose peach there gives a big hint: her work on late aging won’t disturb or depress; instead, it beckons towards joyful fulfillment. The reader ends thinking, “If this is what the eighth or ninth decade holds, I want to experience it!”  

Many will already know Rupp as a wise and trusted guide who has walked with us through many of life’s circumstances and transitions. Now, at age 81 herself,  she addresses Elderhood, the years beyond 80. Mercifully, she doesn’t camouflage the difficulties, like some of the ads for retirement centers where a lean, tan couple under constantly sunny skies play perpetual rounds of golf. Joyce’s insights come from thoughtful reflection, a deep spirituality and thorough research on her topic. My copy of the book is now a forest of sticky notes, marking wonderful quotes I want to savor and return to again and again, some as cherished mantras. While we like some of the same authors, she’s also introduced me to new ones I’m eager to explore. Furthermore, she has interviewed many people in the later years; their experiences and comments bring the direct voice of authentic paths well lived.

Those who age most happily take John O’Donohue’s advice to see not only the walls of limitation, but also the windows of possibilities. While some might regard these years as disintegration and diminishment, hope-filled elders still contribute to society, explore new delights, find hidden treasures within. Volunteer work, political rallies, local communities, book clubs and gyms are all outlets for their gifts and energies.

Decline is inevitable—in mobility, memory, vision, hearing and the countless other parts of the human body that gradually wear out. Many live with chronic pain, but the best models don’t complain, whine, or constantly discuss health issues.  They know that life can be vastly enriched when it consists of more than constant speed, or a job where someone else pulled all the strings. Instead they “marvel at the life they’ve been given” and warm themselves at the campfires of memory. Those who live with zest understand that “Fear has the power to have us die long before we die. It can paralyze and immobilize the pulse of joy and warp our outlook on life.” (p. 28)

Some of us internalize agist messages, thinking that becoming old means only decline, dementia and death. But this book pulses with the vigor of those who value increased quiet time, freedom from external constraints and pressures, less attachment to Stuff. When we no longer define ourselves by professions or achievements, we can see the holiness inherent in ordinary, everyday life. Macrina Wiederkehr points out that when we moan and groan about losses, we fail to notice the gifts which surround us.

One of the most meaningful phrases Rupp uses is the “tabernacles of absence” which can come from the death of friends and loved ones, the loss of special places. Loneliness and boredom are the two lions at the gate of elderhood, which we can duly acknowledge, then look beyond to a “Spirit of Love dwelling within our personal tabernacle, the sphere of our heart.” (p. 72)

If someone precious (or we ourselves) near the last page of the final chapter, the section on death justifies the cost of the book. For those who might fear the unknown, Rupp offers the assurance that “death is only a change of rooms.” (p. 131) She bases her hope on many experiences accompanying the dying, and concludes that the road ahead may be short, but still holds joy and transformation to feast on. People move past the compulsion to “shape up,” and shed religious dictates that no longer reflect a compassionate spirit. They welcome the mystery, beauty and tranquility that may still lie ahead., curious about whatever the future holds, however unresolved.

Order from Orbis Books: OrbisBooks.com, 800-258-5838

Doing this week‘s newspaper word search with my grandson, all the hidden words contained the root “joy.” That word could name the theme for the life of St. Clare, St. Francis’ lesser known female counterpart (though she confidently stood alone as well) and dear friend.

Clare enjoyed the “guarantee of living without guarantees.” That might make us feel insecure and wobbly. We rely heavily on insurance policies; she relied totally on God. Clare saw humans as mirrors reflecting the divine. In the beauty of the Beloved, she found more than enough wealth to offset her life style of poverty.

As Richard Rohr points out in Eager to Love, Clare and her sisters had a topsy-turvy insistence on living without privilege. Totally dependent on God, spending 40 years in one small house and garden, she discovered abundant joy. It seems important to note that in dark times, we can still nurture joy—it’s not a dirty word showing we simply don’t understand our era.

One of the most famous, but misguided, images of Clare was her holding the monstrance high, so that Saracens invading Assisi shrank back in fear and left her monastery alone. It’s true that soldiers did enter her home, San Damiano, but they were European mercenaries hired by Frederick II. The monstrance didn’t exist then—in 1240.

What Clare actually DID, confronting the genuine threat of invasion far outside the city walls where she and her sisters lived unprotected, was take “her usual posture for prayer,” lying prostrate.  Such vulnerability seems the exact opposite to a macho demonstration of power or strength, and yet it was effective. The invaders retreated, causing no harm.

Clare’s process of letting go ego and learning to mirror God led her to write: “Place your heart in the figure of the divine… and allow your entire being to be transformed into the image of the Godhead itself, so that you may feel what friends feel…” Given that intimacy, it’s unsurprising that Clare not only lived but even died joyfully, encouraging her soul to go forth with “good escort.”

“rich in what matters to God.” Luke 12:21

And what is that richness? Surely not the revolting wealth of billionaires that starves the hungry and jeopardizes medical care to 11 million people. Yet these moral midgets are currently at the top of the heap in U.S. society.

Another, more satisfying answer emerged at an exhibit of African-American quilts, Routed West: Twentieth-Century African American Quilts in California, displayed at the Berkeley Art Museum & Pacific Film Archive. (https://bampfa.org/program/routed-west) According to their website, during the Second Great Migration (1940 to 1970), millions of African-Americans traveled to California to escape the South’s oppressive racism and find better jobs. “They carried quilts as functional objects and physical reminders of the homes they left behind. The quilts in this exhibitionexplore the medium’s unique capacity for connecting kin across time and distance, holding memory and ancestral knowledge, and opening up space for beauty and artistic ingenuity.”

A caveat: it might seem glib for a white person in the 21^st century to easily idealize the horrors of slavery these quilters endured or the Jim Crow they fled. But there the quilts hang—dazzling in color and craft, a silent tribute to their resilient makers. In a New York Times article, (https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/31/arts/design/quilters-berkeley-museum.html?unlocked_article_code=1.LU8.ohNK.24EK-m_SsELM&smid=url-share) three generations of quilters speak for themselves.

Laverne Brackens (age 98) made “britches quilts” from jeans discarded by her children, with pockets, patches and faded, worn knee spots. For her daughter Sherry Byrd, quilting offered comfort when she needed it most. In Fairfield, Texas, she grew up watching her grandmother and great-grandmother at work and was often drafted to add ties to their quilts, using strings to secure the layers together. She didn’t begin making her own pieces until she was 33 and gave birth to her sixth child, Micah, who was stillborn.

“I had to find some way to work out the grief,” Byrd said. “I had five other children, and I couldn’t sit there crying all the time. I had to balance taking care of them and grieving over the baby that didn’t come home from the hospital.”

Her daughter, Bara Byrd-Stewart said, “you disappear into your own world when you’re quilting. It’s beautiful. Nobody can tell you what to do.” How she must’ve echoed enslaved ancestors whose days were dull and full of drudgery, but found hope and transcendence in their fabric creations. No one could’ve told them how to transform flour, tobacco and whiskey sacks into dazzling mosaics—they made it up as they went. No matter what the medium—woodworking, cake decorating, singing, sculpting, composing, film making, gardening, dancing—one who becomes deeply absorbed in creativity can lose track of time. Even the quilt stains are eloquent—coffee? Mud? Blood? What unknown stories splotch a creamy square.

Quilting was a communal task, so friends are stitched into the seams, bonds are sewn securely there. What conversations and songs must’ve flowed over the frames, what whispers and stories later tucked under the covers and into the beds. Did the makers wrap their quilts around people they loved who were sick or dying? What a final blessing, to be warmed and held by Molly’s or Addy’s comfort and skill.

There are many kinds of stained glass, not all found at Chartres.

———

Enjoy 5 days at the Marillac Center, Leavenworth, KS with Kathy Coffey leading

The Genius of Jesus, The World of Women

October 13 at 4pm (arrive in afternoon)– October 18 after lunch

For more information or to register,

visit https://www.scls.org/prayer-spirituality/marillac-center/

or contact  retreats@scls.org   913-758-6552 OR  kcullen@scls.org  913-758-9714

(John 11:1-45)

Brilliant, outspoken, direct, Martha after her brother’s death gave Jesus exactly the affirmation he needed to proceed to Jerusalem and his passion. But let her tell the story…

“I was at my worst then: exhausted, vulnerable, grieving for Lazarus, angry at Jesus. I was so outraged, I spewed pure venom when he arrived. Lazarus’s place at our table was empty, the brother I loved had vanished, and Jesus’ delay became the target for my fury.

People with better social skills might have welcomed him with, ‘Thanks for trying,’ or even, ‘Your friend is dead,’ but I dumped the guilt trip: ‘If you’d been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.’

The accusation hurt; I could tell by the sadness in his eyes. Still it didn’t paralyze him; maybe he continued our conversation because he could trust I wouldn’t mask the truth. I would look him straight in the eye and speak without a shred of syrupy politeness.

Still, he hesitated. It was as if he needed something from me, some mysterious affirmation before he plunged ahead. The roles were reversed: just when I needed to lean on him in grief, he asked for my support!

Even if I’d lost Lazarus, I could still encourage Jesus. Maybe he had taught me how to give people exactly what they need. He had wept with Mary; he had discussed the afterlife with me; now it was my turn to answer the question he hated to ask. So few people understood him; all he wanted was one person to show some inkling.

And I did know who he was. In some quiet, sure place within, I was bedrock certain of his identity. So I said it aloud. Not to sound arrogant, but Jesus forged into that foul-smelling tomb as if propelled by my words. I ran after him, just in time to see Lazarus lurch forth. Three days before, weeping, I had covered my brother’s face with the same linen. Now, I unwound the burial cloths as if unwrapping a splendid gift.

I barely thanked Jesus or noticed him leave. But neighbors said he walked purposefully toward Jerusalem, driven as he had been to Lazarus’s grave. Did my words still echo in his ears? Had I ignited some fire within him? As I had a hundred times before, I asked myself, ‘Now what have I said?’”

Excerpted from Hidden Women of the Gospels by Kathy Coffey, Orbis Books, orbisbooks.com, 800-258-5838

Let’s hope that on the Feast of Mary Magdalene July 22, we all do our part to correct the misperception of her as prostitute. That error, a conflation of three Biblical texts, was given authority by Pope Gregory the Great in the seventh century, and not corrected for 1400 years, until revisions to the Roman calendar of 1969.

Luke’s gospel names her as one of several financially independent women who supported Jesus’ ministry. But her role is more important than financier. Dan Brown’s best-selling Da Vinci Code gave her a romantic role, but again, her centrality in the early Christian community was more than simply a private relationship.

All four Gospels agree she was one of the first witnesses to the resurrection. When Jesus calls her name in the garden, it is a pivotal point of human history. Her name is the hinge to a new order. She was the first to realize that God could vanquish even death, and to tell the other disciples. She convinced them and skeptics throughout history that “love is stronger than death.” To silence her voice and discount her primary role does her a great disservice. She calls us instead to the vision of a world free of sexism, suffering, exploitation and death. Arguments over authority simply distract from that larger hope.

Biographical details are sparse for this Patron Saint of the Environment: daughter of a Mohawk chief and a Christian, Algonquin mother, Kateri was orphaned when her family was wiped out by the smallpox epidemic of 1660, which left her pock-marked and half blind. Adopted by her uncle, she asked for baptism at age 20, and celebrated it in a chapel festively decorated with feathers, ribbons, flowers, and beads.

The Mohawks, however, could not accept her conversion and ridiculed her. Eventually she made a long journey on foot to the Sault mission south of Montreal in Canada, where she could live among other Native American Christians. Early French biographers describe her as solid and joyful. She nursed the sick and dying with remarkable cheer, considering that her own health was precarious. Her joy was so contagious that children were drawn to her for storytelling. She showed a key hallmark of holiness: people wanted to be around her. At her burial there was no mourning, only public rejoicing.

Beyond the brief biography, Kateri stands as a larger symbol for the reverence and repair our environment desperately needs. Thomas Berry in The Dream of the Earth underscores the significance of Native Americans to a country that seems aggressively bent on destroying the earth, greedily exploiting its natural resources. The environmental damage goes back to the first European settlers who saw themselves as “lordly rulers of the continent,” (p. 189) who could dominate it at will. Instead of meeting the indigenous cultures with curiosity and delight, wondering what native people could teach, these pioneers called them “savages” needing redemption. Berry terms this “our compulsive savior instincts. We take up the burden of saving others even when in fact we destroy them.” (p. 182)

In the five centuries since the European invasion of the continent, the native tribes suffered physically but won “a moral victory of unique dimensions.” (p. 183) Their spiritual tradition, which might be called a nature mysticism, is exactly what we need now to revitalize our attitudes about our land, seas, forests, and rivers if they are to survive horrific pollution. When clean air and wilderness are dangerously threatened, the Native American approach which regards them as sacred might save the planet. (For more on that topic, see Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer.) In contrast to the lordly rulers of the continent, who could do as they pleased with its resources, Kateri and her people teach “the art of communion with the earth.” In an ironic reversal, “we need their mythic capacity for relation to this continent more than they need our capacity for mechanistic exploitation.” (p. 190)

Kateri and her people understood how human life is physically and spiritually interwoven with the water, sun and soil that sustain us. They appreciated how the splendor of land and sea inspires our sense of the divine. In desperate, last-ditch circumstances now, we need Kateri’s sensitivity to the needs of rivers, waters and valleys, knowing that to extinguish a species is to silence a divine voice, to degrade our habitat is to degrade ourselves.