Henri Nouwen “The one who can articulate the movements of inner life, who can give names to varied experiences, need no longer be a victim but is able slowly and consistently to remove the obstacles that prevent the spirit from entering.”

Painfully I hold a conversation with a young lady who is not used to inward reflection. I start with a basic question, “What is the first thing you want to buy with the money you save?”

“I don’t know,” she answers, looking all over the place and finally down at the table. “Maybe get more minutes on my phone.” She says this while texting endlessly in the middle of our conversation.

She sat down where I was reading so I am assuming she has something on her mind. Avoiding all yes or no questions, I ask something a little deeper. “You have talked before about learning welding. When do the classes start?”

She jumps and seems to search through her mind for our previous conversations on this. “I don’t know. I’ve got a job now at a fast food place and I don’t want to lose it. Besides my family wants me to earn some money first and I live at home so I can’t really do anything else.”

From that point on she talks freely about how she is a victim of everyone and everything in the system. She has no problem articulating why she can’t move on anything she wants to do and she is not sure what she wants to do. She can’t seem to move on to what she does want.

I fall back to an open ended question, hoping to discern why she sat down. “So, what’s up?”

Her face crumbles. “I just hate to get up in the morning. I want to have a life.”

“So, if you could wave a magic wand and you have a life, what would be different? “ I ask.

She laughs bitterly, “I wouldn’t look like this. I would have good clothes and people would see me as cool.”

“What would you be doing that is different?” I persist, trying to get a little deeper.

“I don’t know,” she wails. “I just don’t want to be who I am.”

Changing direction, I inquire, “What is one thing for which you are grateful?”

Startled, she says, “That I am not in jail like my brother and I’m not a drunk like my mother.”

Unable to move her off her insistence on what she can’t do or doesn’t want to be, I ask another standard question with teens, “What is one small step you can make that will be different than what you usually do?”

Entrenched in her own despair, she is unable to think of anything.

“You sat down next to me,” I reminded her. “That’s different.”

With that, she is able to make a small suggestion of something she might do differently.

It’s a start.

There are too many of these youth who are trapped in a life that already suffocates them with no vision of a way out. She is only eighteen.

I’m not sure how to prepare youth for facing the world beyond High School. I’m sure that learning to reflect is one of them. Nouwen has it right on being able to articulate the inner life.   Being able to name experiences as more than bad or good, to be able to recognize being on an inward journey of growth and adventure, and to feel free to dream wildly is as vital as eating and finding shelter. We all yearn for days that are new days and not just “other” days.

In faith,

Kaze

Roy Rackley "To mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly."

“You have changed so much since we first met,” declares a young adult with whom I have been working for six years.

He continues, “You are a lot more fun to be with. You used to look at me from the corner of your eyes as if you were not sure what I would do next. I didn’t think old people changed. You know what I mean.”

Another of the youth starts laughing. “Dog, you are the one who has changed. We were all looking at you like you might start doing something.”

We all found that funny and there are laughs around the room.

“The truth is that we all change or we die. We change the way we see each other and the way we see ourselves. Sometimes we have to throw out some heavy garbage before we can see someone in a different way. As we grow in friendship we find and will find different things to like and respect in each other,” I assert, finding my own words stilted.

There is a sudden silence. Everyone is staring at me. I begin to quickly review my words looking for the reason.

The young man stutters, “We’re friends?”

I look around the room of young adults, all over eighteen, who have been with me a long time in their life spans. Their faces are motionless and somewhat frozen in place.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve had different roles in your lives. I’ve been your teacher, your mentor, your grandmother and your youth minister. Now that we are all adults, we are friends. We know about each other, we trust each other and we have each other’s backs. Isn’t that the way you see it?”

They collectively look as though a new concept has come crashing through the ceiling. “Come on, you guys,” I protest. “You are adults now. It’s all on your back. Whatever you choose now is on you. You make your own mistakes and your own victories. You are not kids anymore. It is different now.”

One of them recovers enough to say, “I never thought we would be friends. I thought you would be my teacher forever.”

I try again, “I may continue teaching you but since we are now on different career paths, you will also be teaching me even more than you have always done. We are associates now. We are all discovering how we can be better leaders in the Church and in our jobs. You are learning how to be chaperones to the younger kids and taking my place in doing so. I’m retiring. You are the ones who are continuing. It’s why I continue to bug you to get your driver’s license. Of course I am your friend. I am just an older friend.”

I’m not sure what happened in this meeting. For some, it was a new level of acceptance that they did not expect. For some, it was a decision to take more responsibility. For some, it was so new that they are just tasting it to see what it is like.

But we are on a different footing now. We work together for a common goal—to reach those who are still outside. Because I have white hair, they will probably continue treat me with respect but a new maturity is emerging within them. They are coming into their own.

In faith,

Kaze

Alice Miller “There are people who through their kindness, tenderness and focused, attentive love return folks to themselves.”

I stumble into a conversation among some of the Native young adults. One is saying “He’s just floating. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He thinks he’s got to qualify for something before he starts.”

“He doesn’t get it,” says another. “He’s just drinking to pass the time. Next time he is going to be hurt really bad.”

“The first speaker says, “I’ve invited him to go with us on the next training trip. Maybe he will find a way out.”

I don’t join in the plans.  I hear his name and the general location of where he lives. This has become their ministry.

It doesn’t occur to them that until now I have chosen only those who have been on trips with us for a year and who know that we do both Church and Native Traditional ceremonies. Or that I only take three young adults at a time. Or even that I might want to have some decision on who comes along. They know I am retiring in one year and a half. They are making plans.

They assume that our shared ministry is to reach out to those young people who are drifting and who do not believe that they measure up to anyone’s criteria. They are not worried about the funds to pay for them. They know that money arrives in time when we need it because extra effort is made to find the money.

They have taken over. It’s up to them now to reach those who are outcasts.

Sometimes I do things right and keep my mouth shut. Sometimes I can recognize the Holy Spirit when smacked on the head. This is one of those times.

Our ministry has changed because others have taken up the reins and are making their own rules on how to proceed.

With an inward sigh on how I was convinced that my plans were so good, I mentally bury them and wait for guidance from youth who are no older than twenty one.

They decide that the new youth should go on day trips first and get used to us. And maybe we all eat at a fast food place just to talk. And how they should meet our Church family who support us in Williams, New Mexico, Colorado and California.

As I listen to their plans, I am exhilarated. They know the one assumption that sustains us—that all are welcome, all of us are good enough in the eyes of God, that all can change, and that we are no longer outsiders.

Can there be a more welcomed miracle?

Rejoice with me.

In faith,

Kaze

Joseph Campbell “I don't believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.”

A youth waves me down on the street. He has a hoodie on and he saunters along slowly to the van. Inwardly I sigh as I think of how many times he has turned away from really getting enthusiastic about anything.

He gets into the van and grins. “I’ve had my job for six months now. My lady and I have an apartment of our own and we are saving for a car.”

Stunned, I ask, ”What happened? You are so different now.”

He laughs. “My son is going to be born next month. I want to be a dad he can trust to take care of him.”

We talk a little about how happy he is and how he seems to be going in a firm direction.

“You bet,” he says. “I feel better about myself now than I ever have.” He thinks a bit and continues, “I remember when I was baptized and I was glowing with what I could do with my life. Then I just faded away. Nothing really got to me. When I was told I was going to be a father, it all came rushing back. This is my second chance like we talked about.”

We talked some more before I dropped him off uptown.

I don’t know all the things that went into his decision. I do know that every youth deserves to have many chances to ‘come alive’ in whatever he or she does.

Perhaps the best modeling we can do is to demonstrate the activities and the causes in which we throw ourselves with zest and eagerness. Youth need to see us come alive more often.

In faith,

Kaze

Thomas Merton “No despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there…We are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance.”

“I will never, ever hike again. Ever! I hurt so much. I will stay up top with you next time,” proclaims a young adult after a four hour hike down Hermit’s Trail in the Grand Canyon. The others say nothing being preoccupied with gulping down bottles of cold water.

I had stayed on top talking to members of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Williams who come to the Grand Canyon twice a year to worship overlooking the spectacular view. We don’t always make it but whichever youth are with me, they love to hike the trails as far as they can go. This was the longest any of them had ever been.

On the way home, they fell asleep and I began to wonder if I should not have warned them about how hard it is to walk up the trail.

We stopped in Flagstaff to eat and they showed me the pictures they had taken of each other and the canyon. They alternated between how awesome it was and how hard it was. “I’ve never done anything like this. We saw a cave.  My legs are going to be so sore tomorrow. We had to stop every few minutes to rest on the way back.”  They could not stop talking about either the excitement or the pain.

By the time we reached their homes in Winslow and Holbrook, they were thanking me for taking them, laughing at themselves and exclaiming in wonder at this sensation of pain and joy.

Later that night I talk to one of the young adults who is attending his first Journey Youth Leadership training in Colorado. He also anticipates wonder and pain although he talks about it as something new and different, exciting and fearful.

I remember how the “dance” was such a metaphor when I began my spiritual journey back in the 60’s. The dance of “Zorba the Greek’ was particularly popular in those days.  “Fear and Fascination” were our college mottos. It all seems so superficial now as I think how we observed the suffering of others in the Civil Rights movement and denied our own. My friends and I were on the great adventure of our lives and we were sure no other generation had ever experienced the “dance” like we did.

It was not until I lived among the Aboriginal people of Australia in the late sixties that I began to “get real” about repressed suffering and forced gaiety. Being with people who openly suffer and admit pain enabled me to embrace my own struggles of unworthiness and fear.

Perhaps that is why I have chosen to always work among people who are not afraid to embrace their duel nature of despair and inexplicable joy.  One is not possible without the other.

By the end of our trip on Sunday, the youth were already asking “When are we going again?” I love it. We work hard, we suffer, we laugh, we celebrate (usually with a meal) and we move forward. What a journey we are on together.

In faith,

Kaze

Thomas Merton “No despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there…We are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance.”

“I will never, ever hike again. Ever! I hurt so much. I will stay up top with you next time,” proclaims a young adult after a four hour hike down Hermit’s Trail in the Grand Canyon. The others say nothing being preoccupied with gulping down bottles of cold water.

I had stayed on top talking to members of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Williams who come to the Grand Canyon twice a year to worship overlooking the spectacular view. We don’t always get here but whichever youth are with me, they love to hike the trails as far as they can go. This was the longest any of them had ever been.

On the way home, they fell asleep and I began to wonder if I should not have warned them about how hard it is to walk up the trail.

We stopped in Flagstaff to eat and they showed me the pictures they had taken of each other and the canyon. They alternated between how awesome it was and how hard it was. “I’ve never done anything like this.It was so beautiful. My legs are going to be so sore tomorrow. We had to stop every few minutes to rest on the way back.”  They could not stop talking about either the excitement or the pain.

By the time we reached their homes in Winslow and Holbrook, they were thanking me for taking them, laughing at themselves and exclaiming in wonder at this sensation of pain and joy.

Later that night I talk to one of the young adults who is attending his first Journey Youth Leadership training in Colorado. He also anticipates wonder and pain although he talks about it as something new and different, exciting and fearful.

I remember how the “dance” was such a metaphor when I began my spiritual journey back in the 60’s. The dance of “Zorba the Greek’ was particularly popular in those days.  “Fear and Fascination” were our college mottos. It all seems so superficial now as I think how we observed the suffering of others in the Civil Rights movement and denied our own. My friends and I were on the great adventure of our lives and we were sure no other generation had ever experienced the “dance” like we did.

It was not until I lived among the Aboriginal people of Australia in the late sixties that I began to “get real” about repressed suffering and forced gaiety. Being with people who openly suffer and admit pain enabled me to embrace my own struggles of unworthiness and fear.

Perhaps that is why I have chosen to always work among people who are not afraid to embrace their duel nature of despair and inexplicable joy.  One is not possible without the other.

By the end of our trip on Sunday, the youth were already asking “When are we going again?” I love it. We work hard, we suffer, we laugh, we celebrate (usually with a meal) and we move forward. What a journey we are on together.

In faith,

Kaze

James Baldwin “An identity would seem to be arrived at by the way in which the person faces and uses his experience. “

So many images flood into me of the way these courageous Native youth face and mold their experiences. No one can say why one young person faces an issue and takes control and why another with such seeming potential, runs and hides.

This week I watch a second grade child calmly face his families’ destructive patterns and agree to call me if things get out of hand.  He has experienced firsthand rough treatment from his family and from authorities. He has been thrown to the ground with a knee in his back by police and thrown against the wall by drunken members of his tribe. And yet, he is willing at his young age to explore alternatives and keep himself out of the way of danger.

A classmate comes over to play. He is the epitome of an abused child ready to strike out at the world. This child is underweight with dirty clothes. He slides into the room sideways and sees me on the couch. He freezes. Fear fleetingly appears on his wasted face. It is replaced straight away with hostile defiance. Immediately the other child calls out, “It’s cool. She’s my brothers’ youth minister. Let’s go play in my room. I have a new video game.”

I sit alone in the living room breathing deeply and praying desperately.

The mechanics of why one person changes and another one digs deeper into self hate will always be beyond me. My role is to bombard every Native youth with new positive experiences, to declare the Good News that he and she are cherished without condition, to pick up the pieces without judgment, to pay attention, to teach things beyond survival mode, to enjoy their presence, to laugh and eat with them, and to point out alternatives.  Some respond and some turn away. And sometimes, others observe me who are outside my specific youth ministry and seem to be nurtured. 

I wish there were a set formula of how to proceed but this ministry seems to continue on random attempts to reach out and enfold these youth in joy.

A large part of it is that these youth and their younger siblings come with a deep spiritual foundation from their culture. I build on their respect for others and their reverence for the sacred. No matter how badly scared they are from cruel experiences from birth, their understanding of the Great Spirit who gives them all good things resides in their very bones. They know the ceremonies in their traditions that bless them and allow them to be restored in balance.

I share with them our Christian ceremonies that do the same.

“You are blessed by God.” Surely there is no more joyous pronouncement that can be delivered.

In faith,

Kaze

Tenet of Buddhism “You can begin to change the world by first changing how you look at the world."

“Hey, can you take that picture of me to my grandmother so she can see I am okay,” asks a youth who is caught with a smile on his face in one of the many photos I have taken. That starts everyone else off. “Yeah, show that one to my mom.” “That’s the one I want people to see.”

As I dutifully print off some photos to take around to the families I reflect on how surprised the youth are when a photograph reveals emotions they don’t realize they have. They are always handing the camera around to look at the pictures that I or one of the youth have taken.

“Dog, you look like a bank manager there,” exclaims one of the youth. Everyone cranes his or her neck to see what he sees. “I don’t remember laughing that hard,” shouts a young one in wonder. “You look so serious there like you see God or something,” calls out someone.

I think that when you live in such a world of degradation and “put downs” you deny or forget or maybe never recognize that you have those moments of beauty, of laughter or of just “looking good.”

In showing a younger child a picture of his brother among a group of other youth in which they are just relaxed and talking and smiling, he studies it a long time. “I wish I could be like that,” he sighs. 

“What do you see?” I ask curiously.

In all the seriousness of his seven years, he says, “They are just kicking it, having fun and no one is mad.”

At this point, his playmate comes into his house and looks at the picture with envy. “Is that your brother?” he asks. They both seriously study the picture, pointing out ordinary things like how they stand around a table with other youth so relaxed and doing nothing but smiling.  Reluctantly they give the picture back to me and I tell the brother he can keep it. He places it in his school notebook carefully.

Lately people have asked me how the cycle of poverty, addiction and violence can be broken. It is not enough to promise that their future can be different without drinking, violence, betrayal, suffering and scrabbling to survive. They need to see how they are living the promise now. They need to recognize those glimpses they see of themselves as cherished and enjoying living as glimpses of heaven, of the eternal reaching into their lives and saying “Look, you really are my beloved children and the way of joy is open for you too.”

Perhaps I need to buy some more ink for the printer so I can keep handing these photos out that show a different world, a world that reflects their goodness.

In faith,

Kaze

John Bradshaw “Shame is the root of all addiction.”

Shame is not limited to the poor.

Recently I spent some time with young adults attending universities and attempted some small talk with them. I quickly found myself tiptoeing through minefields of family and peer expectations. It has been awhile since I have talked one on one with youth from middle and high class homes. I had forgotten the pressure put upon them to excel, to achieve, and to be first place.

A slow blush rises in the face of one as I ask if she knew her field of study yet. “My parents want me to study…” she replies.

“What do you want?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t know,” she almost wails. I don’t think I can cut it. The competition is greater than I like but I have to do well. Some of these students have been studying for this since they were five. I’m just not there.”

Underlying all the conversations I had, I could hear the undercurrents of “I’m not good enough. I can’t measure up. I’m going to lose.”

Unbidden came the traditional liturgical words, “Lord, I am not worthy but only say the Word and I shall be healed.”

These are children who do not believe they are worthy and they have to somehow earn their way through college and good jobs to be considered worthy.  It was an exhausting lunch.

 I return to the group of poverty youth with whom I work and wonder if perhaps they have it easier. They come from a situation of no expectations except to fail like those around them. Anything they achieve is a cause for celebration.  We are close to high school graduation and for many, they are the first to finish High School. The family pawns everything to throw them a big party and relatives travel great distances to honor them.

No, it is not easier. It is only different.

The Native youth have a major goal. It is to break the cycle of poverty, addiction and violence so that they are not following the footsteps of those around them. Sometimes it seems impossible.  Shame that manifests as “not being good enough, not being worthy” is very strong in them.

So when one of the youth reverts back to old habits of alcohol and violence, everyone just shrugs and says “What can you expect?”

Yet, this week, several miracles have occurred with acts of great compassion toward those younger youth who are aimlessly going in circles; with courage in dealing with domestic violence and homeless crisis by older youth who take it upon themselves to act; and in achievements in trying new things in their jobs or college lives.

I call up some youth who rescued some other youth and children in a domestic violence situation. “How did you get the courage to do that?” I ask

“I’m not sure,” one youth responds. “It’s just something we had to do. We couldn’t leave them there so we brought them home.”

Another responds, “We wouldn’t have done anything two years ago but I guess we have learned that if we don’t help, no one will. I think it is because we feel good about ourselves that we can reach out to those who are still afraid.”

That’s it. They can act with compassion when they feel good about themselves, when they know they are worthy before God and society, regardless of what society says about them.

I am so proud that, for a few, they are going beyond shame to being leaders of goodness.

In faith,

Kaze

Galway Kinnell “Sometimes it’s necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness.”

“I’m scared,” says a young man about to enter into his first day at a new job.

“I’m proud of you,” I reply. “You are a model to the young kids that you can make something out of yourself.”

“Noooooo. Don’t tell me that. That’s too much pressure,” he cries out.

We laugh and I watch carefully to see his next reaction.

He comes to a decision. “I can do it. It’s going to be okay. It is just knowing that there is going to be all this kind of holiness around.”

“What kind of holiness?” I ask.

He answers, “I can feel something good in myself. Maybe it will grow here.”

I am speechless.

He is right on target. There is goodness in him and it is growing him right out of his old skin. In spite of all those in his family, his teachers, the police, the probation officers, the authority, and the racist telling him that he is too damaged to change, he no longer believes it.

He is in touch with the sacred. He is open to the light. He is on the journey that will take him places out of this world. He has crossed the threshold.

Another miracle is born in front of me. He is affirmed by others. He affirms himself. He is praised by others. He begins to see self worth. He is pushed to be more. He sees more all around him.

No longer an outcast. He belongs.

Now I can delight in seeing him develop his wings.

Thanks be to God.

In faith,

Kaze