With you "On the Way"

“It was the most beautiful, challenging, awe-inspiring, painful, growth-filled, terrible, joyful, gut-wrenching, peaceful and blessed summer of my life.” At the beginning of every school year one of the most common questions we excitedly ask one another is “How was your summer?!?!” Despite the fact that the month of October begins this week, I still cannot fully give life to the experience that I had this summer on the Camino de Santiago, and so when I’m asked, I answer the way I began this post: I’m still figuring it out.

I learned about the Camino when I was a student at SLU. Hiking through Spain, a thousand year old pilgrimage, and Spanish food and culture were enough to pique my interest at the time. But I was in school and would be for the next several years (two of which were spent in graduate school), and so I put the pilgrimage on my bucket list, not knowing when I would ever have an entire month to spend on the journey, not to mention the money! It wasn’t until I decided to come back to SLU as a campus minister that I was finally able to realistically consider and make the decision to begin the journey to Santiago- having two months off in the summer really helps!!

When I began preparing for the journey, I did what I could to learn more about the experience. As I’m not much of a planner, I didn’t’ spend a lot of time looking up the route or reading tons of books on other peoples’ journeys. What I did know was that the walk was about 800km (over 500 miles!) and that I’d be walking through Spain. I knew that I’d need some good hiking boots, a backpack, and clothes, as well as a heart and mind ready to be open to the ways in which God would be at work in me. I was grateful that my wonderful friend Kate was able to join me and as we began to purchase the necessary hiking gear, she helped me prepare for the journey, both physically on our practice hikes (we only did about 3…oops.) and emotionally and spiritually as we challenged one another to consider what we wanted to learn from the experience.

Stepping off the bus as we arrived in St. Jean, our beginning point, Kate and I realized that no matter how much we had trained and learned about the trip, we really had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We knew that we had our guide book (which Kate graciously and faithfully took care of), we had our backpacks (filled with WAY too much stuff), we knew a tiny bit of Spanish, and we had each other.  All of those things and a LOT of prayer would help us get through the hike. 

As I laid in the rickety top bunk bed in a cold French albergue (a pilgrim hostel) I began to realize that my camino, our camino, had already begun. Before I even made my final decision to go, my journey into the heart of God, which is what the Camino is really about, began a long time ago. It began as I took ownership of my faith as a teenager, when I recognized my own desire and calling to be a minister, and grew in me through the work of the Holy Spirit, the call to the “Magis”, to be “more”, to go deeper in my faith and into myself.  

The next day as we began our hike, we walked out of our albergue with several others who had stayed at the same place. The five of us walked down the street and toward the trail.  Uncertain of where to go, we discovered markers, arrows, symbols of the Camino that pointed the way to Santiago. They pointed the way to the next town, the next water or café con leche stop (VERY important!), the way to our next meal or non-wilderness bathroom.  The shell, the symbol of the Camino, guided our path, the way our friends, family members, and life experiences show us the way toward God.  I had been told that each sign we saw was could be a reminder of the community of people who brought me to where I am, each person who promised to pray for me as I walked, each person for whom I had promised to pray. This sounded nice and like a good place to start in my prayer journey.

As we journeyed over mountains, through hilly vineyards and poppy-filled wheat fields, I desperately wanted to be able to walk each step prayerfully, to be present to the many prayer intentions people had sent to me, and to think deeply about my life…this idealistic way of walking quickly disappeared from my experience at the beginning of our trip as blisters, leg cramps, and knee issues took over every step I took. It seemed impossible to think of anything other than the fact that my body had never hurt so bad in my entire life. Every night I looked at my feet: blisters on every single toe, despite buying the expensive shoes; my back aching with pain from carrying over 20lbs of supplies; my knees and ankles so tight that I could barely bend my legs… I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it. Yes, the scenery was INCREDIBLE, guilt-free chocolate-filled pastries for breakfast was great, but I could not find a way to mentally or spiritually move beyond my pain. Each day in those first two weeks I began with prayer; the only prayer I could pray was that God would move in my heart despite my own lack of patience and attention to prayer as I walked. Come, Holy Spirit. Come, Holy Spirit. COME NOW, HOLY SPIRIT. SERIOUSLY. I. CAN’T. PRAY. THIS SUCKS! MY FEET/LEGS/KNEES/BACK/TOES/ANKLES/EVERYTHING STINKIN’ HURTS!!! WHAT THE HECK, HOLY SPIRIT?!?!?!

One of the hardest days for me was the day we left Pamplona. That day we walked up a beautiful, poppy-filled (I really love poppies!) mountain that had its ridge covered in wind turbines. The group we had formed of fellow pilgrims left early that morning and began the hike. My knees were tense and walking was difficult. But I kept moving. I made it up the mountain, friends checking on me every five minutes to make sure I was okay. It wasn’t until we started hiking back down that I really began to struggle (or at least admit that I was struggling). What should have taken our group about an hour and a half took us three hours because of the pace that I was moving. I’d have to stop every few steps just to regain composure and try to smile. I had been dreaming of this trip for years and here I was, ready to find the nearest taxi and quit. I tried to smile to the group and make jokes, pretending like nothing was wrong, but

they knew. Eventually I was so far behind the group that I couldn’t see them ahead of me. When I turned a corner, I saw them waiting for me not far ahead. It was clear they had been talking about me and my pain. I didn’t want them to feel bad for me and I really didn’t want to slow them down or ruin their day. I was afraid they were frustrated that they had decided to walk with me. But when I (finally) finally met them at the bend in the trail, Siobhan gently took off my backpack, handed it to her husband Hank, and embraced me. “We’re not letting you suffer like this anymore. Hank is taking your pack to the bottom of the hill. Take your time and take care of yourself. You can do this.” My first reaction was almost to feel hurt. Did they not think I could do this? I signed up for this hike, I want to do it on my own. Who are they to make this decision for me? But as I slowly continued down the hill, the sense of defeat I felt subsided. I had spent 6 years of my life studying theology and working in ministry and telling people about the ways in which we are called to care for others; to help carry the cross for one another. And here I was, full of pride, unable to recognize the gift of love and community that had been given to me.

That day I truly realized that this journey was not my own. The journey of the Camino, while also very personal, is deeply communal. Later that day as I was resting in the albergue, Siobhan and Hank brought me a knee brace, which was bought with so much love, especially considering the little amount of Spanish they knew in trying to talk to the pharmacist. After a long walk into Burgos, our friend Amy splurged on a hotel room that had sheets and a private shower. She and her sons, Dan and Ryan, kept us laughing and the companionship (and commiserating!) made the pain endurable. Christiana, Jerald, and Everett sang and played games with us as we endured sometimes difficult walks. Penny’s spunk kept us laughing and her determination and story inspired me in a way I’ll remember forever. Jenniffer and Melissa welcomed us to pray the rosary with them each day as we walked into our final town for the night and indulged me in singing every song from the Pocahontas soundtrack.  Carson and Jenni shared their joy and love with us and kept us motivated to continue on days when the sun was strong and water was scarce. We shared the path we walked, sangria, coffee, loaves of bread, hunks of cheese, and even pulpo (octopus!). Most importantly, we shared our stories in a way that was honest, vulnerable, and received with love and openness. We laughed SO HARD together and cried tears of joy and of pain. We prayed together, some of us for the first time, and knew Christ’s incarnational presence surrounding us in the community we had formed.

I could share a million stories about the people I met and the crazy things we saw and did along the way, but I will never forget the way our Camino Family stuck together in our last week of walking. The path had gotten significantly more crowded the closer we got to Santiago. Tons of people had started walking about 100km before the city and it was, at times, frustrating for those of us who had been walking for so long. We kept our spirits high by sticking together, and reminding ourselves of the spirit of the Camino: live in the moment, welcome each day- its pleasures and its challenges, make others feel welcome, share, feel the spirit of those who have gone before you, imagine those who will follow you, appreciate those who walk with you today. We did our best to welcome the new pilgrims and to keep this spirit of generosity and love with us as we walked. We decided, however, that on our last day, the day we would walk into Santiago, that we wanted to walk together, peacefully and with stillness. That morning we woke up around 3:30am, gathered our things, and all twelve of us tip-toed out of the albergue and into the darkness. We each turned on our headlamps and made our way to the trail. About a half hour into our walk, we slowly stopped and decided to turn off our lamps and stand in the dark silence. Without speaking to one another, we began to walk down the wooded pathway without out lamps, trusting in the sound of the footsteps ahead of us, trusting in the presence of God to guide us.  I don’t know how long we walked in the darkness without talking, but it was one of the most incredible moments of the entire journey. Walking under the field of stars, remembering how far we had come and keeping in mind that our own journeys were not over once we got to Santiago, they were really beginning. In that moment, I could sense at once the depth of the personal journey that I had been on and the depth of the community that we had formed over those six weeks. The journey, that at one point had been all about me completing the walk, had now become an adventure that I couldn’t have done alone, full of grace in a way that I could never have imagined. 

Our God, in a way I’d never experienced, invited me to know love through community. I was invited beyond my pride and stubbornness to deepen my relationship with Jesus through my pain so that I could begin to understand how important the incarnation is for what happened on the cross. I was invited into the lives of the people of God, privileged to be a part of their journey, and humbled by the way in which they entered into mine. This was the way, the “magis”, in which I had been invited to grow.

There is a lot that I’m still trying to reflect on after my journey this summer and I think that I’ll be learning from this experience for the rest of my life. Being back at SLU this year, I have been blessed to walk with and enter into the lives of many students and one of the things I hear over and over is the desire to know others and to be known; the desire for authentic community. That desire, I believe, is one that is at the deepest part of who we are: beloveds of a Triune God. Being made in the image of God means making ourselves vulnerable to one another, having a deep, deep respect and love for the journey of the other, and building up a community of Love (read: the Kingdom of God!). Be a part of each others’ journeys. Be gentle in the times when you are with one another in pain. Be vulnerable and unafraid to be who you were created to be, and to discover who you are together. Most of all, know the holiness, the incarnate and living God in the every person you encounter. This is the beginning of building the Kingdom.

With great power comes great responsibility...

One of my favorite passages in scripture is 1 Timothy 4:12, “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young. Be an example to all believers in what you say, in the way you live, in your love, your faith and your purity.” I love this passage because I believe many young people are presented with a very different message today. Unfortunately, there are a lot of opinions out there expressing that young people are irresponsible, act entitled, have no respect for others—and the list goes on. In a nutshell, the expectations towards young people are low. I think this is unfair.

I have a slight obsession with superhero movies. There is something about them that I find inspiring and I believe they stir up our inner hero. In the Spiderman 2 movie, one clip continues to inspire me. There is a point in the movie when Spiderman is fighting the villain, Doc Ock, on a moving subway train. At one point in the fight, Doc Ock damages the brakes and takes off, leaving Spiderman with the task of figuring out how to stop this fast moving train filled with passengers and heading for the river. Spiderman does some quick thinking and uses all his energy in stopping the train. As it finally stops, exhausted from the challenge, Spiderman passes out and the passengers pull him into the train just before he falls.

During his fight with Doc Ock, his mask is removed and so an unconscious Spiderman lies before passengers with his face exposed. And what is their reaction? They’re amazed at how young he his. They never would’ve imagined someone so young being responsible for saving so many people, so many times. As he regains consciousness, the passengers assure him that he has nothing to worry about—they will keep his identity a secret.

Soon after, Doc Ock returns to the train for Spiderman but the people, knowing they have no chance, step between him and Spiderman with a “you’ll have to go through me” attitude. Why did they take this risk?  Because they were inspired.

I believe young people have a great opportunity to change the world simply because people might not expect it of them. They expect “old people” to go out there and do good things, and while it might inspire others, I wonder if it is to the same degree. 

So take into consideration what Timothy says and be an example in what you say and do. You never know what actions it might inspire in others. It’s kind of your superpower.

Robby Francis

Griesedieck Hall Campus Minister

Images of God

My Mama has no legs.  And thus concludes one of the most sad and spiritually dry stories of my life.  But perhaps I should start from the beginning....

 

I had always been that girl who was blessed with a beautiful and perfect life.  While I had always been so grateful for my simple and blessed life, I found it so hard to believe that things would be that perfect forever.  As I entered college and transitioned to grad school, my image of God transformed from loving Father figure to independent and strong woman.  And this God was so present with me.  And then, when I married my best friend, Mike, my image transitioned again to the Love between a married couple.  And THIS God was so present with me.  And then, when we became pregnant and I transitioned into motherhood, my image of God suddenly morphed into a Mother with a baby in Her womb and breasts ready with milk to so tenderly nurse Her little one.  And yet again, THIS God was so present with me.

Mike and I have two boys now.  Riley is nearly two and Hudson is nearly one.  Ummm....we have our hands full :)  These early years were supposed to be filled with happiness and excitement and unadulterated joy....filled with grandparents who smothered their little loves with gifts and with parents so in love who had endless amounts of time to spend with their babies.  My dream was for our babies to know and adore their relatives and to sit down to dinner each night together as a family, and to attend church every Sunday together, and to pick pumpkins together in the fall, decorate Christmas cookies together in the winter, grow a garden together in the spring and play in the open air together in the summer.  Our little life together with our babies was going to be perfect....and then slowly, and suddenly, it wasn't....

A couple months before we found out that we were pregnant with Riley, Mike's Dad died from stage four cancer throughout his whole body.  He smoked....a lot.  And then last summer, a couple months before Hudson was born, Mike's Mom died from stage four cancer throughout HER body.  SHE smoked...a lot.  It's hard to sit with your husband as he buries both of his parents within a year and welcomes two babies within a year that he desperately wants to introduce to his parents.  Heartbreaking, really.  And then, three months later, on Riley's first birthday in mid October, my own mother would lock eyes with death.  On the drive from Toledo, Ohio to St. Louis to celebrate the first birthday of their first grandbaby, my Mama called in tears saying that she was in terrible pain, that she was passing a kidney stone and that they were returning home.  I was bummed.  But, this was only a kidney stone, a 9mm beast that she would have blasted just like the many before.  This was nothing out of the ordinary.  By the end of the weekend, however, Mama had multiple organ failure, tubes up her nose and down her throat, IV's in every possible vein, tubes and other things shoved into every other opening in her body.  Behind the kidney stone a terrible infection had started and her body went into septic shock, a blood disease of sorts (I really don't understand) that kills nearly everyone it attacks in a matter of hours or days.  And with all this stress in on her body, she had a heart attack.  We were told that they would try to keep my 49 year mother alive until we managed to drive home to say goodbye.  Excuse me, WHAT?!?!?

The next week was horrific.  I was due to give birth in a couple weeks, both of Mike's parents had just died in the months before, and I had a brand new one year old who learned to walk at the hospital.  My emotions were everywhere.  I couldn't lose my own mother as I was just barely beginning to learn how to be one myself.  The doctors and nurses were convinced that Mom was going to die that week.  With horror, I can recall her mangled body all puffed up with 60 pounds of fluid to manage the septic shock, the baby in my womb gently kicking my Mother's hand that I placed on my belly.  Machines regulated her breathing and we searched for any sign from her that she was going to survive.  As the septic shock attacked her body, her feet and fingers slowly began to turn black and change to dust.  It was horrifying.  IF she survived, my mother would have multiple limbs amputated.  Caught between the miracle of life tumbling beautifully in my belly, and the death of my spirit as I watched my Mom fight for each moment of life, I left God.  Everything was raw and nothing made sense.  God just, well, WASN'T.  And I was ashamed. 

In the following weeks, my Mama would slowly come back to life, one failed organ at a time and would endure multiple surgeries to amputate both legs and her right thumb.   And I would burst forth into a stunning birth two weeks early, a story of spiritual beauty for another time.  Thanksgiving and Christmas were riddled with deep sadness at the loss of Mike's parents and the slow and very painful recovery of my Mama that sadly, if I'm honest, suffocated the joy of another newborn.  I could barely keep up.  I was behind in work.  I was a distracted and overwhelmed mother.  I was a long distance daughter and sister who wasn't in touch with the mess that my family was enduring 8 hours away. I felt like a terrible wife to my wonderful husband, as I navigated my world in a daze, unable to make any sense of anything.  And still, God just, well, WASN'T.        

And then, God appeared.  In a hummingbird. 

 

In May I was on a conference call for CLC with several other campus ministers around the country.  And I had the opportunity to share my story...and so I did.  And I cried.  And I cried.  And I cried.  And the other ministers cried with me.  At the end of the conversation, one minister asked to pray.  Her words and prayers were for new life, for a fresh spirit, for God to make Godself present again...or at least for me to know She was there.  And I kid you not, the moment she prayed for new life, a hummingbird suddenly appeared and danced among the pink flowers hanging on our back deck.  And I wept.  The moment the prayer was over, the hummingbird flew away.  After the phone call, I googled the hummingbird and learned that it serves as a symbol of new life.  SAY WHAT!?!?!  The chills come over my body even as I type this.

 

My spiritual director suggested that I purchase a hummingbird feeder and nurture the symbol of new life that God had offered me.  She said that sometimes, God needs to make Herself obvious when we are the most blind or distracted.  For me, the spiritual practice of becoming aware of God's presence is slowly taking root again.  Emphasis on the word s-l-o-w-l-y.  And, although I know I'm a campus minister and I feel like I should have the most amazing relationship and understanding of God in my life, I'm ok with starting over, and redefining my relationship with God.  Just like my relationship with my kiddos or hubby, or mama, or brothers, or dad, this relationship takes patience and time and gentleness and vulnerability.  I'd be lying if I said that I am aware of God every moment.  I'm only human after all.  But I'd also be lying if I said that I was ready to give up trying. 

Today, 11 months later, my Mama is walking again on prosthetic legs and is slowly re-learning how to do everything minus a thumb and working fingers on her dominate hand.  She is a force to be reckoned with.  I can't explain enough how much I am inspired by her...and my Dad for so lovingly caring for her every single day...let's just take a moment to talk about THIS image of God.... On Tuesday they will be married for thirty years....and celebrating, as they say, "to life, limb, and love".  Please join me in saying a prayer for thirty more years that are simply gushing with extraordinary love.  And today, I have two healthy, VERY lively little boys who every day fill my life with happiness.  And my partner, Mike, is more than I could ever hope for in a husband and father of my children.  And I love my job.  And I cherish each moment that I spend with my family.  My own spiritual life is slowly embracing that fresh start, and my image of God is constantly redefining itself, although today, She's still a hummingbird :)

His divine presence in a favorite SLU tradition

            It’s goose bumps. It’s chills.  It’s that brain freeze feeling in somewhat of a pleasant way. The physical experience of what I identify as God’s presence is simply a summation of what it felt like to be at the first 9 pm mass of the school year.

            It was the hundreds of students that kept pouring in to make the 1,400 STUDENT congregation that evening. Despite the fact that, as a senior that is aware of this annual occurrence, it just gets me every time.

            Here’s the thing. The first 9 pm mass of the school year is the one place where students who are passionate about our student congregation unite with the students who wish they could come, but find it difficult to attend based upon their work and homework schedules any other time in the semester. It’s the place where students that weren’t raised Catholic but perhaps a Christian denomination come to see how the same God is worshiped but in communion with their friends and fellow Billikens. It’s the students who believe in another God altogether but still find unity, solidarity and joy in this same place. It’s my favorite SLU tradition; one that’s made a lasting impact on me and left me thirsty for more.

            So now I’ve run into the problem of how to find such a God-filled rush outside of this annual liturgical celebration. So this is my personal challenge that I extent to my beloved SLU community. Seek out those adrenaline rushes that are God’s presence. Take the time to have a coffee date with a friend who really makes you think and challenges you in the mundaneness of everyday life. Take time to put away your phone and walk slowly down West Pine to really take in the beauty of the SLUlips, palm trees and tender hands that have really put serious sweat and effort into planting each and every flower. Take this intentional time to find God in all things, as St. Ignatius taught us. Take simple moments to take in nature around you and be amazed what an easy and divine way it is to de-stress and be intentional about your relationship with God.

            St. Ignatius got a few things right, otherwise I can’t imagine his ideals and practices living so long after his earthly death. He even stands on campus to remind us of the beauty that we are so blessed to experience as Billikens where we are challenged to find God in our everyday lives. I mean, wouldn’t you want that blissful, divine rush each and everyday if you could just take the time to notice?

Erin Twiehaus is the Campus Ministry PRAY intern.