Kateri and Other Friends

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Lily of the Mohawks, Native Americans, st. kateri tekakwitha, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

When I was twelve years old, my family moved from Massachusetts to New York. I rarely think consciously about the cultural impressions that are part of my make-up because of the history that resides in me and shines through at certain moments. For example, stories of my childhood included visits to Plymouth Rock and stories of the pilgrims, to holidays like the Boston marathon commemoration of Paul Revere’s ride and all the historical places that told the stories of the early settlers like the first Thanksgiving where Native Americans and the pilgrims shared a grateful meal.

Moving to Central New York added a whole new vocabulary of places, towns like Syracuse, the “Salt City,” and those with more difficult names like Ouquaga, Onondaga, Oneida, and of people like Kateri Tekakwitha, known by Catholics as “Lily of the Mohawks.” I learned of the Five Tribes of the Iroquois Confederacy who live in New York State (Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca) and the reservation – the Onondaga – that is located on the south side of Syracuse where I came to live and which gives its name to the County of Onondaga. I hold precious the customs of these Native peoples and the writings of their leaders that counterbalance stories of war that still sully the image of their entire history.

This reverie, as some of you may have guessed, was sparked by the fact that today we remember Kateri, canonized as saint—the first saint of the native peoples in the United States. I have been privileged to twice visit Auriesville, her home, which deepened my 13-year-old appreciation of her story and called my adult self to remember to note her place in any “tour” for Sisters of St. Joseph from across the USA who happen to be visiting our Albany Province.

I urge all of us to reflect on the gifts of the “First Nations” citizens in our country and to work for justice for all—their descendants and all who have come over the centuries to make up the tapestry of what should be the United States of America. May it be so in our time!

The Restless Wind

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Earth, fileds, hearts, home, mother nature, Native Americans, natural world, oneness, relatives, rivers, Sister Wind, skies, St. Francis of Assisi, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, trees, weather, wind

As light comes outside my window this morning I wake up to the fact that what sounded like a truck or a train passing by (no tracks here though…) was the wind. It’s as if the tree in my sight line is keening after a tragedy – as well she might, given the destruction yesterday in the Midwestern states where winds reached 165 mph, leaving whole towns in a shambles. When we used to say that “March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb,” we never dreamed of that kind of extreme force. It was just a way to characterize the vicissitudes of mother nature trying to birth the season of spring. It seems that by now, with all the talk about climate change and the advances in science, we would be shouldering more responsibility toward “Sister Wind,” as St. Francis used to call her.

I am not a scientist, by any stretch of the imagination, but this morning I cannot ignore what is right before my eyes. I do not understand why we in the Northeast are so lucky as to be virtually unscathed by the weather events that have been happening in different parts of our country over the past year or two. I’m sitting here watching our tree struggle as the refrain of a 1960’s song plays in my mind: The wayward wind is a restless wind, a restless wind that yearns to wander, and he was born the next-of-kin…the next-of-kin to the wayward wind.

Call me silly, but what if we were to consider all of the natural world as our relatives – as St. Francis and the Native Americans always did? Would we perhaps take better care of our trees and rivers and fields and skies? Would we heed the environmentalists a bit more seriously and be more gentle on our walk through this world? It seems to me that all of this follows from my reflections of yesterday about the necessity of recognizing that even now we can open our hearts a bit wider to the possibility of the oneness of all that exists, thereby taking a bit more responsibility for our actions toward Earth, our home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roses in December

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Blessed Mother, feast day, Gospel, Juan Diego, Mexico, Native Americans, Our Lady of Guadalupe, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

It’s always fascinating to learn something new when I am reflecting on the named feasts of Christianity. Today, as I read the familiar story of the appearance of the Blessed Virgin Mary under the title of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I was surprised to learn that the main character was a convert to Christianity and was given the name Juan Diego at the time of his baptism. A poor native living in a small village near Mexico City, his Indian name was Cuauhtlatohuac (“Singing Eagle”). I suppose this isn’t an earth-shattering revelation and it certainly is easier to spell and pronounce a name that means “John James” rather than his Indian name, but for me it emphasizes what is written in the reflection for today from franciscanmedia.org. Fr. Don Miller says that Mary’s appearance to Juan Diego as one of his people is a powerful reminder that Mary and the God who sent her accept all people. In the context of the sometimes rude and cruel treatment of the Indians by the Spaniards, the apparition was a rebuke to the Spaniards and an event of vast significance for Native Americans.

Our Lady of Guadalupe is not only the named patron of Mexico by the Roman Catholic Church, but also of the entirety of the Americas – both North and South. As I consider the treatment of Native Americans in my own country even to this day, I think it an appropriate moment for all of us to contemplate the conclusion of Fr. Miller’s reflection. In these days, when we hear so much about God’s preferential option for the poor, Our Lady of Guadalupe cries out to us that God’s love for and identification with the poor is an age-old truth that stems from the Gospel itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lily of the Mohawks

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Catholic Church, Christian Algonquin, conversion, Great Spirit, Jesuit, Native Americans, prayer, religious community, sacrifice, st. kateri tekakwitha, storytellers, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

In 2012 Americans – especially Catholics and Native Americans living in upstate New York – celebrated the canonization of two women – one a Franciscan Sister, Marianne Kope, and the other a 17th century Mohawk maiden named Kateri Tekakwitha. Today is the designated feast day in the Church for Kateri.

So many streams of thought run through my mind as I ponder Kateri’s life and destiny. I read that “her mother, a Christian Algonquin, was taken captive by the Iroquois and given as wife to the chief of the Mohawk clan, the boldest and fiercest of the Five Nations.” (This reminds me that I know little about the natives that have inhabited my state since long before my ancestors came to America.) Kateri lost her parents and her younger brother to a smallpox epidemic at age four; she herself was left disfigured and half blind by the disease. (Blessed with health and loving family including long-lived parents, I cannot imagine her desolation as a child.) God, her mother’s spirit and the Jesuit missionaries influenced her life such that she converted to Christianity at age 19 although that meant she would be treated as a slave by her village. (Her courage in conversion was monumental.) Fearing for her life, she stole away in the night and walked 200 miles to a Christian village near Montreal where she would be safe. (Amazing!) There she desired to start a religious community but was dissuaded by a priest and so lived out her life in prayer and sacrifice for the conversion of her nation to peace and to God. (How sad that this opportunity was missed for the Catholic Church! How graced was Kateri to know that God meets us in whatever life circumstances we find ourselves!)

Today I am grateful for storytellers who have kept the record of Kateri’s life alive until now. She is a model, not only for native peoples but for New Yorkers like me and others who have come to appreciate the wonderful spirituality of Native Americans and to regret the injustices done to them when others came to this land. May the Great Spirit open our hearts to love the land and all creatures and to reverence one another as members of one family.

 

 

 

 

Roses in December

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Aztec, birdsong, cloak, fidelity, holiness, message, Mexico, miracles, Native Americans, Our Lady of Guadalupe, pilgrims, roses, sign, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

Today is the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a celebration especially dear to those who claim their heritage as natives of Mexico and, by extension, all Native Americans and native peoples everywhere. It is the story of clearly documented appearances of the Blessed Mother, Mary, to a 57 year-old peasant who was on his way to a Saturday Mass to honor her in a small village near Mexico City on December 9, 1531. As he passed the hill of Tepeyac, Juan Diego heard beautiful music like birdsong and saw in a radiant cloud a beautiful young woman dressed as an Aztec princess. She spoke in his native language directing him to go to the bishop of Mexico to tell him she desired a chapel built in her honor on that hill. He did as he was instructed. The bishop told him to ask for a sign from the lady. Although he tried to avoid her because of his need to care for his sick uncle, she found him again on December 12th, saying that his uncle would recover, and gave him roses which he carried to the bishop in his cloak. When he opened his cloak, the roses tumbled to the floor and the bishop fell to his knees in prayer because on the cloak was imprinted the image of Our Lady just as Juan Diego had described her. This image is now well-known to pilgrims world-wide and the story reminds us that God does not discriminate in the choice of those who carry the message of love into the world. We are all called to holiness and fidelity in the everyday events of our lives. Who knows what miracles await?