The Catholic Church and Abortion

What a weighty title! Thanks for being willing to read this and not shying away from this subject that is so surrounded by controversy.

As I said in my previous blog, I feel the Catholic Church should not change its view on opposing contraception and abortion for several reasons, the chief one being that they got it right the first time. Today I will focus on the Catholic Church's right teaching on abortion.

Let me elaborate on why I feel this way. First of all, I'll reiterate that the church is not a political entity. It is under a moral obligation to speak truth. It is responsible for guiding the faithful and must not abandon any of its right teachings to placate either its followers or others in society.

To speak truth about abortion, we must first clearly define our terms. This means we have to look closely at conception. The Church, as well as science, defines conception as the moment that an egg is fertilized by a sperm. The church further views that at this moment of conception, a new person comes into being; unique and precious, complete and total. Nothing is left to be added, including the soul. The full essence of a person is encapsulated in this rapidly dividing embryo. Those who have studied embryology can attest that this is in fact so. DNA, the blueprint for building up this new human, is now combined from the father and mother in a unique genetic code. This human is also spiritually unique. It is key to note that this embryo's body is no more a part of its mother's body than my 11 year old daughter is a part of mine, although it is a great deal more dependent than my daughter is.

 If the whole component of human-ness wasn't present at conception, but became possible later on, say at implantation or after the brain is formed, then the science of in vitro fertilization - where sperm and egg are combined outside the human body to create embryos which are then implanted- would not be possible.  What is so great about this is that we get all of this from science; it is directly observable. This is one of the beautiful moments where church teaching and hard science waltz together in harmony and complimentarity.

So, if this embryo is a unique human at the moment of conception (I think it would be difficult in this day and age to deny this in the face of empirical evidence), then in an abortion, something takes this being to a state of unbeing. What is no longer is.

Then, we must look at whether is is always possible or necessary to provide human rights to all equally, or if some people should not garner the same rights. The most basic of the human rights is the right to life. I would argue that all people, if people, must be offered the same rights, must be viewed as equally valuable. In fact, mankind has made this mistake again and again with some horrendous results. The largest atrocities of history have come from the faulty mindset of favoring one group over another. It is the same problem no matter where you look- the error of slavery, with blacks being considered subhuman; the devastation of the holocaust, where many lost their lives due to a madman's use of propaganda to marginalize those on the peripheries of society; even to the oppressions of pre-civil rights America.  All these mindsets are based on the prideful thinking of one's individual rights being paramount over another's. There is always a stripping away of or denying humanity to the marginalized group. A parent should not kill her unborn child in the same way that she should not kill her 1 year old one- and she should not be led to believe  that is her only viable choice. No matter how painful or upsetting or distressing, it is fundamentally unfair and unjust for her rights to override those of the new person's.

While I do completely believe that abortion is wrong, and appreciate the church standing strong on this moral truth; I do not lose sight of the struggling young women who are making this choice. This is a choice that no one really wants to choose. Few women embrace and celebrate; proclaim their abortion, for all to see. They bear this infant as a major burden; and no wonder- they feel abandoned by those around them, many outside the support system of a secure relationship, many underage and without parental care or guidance. Money is a concern, fears of the future are also terrifying. This may be a young teen or preteen who knows that they cannot yet successfully parent. This may be a rape survivor, battered by trauma and wanting the whole ordeal to disappear. It could be an underage prostitute fearing the wrath of her pimp or a middle-aged woman coerced by her abusive spouse.  The woman could be struggling with substance abuse and be fearful of the effects on her unborn child. These women have no adequate support systems. They feel they have no good options.

Father Ryan O'Neill, Catholic priest from Grand County several years ago, relayed a story at mass about a young woman who verbally attacked him  at McDonald's regarding the Church's stance on abortion. His response to her? "God is pro-choice. But some choices are always wrong." God wants us to choose the course of our lives and gives us the freedom to do so. He also wants us to make good decisions, not grave errors.

Right or wrong, this woman is so vulnerable at this point, it may feel impossible to figure out what is the right thing, let alone choose it. This can be difficult in a society where the erroneous messages that abortion is no big deal and this is about her reproductive freedom loom large. In the middle of this chaos, this fear, this loneliness, making the best choice or even a decent choice may feel impossible. In the cases I described above, once the choice to terminate a pregnancy is made and the act is over, the crisis has not been removed and the difficulties are still very much present.  Rather, the truly compassionate answer is to give hope to the hopeless, comfort to the fearful, and help to this suffering soul. True help is a clear winner to an abortion.

Where does this help come from? The Christian community is also not blind to these vulnerable young women. For instance, Catholic Charities of Denver have many services to offer these women, as well as a home for women.  Many other Catholic and Christian groups also run crisis pregnancy centers in our state and worldwide. I currently volunteer in a crisis pregnancy center. The women who use our services are embraced and guided. They are not coerced or judged. We aim to meet them where they are at. They are given accurate information and are empowered to make decisions outside the realm of fear. They are given time. They are nurtured. Some women who enter our center do choose abortion- the gulf is too wide- and they are still loved. Many others choose to make a parenting plan or an adoption plan. During the subsequent stages of their pregnancy, they are given help with every detail- from navigating the adoption world to preparing to welcome their child through added services such as childbirth classes, parenting classes and breastfeeding support. At many centers, it is possible to find housing options if necessary. The goal is to help the woman and the child both.

Of those that choose abortion, the reactions are varied. Some may bear a secret pain; while others may seem to be able to dismiss this moment in their past fully. Others undergo a kind of unraveling of the fabric of their lives, undergoing  a downward spiral with major mental health problems as a result. Regret is a strong emotion in many women. For others, the pain becomes stronger when they conceive a child they plan to parent or when a friend or sister has a baby. For those who are still struggling deep inside with painful memories, post abortion healing is available at many crisis pregnancy centers. Women are given the chance to process the past, to bring it to light and to heal. A well known post abortion ministry is Project Rachel; many women have found solace through its programs. No mistake is too great for God's infinite mercy and his healing is available to all who ask for it.

Deep Misunderstandings

After reading the recently leaked email exchanges between Sandy Newman, president of Voices for Progress, and John Podesta, now head of the Hilary Clinton Campaign, about subverting the Catholic Church, I find both extreme religious intolerance and deep misunderstandings of the Catholic Church and religion in general. I am not a theologian, and have to admit that I am least among the Three Wise Monkeys in matters of faith, but I will try to explain in simple terms where the misunderstandings lie. If you have not yet had a chance to read the leaked emails, a recent post from Archbishop Chaput will serve nicely to summarize. The gist of Sandy Newman’s email is that Catholics need to rise up to demand the end of “a middle ages dictatorship” with regards to abortion and contraception, in particular. John Podesta then replies that “We created Catholics in Alliance for the Common Good to organize for a moment like this . . . likewise Catholics United” (emphasis added).

The level of insensitivity to something that is so deeply personal, so deeply meaningful to millions of Americans, is troublesome. So is the double standard- if there was an email that surfaced that was interested in getting Jewish people to violate the Sabbath or eat pork, or one that called to free Muslim women from the restraints of their burkas- the world would be outraged. Well, I am outraged. Mess with me, and I tend to be meek and mild. Mess with Holy Mother Church, and you will raise my ire. What gall that these individuals display- they have decided that they might be able to trim what is unpalatable for them; cut away the fabric of my faith and reform it into a garment that does not suit me at all.

Why does the Democratic Party even care what the Catholic Church teaches? A simple, inconvenient truth- no practicing Catholic, in good faith, will choose to vote for a pro-choice candidate. Period. Consider that there are an estimated 80 million Americans who are self professed Catholics. Of course, the number of practicing Catholics is somewhat less. Still, it is a sizeable number for the Democratic Party to walk away from. Hence the efforts to subvert- to drive the sheep from the fold.

So we come to the age old question. It is, after all,  2016- why is the Catholic Church still teaching that abortion and contraception are wrong? Why can’t we just “get with it”? Why are we stuck with this “backward, archaic, old fashioned teaching”? Why can’t the Church leadership just change their minds?

1. The Catholic Church is not a democracy. It is led by God. The Holy Spirit helps the bishops select the Pope- our earthly leader., There is a direct succession of Popes from the first; from St. Peter to Pope Francis. We don’t vote on these things. That’s a good thing. It prevents popular opinion from polluting moral teaching. Popular opinion can be wrong- look at parachute pants!
   
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2. Church leaders have really, really, really delved into this stuff.  When hormonal birth control first came out, it was talked about by the church leaders. They prayed about it extensively. They read. They discussed. They consulted the Word of God (AKA the Bible). They wrote extensive documents to lead our Church in this matter. They talked to lay women and religious sisters. Things that I don’t think about or haven’t considered- they considered. 
3. They won’t change their minds because they shouldn’t. They got it right the first time. Curious about why? Soon, I am planning on writing more about that as well. At any rate, Catholics, in our practice of religion, should be able to practice our faith according to our First Amendment rights without worrying about whether we meet up with popular opinion
   

The take home message from this revealing exchange? Religious intolerance is to be expected from the Clinton Camp, and if she is elected, we will likely see this trend continue. In the meantime, if you want to know why the Catholic Church teaches something, ask a devout Catholic layperson or priest.  There is no need to speculate when sound reasoning is available. Blessings!

Recent Adventures in Impatience

I hadn't planned to spend Easter in Yankton. I was excited to spend Easter with some friends in Iowa, especially as the rest of my weekend I spent alone, housesitting. But Easter Sunday proved to be a day of the unexpected and inconvenient. As I was driving through town, my car decided to die at a red light. It started up again, after I put on my hazard lights and switched it back to park. I figured that something was probably wrong with that mysterious realm under the hood. I hoped that it was the battery. I took it to the Walmart on the outskirts of town. They prepared to change the battery. I wandered the store until I heard my name, mispronounced, and a message urging me to return to the auto center.

"It's not your battery, ma'am," the attendant informed me, "your old battery had charge, about as much as it should have. But when we put the new battery in and tried to start it, it wouldn't start."

He recommended putting the old battery back in, which I agreed to.

By and by, he shuffled back in. "It still won't start. Let me show you what it's doing." He handed me the protective glasses for the rare visitors to the back of the garage.

No doubt he was feeling fatherly as he explained if there is battery trouble then electrical things, such as the lights and radio, won't come on. He tried starting it again. It turned over and over, but the engine failed to start. He got out and I got in. Nothing happened. My poor Volkswagen refused to start.

"It's probably some problem with gas getting to the engine, like a fuel pump problem, or something."

Well, the only thing that he could do for me was put it in neutral and get it out of the garage.

In a rare moment of foresight, I had added roadside assistance to my insurance policy as I switched states. I called the 800 number and had a pleasant conversation with the helpful customer representative. At least I could get the car towed somewhere.

I knew then that it would be a day of waiting, and that nothing would go to plan. I sat in my car, reading Rumer Godden's memoirs and waiting for the tow truck. My kite and sun hat half-mocked me as they reminded me of what I had expected that wasn't to be now.

The tow truck arrived sooner than estimated and another kindly older man hopped out. I watched the shame of my vehicle being winched up onto the platform. There's something heart-wrenching about a tow, that brings a feeling of guilt to a negligent car owner.

Wiser heads have come up with adages for such situations. Patient old grannies would shake their heads and mutter, "a stitch in time saves nine." Ah yes, I thought, ignoring check engine lights and the increasing reluctance of the engine to start leads to situations such as this one. Patience is necessary to be a good car owner.

The tow trucker driver was helpful, the car was moved to a shop to await a workday and a mechanic's attention. I was dropped off at my apartment, laden with hat, kite, and all the other paraphernalia that I had expected possibly needing for a delightful Easter.

So I walked over the bridge to Nebraska and sat in the sand by the river. I talked to my family. I read T.S. Eliot.

I walked the dog. I discovered some flowers along the creek that runs through town.

I came back and ate an Easter dinner of tacos. I drank a hard cider. I sat on the porch and smoked the pipe that my brother made me. I read some more Godden.

It was a slow afternoon. It was a very slow afternoon. At long last the slowness was relieved by the arrival of my roommate and her brother.

And I am lacking in patience.

I might paraphrase St. Augustine's famous prayer into "O Lord grant me patience, but not yet."

But Easter is about a way out of our sinful, vice-laden existence. Christ has conquered death.

The acquiring of virtue is something that I don't understand fully. I want to be patient, but how does one become patient? Isn't it by being patient, and after failing to be patient, trying to be patient again? I suppose one strives to be patient with the inconvenient, that one humbly begs for God's help, and that one does not ignore the small signs which indicate that trouble is brewing in the engines of life.

Lordy, Lordy, look who's forty

I knew it was coming.  I've been watching it for a couple of years now.  Just one of those monumental birthdays some peopele stress about.  And I am as vain as the next lady, and definitely more vain than most guys, so society expected me to panic.  My kind friends and co-workers were all cautious in their birthday greeting.  I had to tell them, "I'm okay with being 40."

And  I am okay with being forty.  Grandma Mattie lived to 94 and Grandma Gwen to 88.  I certainly don't feel any worse (aside from throwing out my back, but it was a sport injury, could of happened at any time.)  Actually, I'm in the best physically condition I've seen in decades.  I'm also in the best spiritual place and emotional place.  

If anything, I can rejoice in out growing the angsty years.  Being upset and offended by things was so tiring and often no offense was intended.  Guess my New Mexico was showing, being offended first and upset later.  Having kids certainly helped.  Discovering that I wasn't the center of the universe helped too.  Knowing that everyone isn't staring out you allows you time to relax.  

I've learned that everyone has to follow their own path to God and while I hope that they all at least are traveling, I've learned to not be mad if they are standing still.  

This doesn't mean that I don't still get angry.  My co-workers this week can attest to that.  Things annoy me, bug me, down right piss me off.  I have also learned to let it go.  Vent and move on.  Especially, to let it out when I get home and then set it aside until I actually have to work on it again.  

Sometimes, it is important to be angry.  There are travesties in this world that should evoke strong feeling.  So share your opinions on them, but listen too.  Listen all the time.  You will learn things.  Sometimes the act is still horrific, but is that any reason to make the person near you who is sharing their opinion alienated for having it.  If you push people away they will never give credence to your opinions.  Sometimes you will just have to agree to disagree.

This next decade will be one of large change in my life.  I will see both of my kids graduate from high school and go into the world to build their independent lives.  This is a beautiful thing and I'm glad it will happen although I will miss them terribly.  I will see them both go fro riding bikes to driving cars.  I hope to convince Zachary to try eatting fruit.  I will continue on my path to health and fitness.

Most of all, I want to develop an attitude of joy.  Looking at my life to date, I see a lot of sarcasm, a lot of withering looks, a lot of judgement.  I come by this honestly enough.  It is a family trait, and not one I'm trying to remove.  Rather, I want to insert more joy.  To find more joy in the things I need to do and want to do.  I'm commiting to joy.

So Lordy, Lordy, look whose 40.  Look out world, this decade I get even better.

Ah, Spring!

It was a warm, sunny day, with the feel of spring in the air. A good day to go exploring, I mentioned to my room mate over lunch, really the first warm enough day to go exploring since I moved. Just the day before I'd taken my bike over to the gas station and put air in its tires. The afternoon stretched in front of me like the bike trail that I intended to follow. I put on my vest and my hat and my mittens, as it can be cool biking in the spring. I stepped out of the house and found my bike. I set off for the trail.
This is a trail that I've followed on foot before. I marvelled at the speed that took me past the familiar. Bicycles are a lovely invention, faster than walking, simpler than automobiles. With a bicycle, the town was suddenly smaller.
To the south, as I set out, the Missouri flowed past on its way to the meet the Mississippi and then go with it to the sea. Nebraska filled the space between the river and the sky. Then, the trail turned, meandering up the creek that flows through the town. I followed the trail north. Bike trail and creek make a continuous park through the town, widening in different neighborhoods, spotted with park benches and pavilions.
Peace came as I peddled. Robins sang in the trees and everywhere the feeling of spring pervaded. I came across several trucks of city workers, getting ready to prepare the parks for summer.
I reached at long last a turning point, out where I heard the killdeer shrilly welcoming spring.
I have not lived here long enough to know fully what this feeling of spring means. In Colorado, in the mountains where I grew up, this feeling signified the beginning of the spring-thaw, but did not preclude more snowstorms. Here, I likewise doubt that the snows have stopped entirely, but, with hope, I know that spring is here.

Dusting off the Sewing Machine

I was honored when my sister Rosalie asked me to make a baptismal gown for my newest niece, Coral Marie. I tooled over to the Walmart and found a pattern. Then I went to the local fabric store, Four Seasons Fabric, where I found a simple, white muslin, some lace, and shell buttons.

After that, I pre-shruck the fabric and then cut out the pattern:

This was my first sewing project in a while, so I took a little time before I started sewing to dust out the inner workings of my sewing machine and oil the machine. It sounded better than ever afterwards. 

Soon the machine was humming through the first stitches, making pleats on the skirt:

Then I made six rows of tucks on the bottom of the skirt and sewed on the lace. I hemmed up the skirt, using a decorative stitch:

I made the tucks and sewed lace on the bodice. And made a very small collar. Then it was time to sew the skirt to the bodice:

Next came the sleeves, so tiny and adorable!

Adding sleeves to any garment is my least favorite step. The smaller the garment, the more difficult to move the fabric through the machine for the stitching. This is what I was working with:

After I finished with the sleeves, I only needed to make buttonholes and sew on buttons to finish:

I made a slip, just long enough for the lace to peek out from under the baptismal gown:

And a few more detailed pictures:

No offense intended

"Was it something I said?" I asked him.  

He stood over me, panting.  I could taste blood in my mouth.  The sharp pain in my hip prevented me from feeling all of the little rocks and shards of glass I had landed upon.  My left eye was begining to swell.  Speaking jarred it and I whinced as I spoke.

He turned and walked slowly away.  I sucked my lip.  I must have bitten it when I fell.  I  set my hands down in the diterus and felt the rocks and glass as I pushed down to heave myself up.  I couldn't put my weight on that leg and found myself squinting.   I took a step and hopped the other leg along.  It was slow progress down the road way.  People lined up along the way refused to look me in the eye.  No, I was wrong.  Some young men were staring at me and snickering.  "Was it something I said?" they mocked me.  An older lady, dressed in a long narrow gown, shushed them, grabbing at them with her long fingers on their arms.

i looked imploringly at her, but she turned her face from me.  I continued my limp hopping down the road.  The pain in my hip was increasing with each step.  I grabbed on to a lamp post and leaned against it for a while.  The cool metal of the post felt good against my raw face.  I held on to it gratefully until I heard a voice say, "you better get on out of here."

I blinked back tears. I wouldn't cry, not here, not now.  Later at home with a large whiskey at hand I would probably cry.  Nothing would compel me to cry here. 

I looked around, but couldn't tell who had spoken.  A mother, with her children pushed behind her, was glaring at me.  With a sigh,  I pushed away from the lamp post. With a step and shuffle hop, I started back down the road.  Never had a city block seemed so long.  Step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop.

At last I could see the end of the block.  I wanted to run, but had to continue to step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop, step, shuffle hop.  The other leg was starting to cramp, but I could see the end.  Cars were streaming along.  I could smell their exhaust while they roared in my ears.  The crowd was changing here.  More and more people looked at me and gasped.  If it looked as I felt, I'm sure that I was quite the site to see.  Even here no one did more than get out of my way.  

Almost to the end of the road and the transectting street, I was shaky, but I had to keep going.  I kept watching the traffic drive past. I hadn't seen a cab pass and was starting to wonder if I would have to take the bus. Right now I hoped for the solitude of a cab regardless of the expense. 

At last, I was at the intersection. A couple of ladies looked at me concernedly, then turned to each other and whispered. They started to head toward me when I saw a cab. I raised my hand hoping he would see me and would stop. I knew I couldn't whistle. 

He stopped.  I limped the last couple of steps to the cab and pulled the door open. I held onto the frame so I wouldn't collapse into the back seat. Finally I was in the cab.

Instead of asking where I was going, the cabbie just sat there regarding me in his rear view mirror. His gaze took in my swollen eye and now puffing lip.  I had dirt smeared on my face and I was certain that I probably had a twig or two on my hair. I had done my hair so carefully that morning, pulled low into a conservative bun that covered my neck.  

I met his gaze in the mirror defiantly.  I had not gone through all of this to be stared at by a cabbie.  I wanted to go home and find an ice pack or twelve. 

"You obviously did your homework," he said gesturing to my clothes.  I had made sure that I was modestly covered.  I had dressed in one of the long narrow dresses.  I had been curious about them and hadn't wanted to give any offense.  I nodded my head, which was a mistake,as it jarred my eye.

"So what did you do?" He asked.

"I don't know,"  I said grimly, "must have been something I said."