Looking back at the semester

As I sit in my rocking chair, listening to some soft panpipe music with closed eyes, my internal eyes open to many pictures and images from the semester that is gone by. The music is kind of nostalgic, and somehow I feel sad to think that this class won’t be there anymore. I never really realized that this was so important for me.

When I look back at the semester, thinking about the discussions at class and the black board and the books and articles that I read, what is most striking to me is the shared wisdom. That looks like the theme of our theology class through this semester. The shared wisdom started with the meaningful faith practices we shared at the beginning of the class. It progressed through the framework of meaning essays that we shared with a partner and on the black board, and climaxed on the theological refection presentations. We realized that we look at reality through different windows of experience and cultural backgrounds, but still shared a common vision for future.

Reading the vignettes from the book of Cooper-White, I was touched by how vulnerable we all are. All of us carry some brokenness within us, but we still have a desire to touch and heal. While acting with Tracy the story of Terrence, I realized how I could easily become a Terrence. I could extend the question of inappropriateness in a therapeutic relationship to my ordinary relationships, and see how I was manipulating my relationships for my own selfish goals. I do speak about greater life for people; but I sometimes stifle that life in others through my apparently kind behavior. I realized the need of talking about this with my own counselor. That is the first part: to be open to the wisdom of others.

From a group of strangers who would meet once a week for a few hours discussing strange ideas, our class changed into a community that looked for ways to spend more time together. The transformation was essentially because we shared our frameworks of meaning with one another, and realized that we could trust this group with secrets that tortured us. This was our defining moment- when we realized that the pain and hurt of one person triggers another and this can bring healing and reconciliation.

One of the questions for discussion which did not attract too many posts on the black board is ‘What is pastoral about pastoral counseling’. Was the answer to this question too difficult? Does it mean that we all came to study pastoral counseling without knowing what it is? Several times I had to explain to friends and relatives how my course was different from the ‘ordinary’ counseling. Well, I was not too sure if this was correct, but I tried to focus on the fact that we give importance to the spiritual dimension of each individual. I sometimes got some glances of unbelief. Is spirituality really important in dealing with mental health?

Part of the answer to this question came from an article by Aponte that I read recently. It dealt with how sometimes the only source of strength for poor people is their spirituality and how most of the time the therapists fail to recognize and make use of this strength. It was a very compelling argument. Then we experienced how this spirituality can make a difference in the most crippling environments through the sharing of some of our friends in the class. An image of God as loving and forgiving makes a difference to our overall world view. It strengthens us to look beyond our struggles and failures. Maybe we can’t change the oppressing situation, but we can change the way we perceive ourselves in it. I realized that to have this hope was the pastoral dimension of pastoral counseling.

In one of my posts on ‘what is pastoral about…’, I wrote about Patch Adams who had some revolutionary ideas on health care. Health is not just the absence of sickness; it is about happiness, contentment. And we can find happiness and contentment even if we are sick. Health care is not just about treating one’s symptoms; it is about creating an atmosphere of happiness. How do we do that? Well, Patch had his own way of doing it. And that is called commitment. I think that can also be called pastoral.

What has theology to do with all this? The question again is what is theology in the ‘theology for pastoral counselor’? Of course we read Browning’s take on different psychological movements vis-à-vis theology. What I especially liked was his five dimensions of practical reason. I believe that theology is not a theory up in the air. It is not a transcendental meditation on who God is. For me theology begins from the basic experience of faith of the people. God is not sleeping. He is active especially in the struggles of his people. Theology is an effort to find this God who is struggling with the poor and the oppressed. It is something very practical, not just theoretical. And this practical experience begins from a vision. It is this vision that gives a direction to our actions and thoughts. Our human tendencies and needs may influence us. Our social and environmental contexts may limit us. But if we are committed to our vision, our practice is in the right direction.

I think it is this vision that contributes the theology part of our pastoral counseling. When I presented my reflection on hunger in the midst of plenty, my vision was of a world where there is justice and equality, where the resources are shared equitably. That is the Jesus paradigm of the kingdom. If he envisioned that, then it has to become a reality. It is possible. Only, we need to make it happen.

I think this was a great class, not because of the theology that we discussed, but because of the vulnerability we shared. I hope it makes us better humans, if not better pastoral counselors. I miss this class.

SOA Vigil - a new face of America

Back in the days of my theology, we extensively discussed what the Gospel of Christ really means to people who are oppressed and persecuted. The answer was that a faith that does not work for justice is barren. I remember the many protest rallied I attended in Delhi against hunger deaths in MP, killing of dalits in Rajastan, US invasion of Iraq and so on. We went to the slums to do relief work after fires and demonstrated in front of Rajghat when the BJP government decided to demolish the Sanjay Amar slum. Political activism? No, it was just faith seeking and doing justice.
This is why the trip to Ft Benning in Georgia was so important for me. I had heard about the School of the Americas even back in India. The graduates of this school were perpetrators of violence in many an Latin American country. And in 1989, they killed six of my brother Jesuits at the University of Central America at El Salvador. Their crime? Teaching and writing about the justice of the gospels.
The vigil in front of the gates of the SOA is about 20 years old. Why does the US government still run this school? The gradutates of this school overthrew the democratically elected government in Honduras a couple of months ago? Why don't they close down this so called School of assassins? The answers are highly political. For the rich and powerful, talking about social justice is equivalent to communism. For me, it is Christianity.
It was a great experience for me to be there at the gates of SOA, together with thousands of Jesuit students and others, singing, dancing, hoping... The 14 hours drive did not matter. What mattered was the solidarity I felt there with all this people. They were my people. And the people who are getting killed in all those countries are my people.
One important part of the whole program was the Ignatian teach-in. We were not going to violently protest. We were non-violent. We wanted to make a point and made it believing that the greatest weapon is non-violence.
It was interesting to meet another Jesuit from India at the gates of SOA. Fr Cedric Prakash is a well known figure in India being a leading human rights activist in Gujarat, especially for his take on the fascist Modi government of Gujarat. I was happy to meet him. Ultimately, this fight is not limited to one place or one time. It has to continue. La Lucha Sigue... The struggle continues...

Two wolds, one soul: looking back

It was raining when I boarded the plane at midnight at New Delhi for New York. It was a long flight of fifteen hours. My first time ever in a big plane! I had thought that I would enjoy the flight, but I got tired sitting upright in that cramped up seat. When I landed, it was sunrise in New York. There was a bright red sun rising up amidst the sky scrapers. New Delhi and New York- what a world of difference!
Growing up in a corner of India, and studying in some of its major cities nevertheless never prepared me for what I saw in Chicago. I came from a crowded Calcutta where people are constantly jostling for a little space, and on the deserted pavements of Loyola I felt lonely. In fact, before I set out on this journey, many had warned me of a cultural shock. Well, I would not call what I encountered a shock. It was rather a pleasant surprise. When you spend most of your growing up years in one place, you kind of tend to take things for granted. You don’t realize that there are places and people different from you. Maybe this was my first learning.
I enjoyed walking on the beach of the lake with a couple of friends. It was easy to get friends, especially some who came from a different culture like me. We walked around the campus. It was stunningly beautiful. My first visit to the Information Commons was a revelation. It looked majestic and serene with great possibilities. The way freshmen were welcomed, the move-in crew, the family mass - it was all well organized and showed the hospitality of Loyola. I started feeling at home in this alien land.
I was advised to be in close contact with the office for the international students and this was the most consoling experience. The programs organized by the office helped me to come across many students from abroad, including some from my own homeland. They also introduced me to the ways of America, about carving pumpkins and Thanksgiving Day turkeys. Seniors from India offered advices on keeping away flu, and combating the cold weather. I felt like a child learning the first lessons of walking; just as open and willing to learn.
The academic setting was very different from anything that I had experienced in India. Registering for classes through the internet, getting notes on the blackboard, and posting assignments online were all new and spooky. But the classes were really good. In the beginning it was difficult to be completely involved in the dynamics of the class room because of my problems with pronunciation. (And I thought my English was one of the best in the place I came from!). But soon I got used to it and I really started enjoying the interactions in and outside the classrooms.
I think the greatest privilege of being here is the feeling that I am a world citizen. I am far away from home, but I have many who care for me - people who are very different from me in terms of culture, faith, language, and ethnicity. And I was never made feel inferior about my culture and background. I am in fact encouraged to share the richness of my background, and it surely gives an added perspective to every discussion in the class. It’s great being an Indian in this campus.
I enjoy being here. And this experience has surely changed my perspectives and world view. I sure hope to go back to India after my studies, and I think the Loyola experience will surely help me to bring some hope to the hopelessness of the work situation there. When I went for the visa interview the officer asked me if I would like to continue to stay and work in the US after my studies, and I was sure that I would return to India. The Loyola experience does not make me forget my roots. It makes me realize that there are many possibilities in any situation. I just need to keep looking for it.
It’s great being here. And I sure hope to make the best use of my stay and work here at Loyola. There is surely a lot of work to do. But there is also a lot of fun. I will just soak in everything, and try not to lose myself. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam!

Men's Group- what an idea!

I was not sure what to expect when I finally decided to attend the men's group program, on the invitation of David. Well, I was curious to know what it was all about, and was interested because much of their programs seem to be based on Jungian principles. But only men? While walking up a deserted road, I told Christoph, "I don't know if I will like this. I would prefer to have some women around!"
Though the name of the building sounded like 'temple',(I can't remember the name), it looked far from any place of worship. Apart from some native American symbols on the walls,drums etc., the place was bare. There were a few rooms (meeting rooms, David told me) and a hall, modestly decorated by long sarees of different colours (it seems the decoration was for a special event for which they invite women once a month). It was a man's place all right.
Not many turned up for the introductory session. Apart from Christoph and me, there were two others who came to see and experience, and then two, so called resource persons including David himself. We had to take an oath of confidentiality before you began the session. So I would not like to share what we actually said there. But I was quite taken up by the honesty and openness of the fellows.
It lasted all of an hour. And then we walking back to the train station. David clarified many of our doubts about the project. He seems to be into it. I can see that this has done a lot of good to him. I am not sure if I would want to continue.
It was a nice trip back with Christoph.

Building our Pasodas together

I am at my cousin’s place as I start writing this essay. We had a big family get-together last night to celebrate the birthday of his small granddaughter. It was amazing. A large group of immigrants from an insignificant corner of India, still holding on to the values and family ties that they brought with them to this far away land. It all began with one man who landed up here in the early eighties. And through him came entire families. My cousin told me last night how each of these families stayed for months with that first one, till each of them got settled in this foreign land. It was a great show of hospitality. And now, I am sharing part of that hospitality as I am staying with my cousin today.
The chapter I read in “Practicing our Faith” by Bass is titled “Hospitality”. It speaks about practicing the Christian hospitality to the strangers, gaining wisdom from the pasoda experience of many Hispanics and Latinos in San Fransisco. Pasoda (shelter) is a powerful story of keeping your inn open for the Christ child to be born in our midst. It is about the experience of being rejected and being welcomed. It tells us that the stranger at our door can be God in disguise. It reminds us that we were all once strangers and so now we should show hospitality to strangers.
We are afraid of strangers simply because we don’t know what to expect of them. When I see that stranger on the street corner or at the El station in an over-sized dirty jacket, asking for some change, my first impulse is to look away and walk faster (and most of the time I give in to that impulse), simply because I am afraid of him. It is not because I have no money, and surely not because I am not generous. We are just afraid of strangers.
But more than the fear, I think, it is a lack of understanding of what they go through that makes us reject the stranger. I realized this when I was on the streets on a begging pilgrimage as part of my Jesuit formation. I had to beg for food and shelter for two weeks. The rich hardly opened their doors for me. It was the poor who shared with me from their limited resources. I realized that this was probably because they knew the pain of hunger. As Bass says, “those who enjoy comfort and shelter edge their way around homeless strangers. Those whose health is presently strong turn away from the gaunt, blemished faces of those who live with AIDS. The prosperous never enter the poverty stricken neighborhood…”
The Bible traditions tell us that offering hospitality is a moral imperative. It emerges from knowing the hospitality God has shown to us. One of my Jesuit colleagues who work with refugees tells me that though he started the work thinking that he has a lot to offer them, he realized soon enough that he receives much more than what he gives. We have much to learn from the stranger, from the homeless, from the AIDS patient. We enter the circle of mutual hospitality. The guests often bring surprising gifts.
Hospitality is not easy. It involves risk. It involves creating space. We need to learn it. And church is a beautiful place to learn it. When some of my friends from other denominations joined me at the Eucharistic celebration, and were reluctant to take part in the communion, I told them about Eucharistic hospitality. Christ invites us to his table, and he has no discrimination. Who are we to discriminate at his table? Each Christian community must struggle to find ways of creating a posada where all can become free to receive and to give.
My Migliore chapter is on “Confessing Jesus Christ in Context”. The separation of Christology into universal and contextual is pretty archaic now. Theologians especially from the Third World have affirmed more than a century ago that the imposition of First World Theology upon them in the name of universal Theology is not acceptable. It is so against the basic principle of Christianity that believes in incarnation. Incarnation is God acting in a context, though it has a universal significance. It shows that God’s way to universality is through the particular. Unfortunately the traditional (so called universal) theologies have ignored the particular histories and struggles peoples and races in different parts of the world, especially the Third World.
As in the case of the mutual hospitality we spoke about earlier, Migliore speaks about how this situation can lead to a mutual enrichment. There should be mutual correction and criticism between the contextual theology and universal theology. “The contextual Christologies have the potential to show that the gospel of Jesus Christ addresses human life in all its historical and cultural diversity and that nothing genuinely human is alien to the gospel”.
The context of the Latin American Christology is the dehumanizing poverty and its debilitating dependence on First World nations. The quest for liberation from this dependence – economically, culturally, and spiritually – is the context of this Christology. They realize how the message of the cross has repeatedly been used to undercut resistance to injustice and to help keep the oppressed in their place. Cross is not seen as an ideological defense of the suffering caused by exploitation and abuse, but it stands as a protest against unjust suffering as well as a promise of God’s companionship with the oppressed. Last month I went to listen to one of the pioneers of Liberation Theology, Gustavo Gutierrez, and the congregation sang Psalm 34: The Lord hears the cry of the poor”. It was so touching. (Listen to the song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QI9h7B8L71U).
Black Theology is rooted in the history and experience of African American people. It recognizes their struggle against oppression and the long and brutal mistreatment. Many black theologians declare than Christ is black because of his solidarity with the poor and the outcaste in his ministry, and in his death by crucifixion alongside two criminals. It concentrates on the meaning of the ministry, cross and resurrection of Christ for the poor and the despised of the earth. Black theology is not just a church theology, but also a political theology. Though there is a language of struggle and conflict, it does not endorse revenge or violence, but a non-violent resistance. The envisioned future is a universal harmony of people of all races.
All the liberation theologies (I don’t intent to comment on all the different contexts) insist that confessing Christ is inseparable from following Christ. They are against the damaging separation of theology and ethics, theory and practice. Theology is not just an intellectual exercise, but a way of life. Ultimately it is about hospitality. When I welcome the stranger, I welcome his/her worldview, experiences, fears and joys. I welcome them without judgments and biases, though I may engage him/her in a conversation that would open up both of us to newer perspectives. This flexibility is part of my understanding of pastoral counseling. Our life is a big journey, in search of meaning, towards wholeness. In pastoral counseling, we journey together, helping one another, being hospitable to one another, creating space for one another, and doing our theology together. Let us make our lives a pasoda for one another.

What would Jesus do? (Post to Liz)

I don’t know how it feels like to come back to church, because I never really left it. But I guess it would be something like what the prodigal son felt when his father ran down the road to embrace him back to the household. If somebody asks me to describe Christianity in two stories, I would tell the parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan. I think Christianity (and Church) is not about rules and dogmas, but about forgiveness and compassion. I couldn’t agree more with you that the real question of pluralism is how to glorify God better. Second century saint Iraneus (I’m not sure of the spelling nor of the date) said that the glory of God is man (and woman) fully alive. The question is what Jesus would do to make people of this generation fully alive. Would he encourage making more narrow walls of division or would he tell more stories about forgiveness and compassion? The answer is quite clear for me.

Unity of creation (a post for Virginia)

The way you started your reflection struck a chord in me: not about the foggy state in the morning, but the fact that a reflection on aliens can wake anybody up. Incidentally my own reflection was about offering hospitality to aliens and strangers. This is a theme very dear to me.
I was so touched by your statement: “For all we know, at one time, Christ may have become alive in a stream, a daisy, a tadpole, a hummingbird. How would we know?” I remembered a novel that I read in my mother tongue when I was a kid. Somewhere during the process of evolution, two sibling amoebas (or whatever the early forms of life are called) got separated. They promised to meet again in the future. Later one of them evolved into a human being. One day he was cutting down a tree, and the tree silently whispered to him, “Brother, you did not recognize me!” In my childhood innocence, my eyes welled up when I read that. Kind of , putting the creation into perspective, right?