"All my relations."
Those are the words that we each uttered as we emerged from the Sweat Lodge upon the conclusion of the time of prayer. As I see it, that phrase speaks to our connection with everything and everyone.
I am thinking about that phrase in a special way because today is March 16, which, for me, is totally unlike the other 364 days of the year, because it is the day God graced me with the gift of life in this world.
Even though I'm celebrating my birthday today, this occasion, like my life as a whole, is really not about me: It's about all the relationships that fill it.
I thought about this a few days ago when I attended Chicago's Birthday Celebration at the Chicago History Museum. Brian Hopkins, Alderman for the 2nd Ward, mentioned that unlike with people, Chicago's birthday is not necessarily defined by a moment when it came into existence, but when people living near each other recognized they shared a piece of geography and decided to formally form a community. Indeed, as I see it, relationships are integral to our experience as people. And that's what makes this birthday notable while we're in the midst of Illinois's Bicentennial Year, and I celebrate the state where I was born and raised, truly making me "Illinois Born, Built, and Grown".
In my own life, I have so many relationships, and it would probably take numerous blog posts to cover them all. They all started with the family in which I was born and first received and shared in love, as I continu e to do to this day.
As I got older, it started to include an array of classmates at school and friends, with new friends each time I started a new school, most especially in college and graduate school. Then there came co-workers with each job.
And then there's church community, where I have built many meaningful relationships, especially at Ascension and St. Teresa's. Being in Church community reminds me that while God has given me life, He enriches it with His Gift of Eternal Life, which we experience even now.
I think of this when I hear the words of the final verse of the hymn "O God You Search Me", based on Psalm 139: God forms our lives in the womb of our mothers, and then makes us new as we grow in relationship with Him.
Those who know math know that 3 cubed, 3 to the power of 3, or 3x3x3, is 27, which is my age as of 1:15 PM CDT this day.
This number 3 makes me think of the Holy Trinity, with the Three Persons of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in perfect harmony with one another. We experience the effects of the Trinity in the relationships we have with one another in life.
Christian theology notes that the Love between Father and Son results in the Holy Spirit, much as the love of husband and wife results in a child.
While I'm not a parent, I know that my love for God has resulted in ministry to His people, especially the youths I teach in Religious Education class. The relationship I have with my students is so important in my life because in it, I am called and empowered to model the kind of love Christ showed us in pouring out His Life for us, when there was no way we could repay Him. I volunteer to teach RE not to get payment, but as a way to pour out myself for my students, so that they may be transformed and then pour out their lives in service to others. How glorious it is to see this progression, and it's what drives me to pour myself into teaching RE.
So as I celebrate my birthday, I am also celebrating all the relationships that God has made part of, and have enriched, my life.
"All my relations."
Friday, March 16, 2018
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
A Fiery Experience, Five Years Ago
It was Wednesday, March 6, 2013, the middle day of the first week of my Spring Break during my senior year at Valparaiso University.
I was in a large vehicle with a group of college students and community members from St. Teresa's in Valparaiso. We were spending a week in northeast Nebraska at St. Augustine Mission in Winnebago in service to the aboriginal peoples of northeast Nebraska on the Winnebago and Omaha Reservations, which you can read more about in a post I published on my blog a few days ago.
As the sun headed towards its setting, it shined full blast in a cloudless sky over the hills of northeast Nebraska as we head towards a small town called Rosalie. We were headed to the home of Nathan, in whose backyard we were to experience something epic like never before in our lives: the Sweat Lodge ceremony, steeped into the traditions of the aboriginal American people, and regarded as a purification rite.
It was rather quiet inside the vehicle, as there was a general feeling of nervousness among us, for we weren't really sure what to expect.
We arrived at Nathan's place, where a group gathers regularly on Wednesday evenings at 6:30 to participate in this ceremony, and gather ourselves inside a small shelter in the backyard. Father Dave, then the priest at St. Augustine, was inside, for he would join us for the ceremony. Three of the four chaperones with our group made preparations for the dinner we were to have after the ceremony, while one of them joined the 8 of us students. After a few minutes, Richard, the leader of the ceremony, spoke with us. He asked who was doing this for the first time. The hands of all in our group go up, and it was striking moment as I took stock of how we all had in common the experience of going through this ceremony for the first time. He then shared a little bit more about what will happen, and says that if it got too uncomfortable for us, we could step out.
We then step outside the shelter and enter the Sweat Lodge, which is basically a small hut, with a frame and covered by heavy blankets.
Outside the Sweat Lodge was a fire where volcanic rocks were being heated. We sat down in two concentric circles in the hut. A few other people from the local community joined us, and so there were about 17 people inside. Inside the hut was a pit. The volcanic rocks were brought into the pit. Richard poured water on the rocks to create steam. The flap on the entrance to the hut was closed, and we entered into darkness, pierced only by the glow of the rocks. Richard led a series of chants. The heat intensified: Later, the one chaperone who joined us estimated the temperature inside got to about 115 degrees Fahrenheit--similar to a sauna. Someone later described it as sensory overload, which is fitting, with the sound of chanting and praying, the smell of the scented plant material placed on the rocks to create fragrant steam, and most especially the immense heat.
We had a few people talk with us about the Sweat Lodge ceremony. While I initially felt rather unnerved to hear we would be participating in the ceremony, as we spent time hearing more about it, I became much more comfortable with the idea of participating. But I still wasn't sure if I was going to be able to withstand the heat, and if I would, indeed, have to step out of the Sweat Lodge.
In our conversations before this evening, one person remarked that to help us through the intense heat, we should focus on our prayers. While this ceremony is traditionally part of offering prayers to the aboriginal American gods, Nathan insisted on this Sweat Lodge being a Chapel, where we offer prayers to God, since he is Roman Catholic.
So as the heat intensified, I began praying for my various intentions as I buried by face in my towel--while normally it would feel stuffy inside the towel, that stuffiness was more bearable that keeping my face in the heat.
After a period of time, the entrance flap was opened, finishing one round. The chanting stopped, and the floor was opened for anyone to express her/himself. At some point--and it may have been earlier than this moment--Richard invited his sister Gloria to share with the females in the group about how they could participate in their own unique way, as he did once before. When there was no response, he remarked that Gloria did not have to share if she did not feel comfortable. Then some others spoke and said she wasn't even inside the Sweat Lodge. Light laughter ensued, breaking the nervousness that had taken hold of those in our group.
After more volcanic rocks were brought into the pit inside, water was poured over them, along with scented plant material, and the flap was closed again, starting round 2. As the chanting started up again, I started praying, even as I buried my face in my towel to get my face out of the heat.
Once round 2 ended, the flap was opened. In addition to people expressing themselves, a laddle with cool water was passed around for people to drink and relieve themselves.
Round 3 started, and when it finished, the flap was opened. There were no more volcanic rocks brought in before the final round, but a peace pipe was passed around. When the flap closed, we were pretty much in near total darkness.
As each round concluded, I grew more confident that I could withstand the heat and endure through the entire ceremony.
And what a feeling it was when round 4 ended, and the ceremony had reached its conclusion, after about 90 minutes. Exiting the sweat lodge was like a symbol of emerging from the womb and being born into the world. As we did so, we were to utter the phrase, "All my relations." How appropriate to think that I went through this symbolic exit just 10 days before my birthday when I turned 22.
I exited the sweat lodge with an amazing feeling of empowerment. My friend Sarah asked me how I felt, and I said, "Like never before."
After we had the chance to change back into our regular clothes, we went to dinner. It was clear we had really been through something, as I noticed the faces of the people in our group were rather red--and I assume mine was, even though I never saw my face right afterwards. Richard opened up the floor for people to express themselves. I was so moved that I instantly piped up and said I wanted to express myself, and went on for at least a couple of minutes to share how profound this experience had been.
Once we finished dinner, we got back into our vehicles and headed back to St. Augustine. The mood was totally different as we drove back through the night, because we were all so talkative about what we had just been through.
I had truly demonstrated my ability to endure the heat inside the Sweat Lodge, which speaks to how we endure the difficulties of life. Even when circumstances intensify against us, and are almost unbearable, we turn to God in prayer, focusing on Him against everything that is against us, and looking unto Him, we are confident in trusting Him to help us overcome. And as we offer our difficulties to God, He somehow works through them to strengthen us, like the refining of gold in fire, so that we come out as more holy people, purified of our sins.
In this Sweat Lodge ceremony, I also had the extraordinary opportunity to experience such strong solidarity with the aboriginal Native American peoples, by embracing so closely an important part of their traditions, which so many had sought to quash in the past: Indeed, we had heard stories in the past few days from community members about these efforts, which even nuns at the St. Augustine Mission had taken part of, as they collaborated with the US government to forcibly separate aboriginal Americans from their cultural identity. Yet, somehow, they survived, in part, as Nathan pointed out later, because they banded together in living together on the reservations. And they continue to assert and embrace their identity by engaging in practices such as the Sweat Lodge, as I'm sure they will do when they gather tomorrow evening.
I gained new perspective on what it means to be human, and how a people has managed to retain their identity despite forces working to stamp out that identity.
And I enhanced my own character and identity as well, while also embracing it, especially considering the shirt I wore:
I kept my physical education clothes with me in college to use as work-out clothes, and I brought them with me for the express purpose of wearing in the Sweat Lodge ceremony. It was so special to have with me something bearing the name of my beloved Julian, the most significant experience in my years growing up, as part of one of the most profound experiences happening in my young adult life, as part of a trip that enhanced my strong sense of personal faith, which was first forged so strongly during my days at Julian.
And how fitting to bring it full circle exactly five years later to the very time period coinciding with the Sweat Lodge ceremony, when, before my Tuesday evening RE students, the venue in which I put my faith into action, I shared this story as part of describing how God purifies us from sin to be righteous before Him, and how He transforms our difficulties into something glorious as we look unto Him in the midst of them.
It truly amazing to marvel at the marvelous ways God works in our lives.
I was in a large vehicle with a group of college students and community members from St. Teresa's in Valparaiso. We were spending a week in northeast Nebraska at St. Augustine Mission in Winnebago in service to the aboriginal peoples of northeast Nebraska on the Winnebago and Omaha Reservations, which you can read more about in a post I published on my blog a few days ago.
As the sun headed towards its setting, it shined full blast in a cloudless sky over the hills of northeast Nebraska as we head towards a small town called Rosalie. We were headed to the home of Nathan, in whose backyard we were to experience something epic like never before in our lives: the Sweat Lodge ceremony, steeped into the traditions of the aboriginal American people, and regarded as a purification rite.
It was rather quiet inside the vehicle, as there was a general feeling of nervousness among us, for we weren't really sure what to expect.
 |
| In the St. Augustine Museum is a model of what a traditional Sweat Lodge looks like, with animal hides over a frame of wooden sticks--it's just to the center of the photo, with the animal hide lifted up. The sweat lodge we were in had large, heavy blankets covering it. |
Outside the Sweat Lodge was a fire where volcanic rocks were being heated. We sat down in two concentric circles in the hut. A few other people from the local community joined us, and so there were about 17 people inside. Inside the hut was a pit. The volcanic rocks were brought into the pit. Richard poured water on the rocks to create steam. The flap on the entrance to the hut was closed, and we entered into darkness, pierced only by the glow of the rocks. Richard led a series of chants. The heat intensified: Later, the one chaperone who joined us estimated the temperature inside got to about 115 degrees Fahrenheit--similar to a sauna. Someone later described it as sensory overload, which is fitting, with the sound of chanting and praying, the smell of the scented plant material placed on the rocks to create fragrant steam, and most especially the immense heat.
We had a few people talk with us about the Sweat Lodge ceremony. While I initially felt rather unnerved to hear we would be participating in the ceremony, as we spent time hearing more about it, I became much more comfortable with the idea of participating. But I still wasn't sure if I was going to be able to withstand the heat, and if I would, indeed, have to step out of the Sweat Lodge.
In our conversations before this evening, one person remarked that to help us through the intense heat, we should focus on our prayers. While this ceremony is traditionally part of offering prayers to the aboriginal American gods, Nathan insisted on this Sweat Lodge being a Chapel, where we offer prayers to God, since he is Roman Catholic.
So as the heat intensified, I began praying for my various intentions as I buried by face in my towel--while normally it would feel stuffy inside the towel, that stuffiness was more bearable that keeping my face in the heat.
After a period of time, the entrance flap was opened, finishing one round. The chanting stopped, and the floor was opened for anyone to express her/himself. At some point--and it may have been earlier than this moment--Richard invited his sister Gloria to share with the females in the group about how they could participate in their own unique way, as he did once before. When there was no response, he remarked that Gloria did not have to share if she did not feel comfortable. Then some others spoke and said she wasn't even inside the Sweat Lodge. Light laughter ensued, breaking the nervousness that had taken hold of those in our group.
After more volcanic rocks were brought into the pit inside, water was poured over them, along with scented plant material, and the flap was closed again, starting round 2. As the chanting started up again, I started praying, even as I buried my face in my towel to get my face out of the heat.
Once round 2 ended, the flap was opened. In addition to people expressing themselves, a laddle with cool water was passed around for people to drink and relieve themselves.
Round 3 started, and when it finished, the flap was opened. There were no more volcanic rocks brought in before the final round, but a peace pipe was passed around. When the flap closed, we were pretty much in near total darkness.
As each round concluded, I grew more confident that I could withstand the heat and endure through the entire ceremony.
And what a feeling it was when round 4 ended, and the ceremony had reached its conclusion, after about 90 minutes. Exiting the sweat lodge was like a symbol of emerging from the womb and being born into the world. As we did so, we were to utter the phrase, "All my relations." How appropriate to think that I went through this symbolic exit just 10 days before my birthday when I turned 22.
I exited the sweat lodge with an amazing feeling of empowerment. My friend Sarah asked me how I felt, and I said, "Like never before."
After we had the chance to change back into our regular clothes, we went to dinner. It was clear we had really been through something, as I noticed the faces of the people in our group were rather red--and I assume mine was, even though I never saw my face right afterwards. Richard opened up the floor for people to express themselves. I was so moved that I instantly piped up and said I wanted to express myself, and went on for at least a couple of minutes to share how profound this experience had been.
Once we finished dinner, we got back into our vehicles and headed back to St. Augustine. The mood was totally different as we drove back through the night, because we were all so talkative about what we had just been through.
I had truly demonstrated my ability to endure the heat inside the Sweat Lodge, which speaks to how we endure the difficulties of life. Even when circumstances intensify against us, and are almost unbearable, we turn to God in prayer, focusing on Him against everything that is against us, and looking unto Him, we are confident in trusting Him to help us overcome. And as we offer our difficulties to God, He somehow works through them to strengthen us, like the refining of gold in fire, so that we come out as more holy people, purified of our sins.
In this Sweat Lodge ceremony, I also had the extraordinary opportunity to experience such strong solidarity with the aboriginal Native American peoples, by embracing so closely an important part of their traditions, which so many had sought to quash in the past: Indeed, we had heard stories in the past few days from community members about these efforts, which even nuns at the St. Augustine Mission had taken part of, as they collaborated with the US government to forcibly separate aboriginal Americans from their cultural identity. Yet, somehow, they survived, in part, as Nathan pointed out later, because they banded together in living together on the reservations. And they continue to assert and embrace their identity by engaging in practices such as the Sweat Lodge, as I'm sure they will do when they gather tomorrow evening.
I gained new perspective on what it means to be human, and how a people has managed to retain their identity despite forces working to stamp out that identity.
And I enhanced my own character and identity as well, while also embracing it, especially considering the shirt I wore:
 |
| Above is the front of the shirt I wore into the Sweat Lodge, the photographic evidence of my endurance. I must point out, though, that the sweat is all the way down to the belly part of the shirt because while pressing my face into my towel, I pressed it into my knees, which made the sweat accumulate more on the front than on the back (please see photo below), where it only went down to the part of the shirt by the bottom of my shoulder blades. Despite having a use I wasn't fond of back in middle school, its role in my time in the Sweat Lodge has pretty much made it a quasi-sacred object. |
I kept my physical education clothes with me in college to use as work-out clothes, and I brought them with me for the express purpose of wearing in the Sweat Lodge ceremony. It was so special to have with me something bearing the name of my beloved Julian, the most significant experience in my years growing up, as part of one of the most profound experiences happening in my young adult life, as part of a trip that enhanced my strong sense of personal faith, which was first forged so strongly during my days at Julian.
And how fitting to bring it full circle exactly five years later to the very time period coinciding with the Sweat Lodge ceremony, when, before my Tuesday evening RE students, the venue in which I put my faith into action, I shared this story as part of describing how God purifies us from sin to be righteous before Him, and how He transforms our difficulties into something glorious as we look unto Him in the midst of them.
It truly amazing to marvel at the marvelous ways God works in our lives.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Celebrating Chicago
It's March 4, and that means it's time for a celebration: This day in 1837 was when Chicago was incorporated as a city. It's a great time to recall the storied history of Chicago, and the other celebrated aspects. Many of these aspects are found in Chicago's flag: The top white stripe is for the North Side (#43). The top blue stripe represents Lake Michigan (shoreline) (#44) and the North Branch of the Chicago River (#45). The middle white stripe represents the West Side (#46). The bottom blue stripe represents the South Branch of the Chicago River (#47) and the Canal (#48)--first was the Illinois and Michigan Canal (#50), and then the present Sanitary and Ship Canal (#51). The bottom white stripe represents the South Side (#52).
The far-left star represents Fort Dearborn (#53), a military installation named for Secretary of War James Dearborn of the Jefferson administration, and where a clash occurred with aboriginal Native peoples in 1812. The start just to the left of the center is for the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Just to the right of the center is the start for the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition (#54), held in Jackson Park (#55). And the star on the far right is for the Century of Progress World's Fair (#56), held in 1933-1934, which celebrated the Centennial of when Chicago was incorporated as a village in 1833.
Chicago was originally settled along the banks of the main branch of the Chicago River (#57), which was lined with smelly onion leek grass, which led rise to the Native peoples' name Checagou that became Chicago (#58). One of the first settlers was Jean-Baptiste Point DuSable (#59), who had property near the banks of the Chicago River, where the Chicago Riverwalk is now (#60). Another prominent early citizen was John Kinzie (#61).
Over a 100 years before these first settlers came, Father Marquette and Louis Joliet took a journey from near present-day Sault Saint Marie to near present-day Arkansas. On the way back, they had to portage (#62) from the Des Plaines River (#63) to the Chicago River, which is commemorated at the site of the Chicago Portage National Historic Site (#64). They noted a short canal would connect the Atlantic Ocean and Great Lakes to the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico. In 1848, the Illinois and Michigan Canal was opened in 1848, and helped foster Chicago's growth, as it served as a major crossroads location. Canal Origins Park (#65) along Ashland Avenue by the Bridgeport neighborhood (#66) commemorates the canal's role in Chicago.
Eventually, Chicago became a rail hub, and to some extent, it still is a hub for Amtrak service at Chicago Union Station (#67), which is not too far from the building built in 1974 and named the Sears Tower (#68), one of the tallest buildings in the world, a great symbol for the prosperity of Chicago. Another famed skyscraper is well-known as the John Hancock Building (#69), located along the Magnificent Mile shopping district (#70). As great as the views are from the observatories of both, I feel the best view are found in the Cite Restaurant on the top floor of Lake Point Tower (#71) near Navy Pier (#72), which is one of my favorite Chicago attractions.
The one thing I find so notable about Chicago is that it is a patchwork quilt of so many different neighborhoods, each with its own special flavor, much as it is with all the surrounding suburbs. I recall the time when I was at Valparaiso University and I visited my Grandma for a weekend. While riding the South Shore Line train, I entered the city of Chicago in the Southeast Side neighborhood of Hegewisch (#73) and went nearly 20 miles all the way to the north side neighborhood of Forest Glen (#74), where she lived at the time, right by a forest area along the banks of the North Branch of the Chicago River. It was incredible to think that that in that distance, I covered so many different neighborhoods that are all part of one city.
Another aspect I find very notable about Chicago is how the patchwork of neighborhoods is all connected by the various rail lines of the Chicago Transit Authority system (#75) that spread out from the Loop (#76), rail lines in downtown Chicago that form a ring on Wabash Avenue to the east, Van Buren Street to the South, Wells Street to the west, and Lake Street to the north.
The Red Line (#77) travels a long length of the city from Howard Street on the North Side to 95th Street along the Dan Ryan Expressway (#78), going through a subway along State Street (#79) in the Loop.
The Orange Line (#80) was the most-recently built of the lines, constructed in 1993 thanks in part to efforts by former US Congressman William Lipinski (#81). It connects the Loop to Midway Airport (#82).
The Yellow Line (#83) is the shortest, and doesn't pass through the Loop: It connects the Howard Street Station to nearby north suburb Skokie (#84).
The Green Line (#85) starts at the edge of downtown Oak Park (#86), travels along Lake Street (#87) through the West Side, to the Loop, and then heads south, past McCormick Place (#88), and through Bronzeville (#89) and then splitting into two branches that terminate at two different locations on 63rd Street, to the west at Ashland Avenue in the Englewood neighborhood (#90) and to the east at Cottage Grove Avenue just past Washington Park (#91).
The Blue Line (#92) is my primary line: It starts in the suburb of Forest Park (#93), then travels along the Interstate 290/Eisenhower Expressway corridor (#94), through the south side of Oak Park, and then onto the West Side of Chicago, all the way to Loop, going through a subway in the Loop underneath Dearborn Street (#95), before turning northwestward to follow the Milwaukee Avenue corridor (#96), and then the I-90/Kennedy Expressway (#97) all the way to the suburb of Rosemont (#98), and then terminating at O'Hare International Airport (#99), named for a World War II pilot, Butch O'Hare (#100), who was the son of "Easy Eddie" O'Hare (#101), who worked with gangster Al Capone before deciding to turn against him.
The Purple Line's (#102) northern terminus is at Linden Avenue in the suburb of Wilmette (#103), and passes through the suburb of Evanston (#104) to the Howard station. During weekday peak rush periods, service extends south from Howard to the Loop elevated tracks.
The Pink Line (#105) is the most recently created line, going from the Loop elevated tracks into the West Side, past the United Center (#106), and through the Mexican neighborhood of Pilsen (#107), through much of the Lower West Side (#108) before terminating at the station at 54th Avenue and Cermak Road in the suburb of Cicero (#109), on tracks at grade (ground-level). (Most of the route used to be a branch of the Blue Line.)
The Brown Line (#110) goes from the Loop elevated tracks to various North Side neighborhoods, like Lakeview (#111) and Lincoln Square (#112), terminating near Albany Park (#113) at Kimball Avenue, after traveling at grade for a few stops.
These CTA train lines and the neighborhoods along them are featured in a PBS program entitled Chicago by 'L', with host Geoffrey Baer (#114). He's a brilliant person who has made many wonderful programs, each focusing on a different aspect about Chicago and the surrounding area.
Another person who knows Chicago well is Ms. North (#115), who was the teacher for my History of Chicago class at OPRF High School during my final semester there senior year. She made class so enjoyable as we explored Chicago and the surrounding area, drawing from her wealth of knowledge from training as a docent for the Chicago Architecture Foundation (#116). And I greatly admire her teaching philosophy as focused on shaping the whole student, going beyond the mechanics of doing school work. One memory I have of her class is when she threw a Chicago birthday celebration on March 4, with a large sheet cake with the design of the Chicago flag on it.
And with that, I salute Chicago and the many great contributions it makes to Illinois--certainly as evidenced by how many things I've added to my 200 List for Illinois's Bicentennial in just this one blog post. Surely there will be more given Chicago's dominance in Illinois, while I also recognize notable people, places, and things throughout the other parts of Illinois, too. That will certainly be on my mind in a few days when I celebrate my birthday, celebrating all that my life entails, especially here in my beloved Oak Park, as I recall fondly that I started off on the North Side of Chicago.
The Orange Line (#80) was the most-recently built of the lines, constructed in 1993 thanks in part to efforts by former US Congressman William Lipinski (#81). It connects the Loop to Midway Airport (#82).
The Yellow Line (#83) is the shortest, and doesn't pass through the Loop: It connects the Howard Street Station to nearby north suburb Skokie (#84).
The Green Line (#85) starts at the edge of downtown Oak Park (#86), travels along Lake Street (#87) through the West Side, to the Loop, and then heads south, past McCormick Place (#88), and through Bronzeville (#89) and then splitting into two branches that terminate at two different locations on 63rd Street, to the west at Ashland Avenue in the Englewood neighborhood (#90) and to the east at Cottage Grove Avenue just past Washington Park (#91).
The Blue Line (#92) is my primary line: It starts in the suburb of Forest Park (#93), then travels along the Interstate 290/Eisenhower Expressway corridor (#94), through the south side of Oak Park, and then onto the West Side of Chicago, all the way to Loop, going through a subway in the Loop underneath Dearborn Street (#95), before turning northwestward to follow the Milwaukee Avenue corridor (#96), and then the I-90/Kennedy Expressway (#97) all the way to the suburb of Rosemont (#98), and then terminating at O'Hare International Airport (#99), named for a World War II pilot, Butch O'Hare (#100), who was the son of "Easy Eddie" O'Hare (#101), who worked with gangster Al Capone before deciding to turn against him.
The Purple Line's (#102) northern terminus is at Linden Avenue in the suburb of Wilmette (#103), and passes through the suburb of Evanston (#104) to the Howard station. During weekday peak rush periods, service extends south from Howard to the Loop elevated tracks.
The Pink Line (#105) is the most recently created line, going from the Loop elevated tracks into the West Side, past the United Center (#106), and through the Mexican neighborhood of Pilsen (#107), through much of the Lower West Side (#108) before terminating at the station at 54th Avenue and Cermak Road in the suburb of Cicero (#109), on tracks at grade (ground-level). (Most of the route used to be a branch of the Blue Line.)
The Brown Line (#110) goes from the Loop elevated tracks to various North Side neighborhoods, like Lakeview (#111) and Lincoln Square (#112), terminating near Albany Park (#113) at Kimball Avenue, after traveling at grade for a few stops.
These CTA train lines and the neighborhoods along them are featured in a PBS program entitled Chicago by 'L', with host Geoffrey Baer (#114). He's a brilliant person who has made many wonderful programs, each focusing on a different aspect about Chicago and the surrounding area.
Another person who knows Chicago well is Ms. North (#115), who was the teacher for my History of Chicago class at OPRF High School during my final semester there senior year. She made class so enjoyable as we explored Chicago and the surrounding area, drawing from her wealth of knowledge from training as a docent for the Chicago Architecture Foundation (#116). And I greatly admire her teaching philosophy as focused on shaping the whole student, going beyond the mechanics of doing school work. One memory I have of her class is when she threw a Chicago birthday celebration on March 4, with a large sheet cake with the design of the Chicago flag on it.
And with that, I salute Chicago and the many great contributions it makes to Illinois--certainly as evidenced by how many things I've added to my 200 List for Illinois's Bicentennial in just this one blog post. Surely there will be more given Chicago's dominance in Illinois, while I also recognize notable people, places, and things throughout the other parts of Illinois, too. That will certainly be on my mind in a few days when I celebrate my birthday, celebrating all that my life entails, especially here in my beloved Oak Park, as I recall fondly that I started off on the North Side of Chicago.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
On the Holy Ground of St. Augustine
Today, March 3, marks the Feast Day of St. Mother Katharine Drexel. I'm celebrating by looking back 5 years ago to when I celebrated this feast on holy ground, at St. Augustine Mission in the Winnebago Reservation in the northeast part of Nebraska. She was the daughter of a very wealthy family, and received a substantial amount of money as an inheritance. She used it to start missions that served aboriginal Native Americans and African-Americans, including St. Augustine. At a private audience with Pope Leo XIII, she pleaded with him for missionaries to help operate these missions. He encouraged her to be one of those missionaries, and she then entered religious life to focus on this work.
At Mass on her Feast Day, Father Dave Korth, who was serving as the priest at St. Augustine at the time, indicated that while locations related to saints abound in Europe, they are much fewer in number in the United States, which made being there on that day even more special.
And it was certainly the experience of a lifetime to be there as part of a mission/service trip with a group of college students and community members at St. Teresa of Avila Roman Catholic Student Center at Valparaiso University. Those of you who read my reflections I sent out via e-mail during my college years may remember an account I wrote of that trip shortly after it happened. If you have not had the chance to read it, please feel free to contact me and I will send it to you.
I had been presented with service trip opportunities before this in my life, but I didn't feel they were right for me. One idea that appealed to me was spending time in service at a place in an aboriginal Native American area. During my senior year at ValpU, the opportunity to spend time at St. Augustine became available, since St. Teresa's had recently established a sister parish relationship with St. Augustine. I jumped at the chance to apply to be part of the group.
After some preparation meetings over the course of a few weeks, and a couple of fundraisers, we were up quite early on the morning of Saturday, March 2, 2013, at St. Teresa's. By 6 AM, we were in our vehicles, ready to journey west to Nebraska, departing at the same time the group of students journeying to New Orleans for service work.
We had a group of 8 students and two retired couples in the group. I already knew the other people in the group, and this week we spent together provided so many chances to bond even more closely with everyone. That certainly got off to a good start as we journeyed west on a nearly 10-hour car ride, mostly along I-80, once we had the chance to nap after a night of not so much sleep. Interestingly, the only other male student in the group was a meteorology major like me, and that gave the gals so much reason to poke fun at us, like when we stopped at a rest stop in Iowa, and we were immediately taken in by the computer monitor in the shelter that gave us access to weather information from NWS webpages.
The next day, Sunday, was our first full day there. We attended 10 AM Mass, followed by a celebration brunch. Then we went on a tour of the Winnebago and neighboring Omaha Reservations, led by Dwight, the cultural person at the St. Augustine Mission school.
We did our service work on Monday-Friday. On Monday, some of us helped organize the materials in a large shed. Others of us spent time organizing materials in one of the school's auxiliary buildings, and then scrubbing the floor of the church. On Tuesday, we spent time in the nearby town of Walthill at St. Joseph's church, revamping the space in their food pantry and others scrubbing the floor of the church. We spent more time there on Wednesday. On Thursday, we took some items over to the nearby town of Macy, where we spent time at the Our Lady of Fatima (Roman) Catholic Worship Center. On Friday, our last full day there, we spent time at St. Augustine, cleaning the rooms in the lower level of the church.
In addition to service work, we also spent time engaging with the culture and learning more about the people there, which was an aspect of the trip that appealed to me and was a large part of my motivation for going. Learning US history in school, I was aware of the mistreatment the native peoples suffered. But spending time on these reservations made it much more real for me, especially in seeing how the people still deal with the lingering effects of the devastation they've suffered. They still sense the pain, like in some of the stories shared with us over dinner from local community members. There's not much opportunity in the communities on the reservations, because of the way the Bureau of Indian Affairs, a federal agency, oversees the land on the reservations. And there are others who don't do much to support them. They don't have abundant resources, although the Winnebago people have managed to use what resources they have to fund projects and business development in their community.
And despite efforts to stamp out their culture, it's still alive. The liturgy at Mass incorporated so many elements of their culture, like incense from scented plants, and songs in the native Ho-Chunk language of the Winnebago people. We also had the extraordinary opportunity to participate in the Sweat Lodge ceremony, which was such a profound experience, I will write a separate blog post about it.
Five years later, I still regard this trip as one of the most important experiences of my life. I experienced so much personal growth as I dove into the service work, and enhanced my sense of what service is about. After that week, I started to feel a strong sense of pride in being Roman Catholic, unlike anything I felt before in my life. I could see that the Church is a force for good in the world, because we, as a group, took a week and devoted it to service. In fact, I remember the day after I returned home, on Sunday, I went to Mass at my home parish. As I walked toward my seat, I came to the spot where I sat during my Confirmation Mass that was held in that very church over seven years before. I recalled the commitment to faith I made on October 15, 2005, and I couldn't help but think of how much I had grown in faith during the previous week by living out that commitment.
We also experienced so much growth together as a group as we took time to have the hard discussions about the conditions we encountered on the reservations, and to embrace a deeper understanding of faith in action, which we did most nights during our group reflection time led by our student leader Lydia. At the end of the week, one of the chaperones remarked how much adult-like maturity we had demonstrated in the way we conducted ourselves during the week. It was an honor to spend that week with that group: During the evening before our departure, we wrote notes of affirmation to each other, and I still keep those notes in a box, and treasure them, not only because of the kind things people wrote about me, but because they represent the powerful bonds we forged during that week, even during our work times and over meals when we just got chatting about our lives.
In many respects, it was like a microcosm of my entire ValpU college experience: In a defined period of time, I had an intense time of activity that exposed me to realities in the broader world. And I became close to a group of people who came together to share the experience, after which we headed into our own separate ways. And, most of all, I was empowered in faith.
The first reading at Mass on that Sunday, March 3, for the 3rd Sunday of Lent in Cycle C, was the story of Moses's encounter with God at Mount Sinai, when God called him to lead His people out of Egypt. God told Moses to remove his footwear because he was standing on holy ground.
During our week at St. Augustine, we were walking on holy ground, tread by St. Katharine Drexel. As we followed her footsteps, engaging in service to others, we were on the pathway toward attaining the holiness to which we are all called. We faced the harsh realities and messiness of the world devastated by sinfulness, and responded by being filled with God's love. We were striving to glorify God in living our own lives, and through serving them, making His presence come alive, which is made new in every age by those who are faithful to His calling.
At Mass on her Feast Day, Father Dave Korth, who was serving as the priest at St. Augustine at the time, indicated that while locations related to saints abound in Europe, they are much fewer in number in the United States, which made being there on that day even more special.
And it was certainly the experience of a lifetime to be there as part of a mission/service trip with a group of college students and community members at St. Teresa of Avila Roman Catholic Student Center at Valparaiso University. Those of you who read my reflections I sent out via e-mail during my college years may remember an account I wrote of that trip shortly after it happened. If you have not had the chance to read it, please feel free to contact me and I will send it to you.
I had been presented with service trip opportunities before this in my life, but I didn't feel they were right for me. One idea that appealed to me was spending time in service at a place in an aboriginal Native American area. During my senior year at ValpU, the opportunity to spend time at St. Augustine became available, since St. Teresa's had recently established a sister parish relationship with St. Augustine. I jumped at the chance to apply to be part of the group.
After some preparation meetings over the course of a few weeks, and a couple of fundraisers, we were up quite early on the morning of Saturday, March 2, 2013, at St. Teresa's. By 6 AM, we were in our vehicles, ready to journey west to Nebraska, departing at the same time the group of students journeying to New Orleans for service work.
We had a group of 8 students and two retired couples in the group. I already knew the other people in the group, and this week we spent together provided so many chances to bond even more closely with everyone. That certainly got off to a good start as we journeyed west on a nearly 10-hour car ride, mostly along I-80, once we had the chance to nap after a night of not so much sleep. Interestingly, the only other male student in the group was a meteorology major like me, and that gave the gals so much reason to poke fun at us, like when we stopped at a rest stop in Iowa, and we were immediately taken in by the computer monitor in the shelter that gave us access to weather information from NWS webpages.
The next day, Sunday, was our first full day there. We attended 10 AM Mass, followed by a celebration brunch. Then we went on a tour of the Winnebago and neighboring Omaha Reservations, led by Dwight, the cultural person at the St. Augustine Mission school.
We did our service work on Monday-Friday. On Monday, some of us helped organize the materials in a large shed. Others of us spent time organizing materials in one of the school's auxiliary buildings, and then scrubbing the floor of the church. On Tuesday, we spent time in the nearby town of Walthill at St. Joseph's church, revamping the space in their food pantry and others scrubbing the floor of the church. We spent more time there on Wednesday. On Thursday, we took some items over to the nearby town of Macy, where we spent time at the Our Lady of Fatima (Roman) Catholic Worship Center. On Friday, our last full day there, we spent time at St. Augustine, cleaning the rooms in the lower level of the church.
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| My friend Lydia took this photo of my scrubbing the floor of the St. Augustine Church on Monday, our first work day. It was staged, but pretty well accurately reflects what I actually did a few minutes before, as I threw myself into service. |
And despite efforts to stamp out their culture, it's still alive. The liturgy at Mass incorporated so many elements of their culture, like incense from scented plants, and songs in the native Ho-Chunk language of the Winnebago people. We also had the extraordinary opportunity to participate in the Sweat Lodge ceremony, which was such a profound experience, I will write a separate blog post about it.
Five years later, I still regard this trip as one of the most important experiences of my life. I experienced so much personal growth as I dove into the service work, and enhanced my sense of what service is about. After that week, I started to feel a strong sense of pride in being Roman Catholic, unlike anything I felt before in my life. I could see that the Church is a force for good in the world, because we, as a group, took a week and devoted it to service. In fact, I remember the day after I returned home, on Sunday, I went to Mass at my home parish. As I walked toward my seat, I came to the spot where I sat during my Confirmation Mass that was held in that very church over seven years before. I recalled the commitment to faith I made on October 15, 2005, and I couldn't help but think of how much I had grown in faith during the previous week by living out that commitment.
 |
| My friend Sarah took this picture of me looking at a decades-old Roman Missal in the museum at St. Augustine, while we were rearranging the space on Monday of that week. |
In many respects, it was like a microcosm of my entire ValpU college experience: In a defined period of time, I had an intense time of activity that exposed me to realities in the broader world. And I became close to a group of people who came together to share the experience, after which we headed into our own separate ways. And, most of all, I was empowered in faith.
The first reading at Mass on that Sunday, March 3, for the 3rd Sunday of Lent in Cycle C, was the story of Moses's encounter with God at Mount Sinai, when God called him to lead His people out of Egypt. God told Moses to remove his footwear because he was standing on holy ground.
During our week at St. Augustine, we were walking on holy ground, tread by St. Katharine Drexel. As we followed her footsteps, engaging in service to others, we were on the pathway toward attaining the holiness to which we are all called. We faced the harsh realities and messiness of the world devastated by sinfulness, and responded by being filled with God's love. We were striving to glorify God in living our own lives, and through serving them, making His presence come alive, which is made new in every age by those who are faithful to His calling.
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| The Church at the St. Augustine Mission |
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