Sparks of life and mercy

I cheer for writers the way I cheer for the Red Sox. Once a writer – especially a nonfiction essayist – catches my eye, I’ll look for events where I can say “thank you” in person. Such a writer is Kathryn Jean Lopez, a journalist with a deep-rooted prolife commitment. When she appeared recently at a Massachusetts Citizens for Life conference to speak on the theme “Life After Roe: a time of radical challenge and opportunity”, I knew I had to go.

Kathryn Jean Lopez. Photo: nrinstitute.org

Lopez has written and reported extensively on politics, the life issues, culture, and Catholicism, always with a keen eye. So what does she make of this messy post-Roe culture of ours?

I soon learned that while her essays and reportage are marked by focus, her public speaking is of another order: one story after another in an energetic stream-of-consciousness style. She seemed to shoot off sparks, illuminating one point then another in rapid-fire style that rendered my note-taking nearly useless.

She talked about people. not politics. As one story flowed into another, she made clear where roots need to be cultivated: between people, in one-on-one conversation and service.

“We need to double down on the mercy,” post-Roe. She kept coming back to mercy, and to patience as well. “Being patient with everyone [is key to] life after Roe.” She urged extending that patience to people spreading misinformation about the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision. “Assume that people just don’t know. Assume best intentions.”

Lopez is a sidewalk counselor outside a New York abortion facility on a regular basis. She’s a journalist by vocation, and praying on sidewalks was definitely not in her skill set at first. Yet that has become part of her commitment, incorporating prayer and encounter into her life’s work. And those encounters don’t stop once an abortion is over. “We have to be hyper-sensitive to the needs of post-abortive women.”

What moved her to join sidewalk ministry? Seeing medical waste trucks outside the abortion facility, and realizing that the “waste” included human remains. She refused to turn away. In her professional work, she shares with her readers and listeners why they shouldn’t turn away, either.

“Pro-lifers need to have an examination of conscience,” always acting in ways that are merciful, and not just on the sidewalk: for one example, she cited the need to promote policies that support adoption and foster care.

“Think creatively. You never know what you’re being used for….Even those close to us need to know we will love them, not judge them.”

As a Catholic, she noted that the “Walking with moms in need” initiative of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops has not yet taken off in a big way. She encouraged her listeners to discover the program. I’m Catholic myself, and I hadn’t been familiar with it. I’m learning about it now.

Here was a journalist, intensely practical, politically savvy, who could have spent an hour talking about strategy and lobbying and state-level legislation. In a room full of activists, that would have struck a familiar if not comfortable note. Instead, with each story she shared – with each spark, so to speak – she illuminated a way forward that isn’t paved with laws and court decisions.

Listening, serving one-on-one, being patient, extending mercy every day in big and little ways: those are precisely the challenges and opportunities that Kathryn Jean Lopez came to talk about. She spoke with urgency, as if she were afraid she’d run out of time before her work was done.

I’m writing this several weeks after hearing her speak at Assumption University. I mentioned earlier that taking notes during her speech was hard, because she kept moving from story to story. She forced me to listen to her whole message, not just listen for the occasional catchy quote (though I did my best to capture some). As a veteran of the public-policy aspect of pro-life work, I needed to hear what she had to say. She left an impression on me while I’m still in the process of decompressing from years of State House work.

You’re not done, she seemed to be saying. There’s better work ahead.

My thanks to Massachusetts Citizens for Life for hosting the convention at which I heard Ms. Lopez speak.

Open Book: History Lessons

A year ago, I wrote that I was working my way through Fulton Sheen’s Life of Christ (published 1958). The book still accompanies me to weekly Adoration, and when at home this Lent I keep it nearby. It takes only a few paragraphs to foster prayer and meditation.

While browsing through the Kindle store, I came across an interesting-looking book about Dorothy Day. I downloaded a sample that captivated me. Never mind the e-book; I had to have the hard copy! I’m now well into Dorothy Day: the World Will Be Saved By Beauty by Day’s granddaughter, Kate Hennessy. It’s a loving and lyrically-written portrait of Day by someone who loved her dearly, yet saw her clearly.

This seems to be my month for history books. I came across Crown and Sceptre by Tracy Borman thanks to my library’s online service. More a reference work than a compelling page-turner, it’s a survey of Britain’s monarchs from William the Conqueror to Elizabeth II. Over the years I’ve had reason to study some of the Plantagenets and Tudors and Windsors, and the rest of the ruling houses are a mystery to me (aside from some dramatic figures like Victoria and George III). Time to fill in the blanks.

My favorite recent discovery from a used-book store is The Refugee: a North-side View of Slavery by Benjamin Drew. It’s a 1969 reprint of an 1855 book. Drew went to Canada to interview formerly enslaved people who had escaped the American South. He transcribed the brief oral histories and collected them for his fascinating and unsettling book.

What’s on your shelf this month? Let me know in the comments.

Open Book is a monthly blog roundup hosted at My Scribbler’s Heart and Catholic Mom.

A fine bumpy start to Lent: racing a storm

I didn’t spend Ash Wednesday waiting in line to get a cross on my forehead. I had a different memento mori: a day on the highways of the northeast corridor, racing home from Florida to beat a winter storm.

The New Jersey Turnpike is an aptly penitential place. Buckled into our car’s passenger seat as my intrepid husband drove, I looked up the day’s readings via the Laudate app on my phone. It was hard to concentrate when the guy in the next lane kept drifting over the line. All ended well: safe travel, only one real delay (the Jersey pike, of course), and we got home six hours before the snow started.

The day had reminded me of many Lents when my children were little. Back then, I always started my day with a list of to-dos (none dare call it a “schedule”), and by 10 a.m. the list had usually been amended beyond recognition. Kids got sick or I got sick or the fridge died or an appointment fell through or the car needed attention or the grocery store was out of whatever. Shift, adapt, cope, move on.

I observed and celebrated the liturgical seasons accordingly, with no time for anything fancy. We all muddled through together, sometimes with ashes on Ash Wednesday and sometimes without.

The rhythms of my life have changed since then. I can actually prepare thoughtfully, more or less, for the liturgical seasons and solemnities and feasts. I take time to pray for the young families in my parish, in an attempt to pay forward the gracious prayerful support we got from older parishioners back in the days when our kids were squirming in the pews. I can work on the long process of cultivating a calm and even temperament.

Then a winter storm, the interstate highway system, and some interesting drivers combine to kick “calm” in the teeth.

Shift, adapt, cope, move on. And laugh, too: our race home happened to be on Ash Wednesday, of all days, and all we could do was offer it up to God in reparation and thanksgiving.

Now I turn to more conventional Lenten disciplines: more frequent Mass and Adoration; focused reading (Fulton Sheen and Dorothy Day: how’s that for a combination?); 40 Days for Life, with a weekly vigil at an appallingly early hour for this night owl. Perhaps I aim low; the most arduous thing about the plan is getting up early. But it is a plan.

As Ash Wednesday reminded me, my plans can go awry. I’ll adapt. The season is what remains steady.

header photo: Steven Liao/Pixabay