Catherine's Cafe Vocation Blog

“Let us wake up then, open our eyes in apostolic charity, and if we are called, set out for any place where the work is great and difficult.” That statement by our founder, Samuel Mazzuchelli, has challenged me lately. Ministry with victims of domestic violence has been both life giving and energy sapping.   At times, I feel like Alice – not of Wonderland but of the Looking Glass.   Every day I am impelled to look into a mirror and claim what I see; to acknowledge some of my internal reactions to people I’ve met, situations I’ve encountered, and to the culture in which I find myself - a culture so different from my own experience and one that is negatively impacted by the effects of racism, poverty and white privilege – including my own.   This work, while so necessary, is painful for me.   Honestly, sometimes, it just seems too great and too difficult.   A friend recently suggested that perhaps the great and difficult work I am being called to is...

A few months ago, there was a lengthy front page article in the Minneapolis newspaper about hidden poverty in the suburbs. The number of people living in poverty in Minneapolis suburbs has more than doubled in the past ten years; a story repeated elsewhere around the country. I minister at a non-profit, started over 30 years ago by an incredible woman who invited others to join her and respond to the needs of the poor in eight west suburban communities. That was the beginning of an outreach project that initially involved 9 faith communities. I have always worked in human services. Before this ministry, however, I never thought about suburbanites possibly living below the national poverty level. My understanding of things sometimes gets turned on its side or flipped upside down. I love it when that happens because it wakes me up. I am grateful for reminders that everyone counts – including those not seen because of my blinders, misperceptions and flawed opin...

One of my favorite songs lately is “God of Day and God of Darkness.”  Not only is the tune beautiful, but behind the lilting Celtic melody are some pretty powerful words: “Come and wake us from our sleeping so our hearts cannot ignore all your people lost and broken all your children at our door.” I love the inclusivity of these lines: “ALL your people,” the song proclaims.  We’re all lost and broken, and there’s a beautiful kinship in that.  I also love the image of being awoken: all of us, no matter how socially conscious we might consider ourselves, are “asleep” in some ways.  But asking God to wake us up is both bold and risky; once we’re aware of a need or an injustice, we can no longer ignore it.  Our congregation’s founder, Fr. Samuel Mazzuchelli, took a great risk when he joined the dwindling Dominican order in Italy, then moved to the “new frontier” at age 22.  He took risks in the form of ministering to and...