Thursday, I headed towards DC at the unholy hours of 6am, so that I could make it to the Capitol South metro station by 7, at which time I met up with other NRLC interns, a few staff, and the students at the NRLC academy. One of their fathers just so happened to work in Congress, and just so happened to be Representative Chris Smith.
I had prepared myself for another talk from a politician who was politicking... But we started out following him through a side door into the Capitol and onto the floor of the House of Representatives! If you've been following this blog at all, you know that when it comes to politics, I put up a cynical and thoroughly un-impressible front. Well, standing on the floor of the House, where generally only Congresspeople and pages stand, sitting in a House chair, where generally only Congresspeople sit, watching the voting wall light up as they tested it, I dropped this... I was impressed, and I know my face lit up like the voting wall.
Congressman Smith talked to us for a while, about being in Congress, the House, and other such minutia, until he sidetracked himself sharing about his own work as a public leader. He stressed human rights again and again, sharing how the two parties worked with or against him and the leverage Congresspeople have against each other. I realized that I know very little about Congressional Committees and I need to remedy this; he made their importance quite clear, something I had known, but never really hit me until that morning.
After we listened and asked questions for a while, we had a few moments to wander in awe before a group of 400 displaced us. We proceeded to the Raybourn building where donuts and coffee awaited us in the Congressman's office. We socialized with each other and spoke with Congressman Smith again. He emphasized human rights and his duty to his God and his family... and everything just seemed so consistent that I couldn't help but admire him. It also gave me hope for my friends who dream of becoming politicians: there may be hope to be a good Christian and a politician. Of course, all I know about Congressman Smith is what I heard from him, but still. It was different than what I've heard from other Congresspeople.
The only negative bit I have to say about Congressman Smith is that according to Wikipedia, he refused to appear on Stephen Colbert. Silly Congressman.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Slugs
Cute, huh?
Imagine this: You are traveling home down I-95 from DC to the southern suburbs. You crawl along in traffic with only your radio for comfort, watching the HOV lanes fly by at 65mph. The next day, as you head down 14th St on your way out of the city, you see commuters lined up to pay $4.75 to ride home. And you think, I'd pay to have one of y'all (you're from Virginia!) in my car. Meanwhile, those in line watch enviously as motorists start their trip.
This is how I imagine slug lines formed, and I have some support in this theory. (Click that link, and you can read it.) Today, as I stood in line for the bus, I watched the line depleting in front of me, vanishing into cars, whose drivers held up fingers and called out locations. People speak their own language here -- "Old Hechinger's" has not stood in the parking lot for years, but commuters still use that term. As far as I can figure out, D.C. is the only area where this form of travel exists. Much as I hate this city, I also love it.
The man in front of me obviously wanted a slug ride over the bus and got seriously ticked when drivers only went up the the requisite HOV-3, rather than filling the car. It struck me that slugging has rules, similar to walking on the left and standing on the right of the Metro escalators.
I had a few moments of wondering what I would do if I made it to the front of the line and someone called out my home. While the idea fascinates me and I have never heard of there being any danger in slugging, I still couldn't imagine getting into a car with a complete stranger.
Monday, July 27, 2009
I Feel Like I Just Did This All...
We educated our club. We mobilized to educate campus, raise awareness, and gather signatures to send to Congress so that our voice WOULD be heard. I spurred the quest of post-cards at church and empowered a stunning speaker at the pulpit. I personally fed every one of the hundreds of postcards through the stamping machine. And FOCA was not introduced.
The offending parts of this act?
*Abortion would become a fundamental right.
*Doctors/medical students would lose conscience protections.
*All restrictions on abortions would be removed.
Now, I am discovering: no rest for the weary. The health care reform bill before Congress could lead to:
*Abortion defined as "minimum care."
*Health care providers lose conscience protections.
*Tax money going towards abortions.
And although the papers which call the movement "anti-abortion" miss this, pro-life people also fear:
*Rationing of care.
*Utilitarian health care decisions.
These measures worry us on the end-of-life part of things.
Up and to arms again! Once again, the life community is mobilizing, but this time I sit in the middle of a hive of activity, with nothing I can do to see immediate results, such as a signature on a petition or thank-you's after Mass. My efforts still count, I know, but I am looking at a longer range. I have to admit, as I read emails calling this "FOCA by Stealth," and the "Worst Since Roe," there is a certain thrill to being pro-life in DC right now. And also a great deal of fear, because as much as we oppose this, it still could pass.
The offending parts of this act?
*Abortion would become a fundamental right.
*Doctors/medical students would lose conscience protections.
*All restrictions on abortions would be removed.
Now, I am discovering: no rest for the weary. The health care reform bill before Congress could lead to:
*Abortion defined as "minimum care."
*Health care providers lose conscience protections.
*Tax money going towards abortions.
And although the papers which call the movement "anti-abortion" miss this, pro-life people also fear:
*Rationing of care.
*Utilitarian health care decisions.
These measures worry us on the end-of-life part of things.
Up and to arms again! Once again, the life community is mobilizing, but this time I sit in the middle of a hive of activity, with nothing I can do to see immediate results, such as a signature on a petition or thank-you's after Mass. My efforts still count, I know, but I am looking at a longer range. I have to admit, as I read emails calling this "FOCA by Stealth," and the "Worst Since Roe," there is a certain thrill to being pro-life in DC right now. And also a great deal of fear, because as much as we oppose this, it still could pass.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday Morning
The local 40 Days for Life campaign continues year-round, bolstering the efforts of the sturdy pray-ers who have been there years. I've been meaning to join for at least a little bit of time for a couple weeks, a couple weeks ago being the time when I discovered this fact. Yesterday, I finally did.
It took me until senior year of college to go to an abortion facility. Our CCM/SFL took part in the 40 Days for Life in Richmond. At that site, we stood just outside a stand-alone facility and watched cars drive past us into the parking lot, where we could see women walking into the clinic building, then being led outside to the connecting abortion room. Later, we could see them come out and stand in the courtyard behind a black fence, waiting for their rides. My first Saturday afternoon, I watched a young woman walk out to her boyfriend's car. Two things stood out sharply in the sunlight from their actions and body language: she was hurting badly, and he loved her so much.
This Saturday, we stood a further distance from the abortion facility near here. This one shares a wall with the local pregnancy resource center. The women there can hear the suction machine. We did not have that proximity; the cars on the street could see us better than anyone at the facility. Apparently in past weeks, the people on the street had made an impression, because a lone man stood across the street holding signs that read: "Pro-Choice" and "Her Body, Her Choice."
I discovered once again that after an hour had gone by, I did not want to leave. I wanted to stand on that sidewalk until that abortion facility closed its doors for good. Unfortunately, I had plans in Delaware and had to get on the road.
One comment from the road made me want to call back: a passer-by called out, "Get a life!" and I really wanted to answer, "I'm trying!"
I didn't think it was an appropriate pun moment.
It took me until senior year of college to go to an abortion facility. Our CCM/SFL took part in the 40 Days for Life in Richmond. At that site, we stood just outside a stand-alone facility and watched cars drive past us into the parking lot, where we could see women walking into the clinic building, then being led outside to the connecting abortion room. Later, we could see them come out and stand in the courtyard behind a black fence, waiting for their rides. My first Saturday afternoon, I watched a young woman walk out to her boyfriend's car. Two things stood out sharply in the sunlight from their actions and body language: she was hurting badly, and he loved her so much.
This Saturday, we stood a further distance from the abortion facility near here. This one shares a wall with the local pregnancy resource center. The women there can hear the suction machine. We did not have that proximity; the cars on the street could see us better than anyone at the facility. Apparently in past weeks, the people on the street had made an impression, because a lone man stood across the street holding signs that read: "Pro-Choice" and "Her Body, Her Choice."
I discovered once again that after an hour had gone by, I did not want to leave. I wanted to stand on that sidewalk until that abortion facility closed its doors for good. Unfortunately, I had plans in Delaware and had to get on the road.
One comment from the road made me want to call back: a passer-by called out, "Get a life!" and I really wanted to answer, "I'm trying!"
I didn't think it was an appropriate pun moment.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A Very Durkheimian Day
I will catch up my blog with my life some day. The "Durkheimian" Day was Tuesday.
Scene One: Walking up 1st St in DC towards the United States Supreme Court building. As my friend and I approach the tall gold doors that remain stubbornly closed to us a weekend ago, we realize again just how excited we are! In business dresses and power heels, we have the distinct privilege of going into one of the most sacred buildings of US civil religion (Bellah's idea, but thanks to Emile) and meeting one of the nine sacred people who symbolically live there.
Congresspeople, Senators, and the President all fall into the category of "politician" in my head, to be met with cynicism and skepticism. Supreme Court Justice, on the other hand -- sure, he's only human, but I'm still impressed! We had the honor of meeting with Justice Antonin Scalia, thanks to connections via Dr. New, via an SFLA intern.
First, came the sheer joy at merely stepping into the Supreme Court building. After we passed through the metal detector, a security guard confronted our group of young people and took us to a better place to congregate: through an "Employees Only" door to a conference room in the hidden places of the building.
We sat in a beautiful conference room, surrounded by portraits of the first eight chief justices of the United States. After a few minutes of gawking, picture-taking, and listen to the security guard's instruction, we rose to greet Justice Scalia.
He spoke to us about the framers' intent in creating a legislature and a governmental system that basically kept itself from working: a way of stabilizing the country. What we call "gridlock" today (example: the health care reform) the framers would have accepted as proof that their system worked. He explained his philosophy of interpretation: originalism. Whatever the framers mostly meant is how he ruled. He also explained trivia I did not know about the Supreme Court, such as the fact that each justice used to write his own opinion. Interestingly, he called the Court the weakest of the three branches, explaining that Congress has the money, the President has the military, and the Court merely has the cooperation of the people.
After a Q&A, we snapped a picture with Justice Scalia and people got autographs. None for me; as impressed as I am by a Supreme Court Justice, I'm not so much into collecting signed things.
Next, we got a tour of two conference rooms, the courtroom itself, and the lower level, including a giant statue of John Marshall and a spiral staircase. Sitting in the courtroom was surreal. Part of me wanted to come back some day to argue there or to sit on the bench... but it's the same way that I want to live in the Blue Ridge or get five doctorates. Realistically, it won't happen because I will be pursuing other dreams. I soaked in the sacred space though. The tour guide seemed to like the frieze around the ceiling, saying it made the room more visually interesting, but I could have done without it.
Okay, that's a long story for part one of Durkheim (sacred vs. profane). I'll keep the second one short.
Scene Two: Leaving the Metro and walking into the Nationals Park. I hadn't been to a ball game for over 2 years. Durkheim and the collective effervescence. I guess sports represent another aspect of our civil religion.
Oh yeah, and we won. I must be a good-luck charm.
Scene One: Walking up 1st St in DC towards the United States Supreme Court building. As my friend and I approach the tall gold doors that remain stubbornly closed to us a weekend ago, we realize again just how excited we are! In business dresses and power heels, we have the distinct privilege of going into one of the most sacred buildings of US civil religion (Bellah's idea, but thanks to Emile) and meeting one of the nine sacred people who symbolically live there.
Congresspeople, Senators, and the President all fall into the category of "politician" in my head, to be met with cynicism and skepticism. Supreme Court Justice, on the other hand -- sure, he's only human, but I'm still impressed! We had the honor of meeting with Justice Antonin Scalia, thanks to connections via Dr. New, via an SFLA intern.
First, came the sheer joy at merely stepping into the Supreme Court building. After we passed through the metal detector, a security guard confronted our group of young people and took us to a better place to congregate: through an "Employees Only" door to a conference room in the hidden places of the building.
We sat in a beautiful conference room, surrounded by portraits of the first eight chief justices of the United States. After a few minutes of gawking, picture-taking, and listen to the security guard's instruction, we rose to greet Justice Scalia.
He spoke to us about the framers' intent in creating a legislature and a governmental system that basically kept itself from working: a way of stabilizing the country. What we call "gridlock" today (example: the health care reform) the framers would have accepted as proof that their system worked. He explained his philosophy of interpretation: originalism. Whatever the framers mostly meant is how he ruled. He also explained trivia I did not know about the Supreme Court, such as the fact that each justice used to write his own opinion. Interestingly, he called the Court the weakest of the three branches, explaining that Congress has the money, the President has the military, and the Court merely has the cooperation of the people.
After a Q&A, we snapped a picture with Justice Scalia and people got autographs. None for me; as impressed as I am by a Supreme Court Justice, I'm not so much into collecting signed things.
Next, we got a tour of two conference rooms, the courtroom itself, and the lower level, including a giant statue of John Marshall and a spiral staircase. Sitting in the courtroom was surreal. Part of me wanted to come back some day to argue there or to sit on the bench... but it's the same way that I want to live in the Blue Ridge or get five doctorates. Realistically, it won't happen because I will be pursuing other dreams. I soaked in the sacred space though. The tour guide seemed to like the frieze around the ceiling, saying it made the room more visually interesting, but I could have done without it.
Okay, that's a long story for part one of Durkheim (sacred vs. profane). I'll keep the second one short.
Scene Two: Leaving the Metro and walking into the Nationals Park. I hadn't been to a ball game for over 2 years. Durkheim and the collective effervescence. I guess sports represent another aspect of our civil religion.
Oh yeah, and we won. I must be a good-luck charm.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
God Is in His Heaven...
... all's right in the world. Or at least that dominated as my foremost thought this weekend.
The seminarian who served his pastoral year partly at the College received his ordination to the transitional diaconate on Saturday. I rode down first to Madison, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a couple of great guys. In Madison, we switched cars and flew down winding country roads with a native. We ended up in Farmville, still in the middle of nowhere, at the small parish where he was being ordained.
Driving down the country roads, our windows down, music up, the smell of country around us, I could breath deeply and relax fully in a way I cannot during my days in the city here. It broke my heart to know that I will not live out that part of Virginia, when I love best of all, because my work will keep me tied to civilization.
The actually ordination brought me in touch with God as little has this summer. The deacon-t0-be walked in looking serious and thoughtful, very unlike the last ordination I attended, where the seminarian looked bridal during the procession. When he was presented to the Bishop, however, he began to glow. His joy was beautiful and infectious. I couldn't stop smiling and I didn't want to. The ordination and Mass proceeded that way: his face alternated between serious and engrossed in the depth of the moment and complete, abandoned joy.
The ordination itself consists of a rite that includes the seminarian prostrating himself, being vested in deaconly garments, and being handed the Book of Gospels, which he is to learn, believe, and spread. Then the new deacon hugs all the priests and deacons who attend, and Mass proceeds with the deacon on the altar with the other ordained people, rather than in the congregation with the laity.
I watched our new deacon and thought how utterly right it looked as he stood distributing the Precious Blood on one side of the church while the other seminarian who spent time at the College stood on the other, mirror images of newly ordained deacons.
On the way home, we stopped in Madison and looked at the Milky Way. The stars also felt right in my life, and the whole trip had a retreat feel.
The seminarian who served his pastoral year partly at the College received his ordination to the transitional diaconate on Saturday. I rode down first to Madison, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a couple of great guys. In Madison, we switched cars and flew down winding country roads with a native. We ended up in Farmville, still in the middle of nowhere, at the small parish where he was being ordained.
Driving down the country roads, our windows down, music up, the smell of country around us, I could breath deeply and relax fully in a way I cannot during my days in the city here. It broke my heart to know that I will not live out that part of Virginia, when I love best of all, because my work will keep me tied to civilization.
The actually ordination brought me in touch with God as little has this summer. The deacon-t0-be walked in looking serious and thoughtful, very unlike the last ordination I attended, where the seminarian looked bridal during the procession. When he was presented to the Bishop, however, he began to glow. His joy was beautiful and infectious. I couldn't stop smiling and I didn't want to. The ordination and Mass proceeded that way: his face alternated between serious and engrossed in the depth of the moment and complete, abandoned joy.
The ordination itself consists of a rite that includes the seminarian prostrating himself, being vested in deaconly garments, and being handed the Book of Gospels, which he is to learn, believe, and spread. Then the new deacon hugs all the priests and deacons who attend, and Mass proceeds with the deacon on the altar with the other ordained people, rather than in the congregation with the laity.
I watched our new deacon and thought how utterly right it looked as he stood distributing the Precious Blood on one side of the church while the other seminarian who spent time at the College stood on the other, mirror images of newly ordained deacons.
On the way home, we stopped in Madison and looked at the Milky Way. The stars also felt right in my life, and the whole trip had a retreat feel.
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