The Obama administration believes that contraception should be offered to women as a means of improving public health and women's autonomy. The Catholic church would be violating one of their strongest helded beliefs by offering contraception to its employees and affiliates. (link)
This is the kind of dilemma I face as a Catholic feminist who holds the separation of church and state as an indispensible virtue of government and religion.
I believe that the availability of contraception is directly correlated to the improvement of women's health. I also understand why the Catholic church is against contraception and I fully support their position on denying the use of contraception in the confines of being faithful. No seriously though. I get it. I understand why arguments such as "but contraception use reduces abortion rates" and "but 92% of all Catholic women have used birth control" don't hold an ounce of water against "contraception is against the teaching of the Catholic church".
And yet, the feminist in me is cheering for birth control.
As tomorrow begins the season of Lent, a time of reflection and fasting, and for me the beginning of of my 10th year in the Church, I'm going to be seriously trying to figure out how to reconcile these differences in who I am. Maybe I'll never see an end to this struggle, but it seems to me like I'm unable to keep them as seperate facets of my life and so I keep trying to blend the two as if they could possible exist within one person.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
He'll meet you wherever you are
This is where my blog takes an unexpected turn for the religious. I'll make it brief.
In the 6 months that I've worked at the Johns Hopkins Hospital campus I've had the chance to get to know one of the most touching traditions/fixtures of the Hopkins Community, the Jesus statue. The Jesus statue is under the dome of the original entrance to the hospital. His arms are outstretched and below him is written "Come unto Me, ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28). Patients and visitors leave notes, flowers and pictures at the base of his feet, and there is also a book where people can write their prayers.
Like many Hopkins employees, I make sure to take the route through the hospital instead of around it so that I can pass Jesus, touch his foot, say a prayer and cross myself. It's so brief, but it brings unexpected peace to my day. And peace is exactly what I always pray for; world peace and peace in my life, the peace that comes with forgiveness and the peace that comes with healing.
I am normally rushing by and don't stop to read any of the notes or look at any of the pictures, but the other day I saw a note attached to a flower that said "Please pray for us, we need prayers." It's hard to say why this note caught my eye, but it stopped me right in my tracks. I've been praying for myself, asking for peace in my life, and not for anyone else. I've been so selfish. And comparatively to the patients who have traveled the world to seek some of the best care available, my life is pretty easy and I should be thankful.
Maybe I've been avoiding the notes, the photos of kids with cancer and the heart-wrenching pictures of a child holding Jesus' hand drawn in crayon, or the desperate pleas for a cure. His outstretched arms and the scripture make me think of those for whom visiting the hospital means never returning home and so having to make peace with death. I spend about 4 seconds looking up at Him and saying my short prayer while there are people kneeling at His feet begging for their life. And you know, honestly, I feel honored. I feel honored to be part of this Hopkins tradition of prayer and thoughtfulness. I tend to be a "religion is a personal matter" kind of person and I don't wear my Catholicism on my sleeve, but for those few seconds when I'm in the presence of God and crossing myself in public, I am proud and humbled.
In the 6 months that I've worked at the Johns Hopkins Hospital campus I've had the chance to get to know one of the most touching traditions/fixtures of the Hopkins Community, the Jesus statue. The Jesus statue is under the dome of the original entrance to the hospital. His arms are outstretched and below him is written "Come unto Me, ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28). Patients and visitors leave notes, flowers and pictures at the base of his feet, and there is also a book where people can write their prayers.
Like many Hopkins employees, I make sure to take the route through the hospital instead of around it so that I can pass Jesus, touch his foot, say a prayer and cross myself. It's so brief, but it brings unexpected peace to my day. And peace is exactly what I always pray for; world peace and peace in my life, the peace that comes with forgiveness and the peace that comes with healing.
I am normally rushing by and don't stop to read any of the notes or look at any of the pictures, but the other day I saw a note attached to a flower that said "Please pray for us, we need prayers." It's hard to say why this note caught my eye, but it stopped me right in my tracks. I've been praying for myself, asking for peace in my life, and not for anyone else. I've been so selfish. And comparatively to the patients who have traveled the world to seek some of the best care available, my life is pretty easy and I should be thankful.
Maybe I've been avoiding the notes, the photos of kids with cancer and the heart-wrenching pictures of a child holding Jesus' hand drawn in crayon, or the desperate pleas for a cure. His outstretched arms and the scripture make me think of those for whom visiting the hospital means never returning home and so having to make peace with death. I spend about 4 seconds looking up at Him and saying my short prayer while there are people kneeling at His feet begging for their life. And you know, honestly, I feel honored. I feel honored to be part of this Hopkins tradition of prayer and thoughtfulness. I tend to be a "religion is a personal matter" kind of person and I don't wear my Catholicism on my sleeve, but for those few seconds when I'm in the presence of God and crossing myself in public, I am proud and humbled.
There is hope for the helpless
Rest for the weary
Love for the broken heart
There is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, Cry out to Jesus
Rest for the weary
Love for the broken heart
There is grace and forgiveness
Mercy and healing
He'll meet you wherever you are
Cry out to Jesus, Cry out to Jesus
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