As a “newer” member of the Dominican Sisters of Peace Communications staff and a relatively new convert to Catholicism (I entered the Church in 2010), I was asked more than a few questions about my reaction to last weekend’s Assembly.

The word that most describes my feelings after my first Dominican Sisters of Peace Assembly is not “different,” or “refreshing,” or even “spirited.” From the view of my own religious and life background, the word I would apply to the ceremonies and the discussions would be “inclusive.”

A little background – I grew up Pentecostal in rural West Virginia. Dancing in the spirit, delivering prophecy, speaking in tongues – these “charismatic” events were a regular part of our worship service. Seeing people dance as part of a Church service is rare for me now, but not unknown in my faith history.

Scripture study, however, was often less study and more memorization (my dad was a champion at “Bible Baseball,” where the leader read the beginning of a scriptural passage and the players complete the verse), without much analysis and application to the problems of everyday society.  The book of Revelations was a study focus at least once a year, and I grew up terrified of being left behind in the rapture we expected at any time.

I often compare the faith of my youth to the faith that I chose as a woman in my forties. And I find comparing those two faiths very much like comparing our recent Assembly to a Pentecostal tent service.

The application of Scripture within the two events is vastly different.  In a standard tent meeting, Scripture was literally quoted chapter and verse, stated as black and white regulations to be followed in fear of a vengeful God.

As a Catholic, and most notably, through the eyes and minds of our Sisters, I have learned to view Scripture more like the law in the hands of a well-educated and thoughtful jurist – a jurist who views everything through the lens of Christ’s love. Our discussion Friday, where Sisters and Associates of different races, cultures and even sexual identities, were given equal weight in a discussion of multicultural living, was eye-opening and, to me, the definition of loving inclusion.

The thoughtful application of current events to our charism presented in the opening ceremony moved my heart. We acknowledged to God that our world is broken – we looked to the Saints for ways to repair it – and we pledged to each other to make that happen. It was sad and hopeful, all at the same time.

And the dancing! Oh the dancing! As I said earlier, dancing in the spirit was a relatively common sight for me growing up, but it was completely different than what I experienced as part of our Assembly. In addition, to me, the dancing was a metaphor for the openness that was evident throughout those four days.

In the past, when I have watched a fellow worshipper dance in the spirit, it was a joyful but very personal experience, as though God were speaking to just one person and the rest of us were to observe. But as a participant in our Assembly, it seemed to me that dance was performed as a glorious gift to God, planned in such a way that, like so many other parts of Mass, everyone could take part in the offering of joy.

As Ana and Margaret danced into their profession ceremony, I watched Margaret’s brother dance on the edge of the aisle, offering his happiness to the occasion.

Sisters, associates, family and clergy twirled scarves and napkins to celebrate our new Sisters – and Ana’s brother literally boogied through the procession with his flowing banner. Others followed behind, maybe clapping, maybe just walking, but all with a look of joy and thanksgiving.

For every offering made – preaching, teaching, Eucharist – everyone was given the opportunity to participate in her or his own way. Whether we danced in the aisles, swayed in our chairs, clapped our hands or simply smiled, we were all part of the dance. And I was happy to be one of the dancers.

We’ve been listening to the prophets these past weeks, passages registering God’s passion and pathos— anger, frustration, longing and love for a people who keep falling, repenting and falling again.

Amos spoke scathing words, laying bare the avarice, cheating, exploitation of the poor. And he said words that have stayed with me, describing God’s sending upon the land “a famine of hearing the Word of God.”

Two weeks ago, in an opinion piece in the Sunday Times a pediatrician described the failings of the water system in Flint and the denials of serious corrosion by officials, and the massive exposure of young children to lead poisoning and lifetime damage. In his concluding paragraph he wrote, “One of the lessons of Flint is that science and public health won’t save us….being awake is not enough. We have to be loud.”

Two sentences that have everything to do with us Dominicans of Peace, as we enter into this Assembly titled “Lift Every Voice.”

There is a famine in our land, and that famine is starving people of God’s Truth and Self-giving Love.

And the famine is vast, and has many faces. For some, a famine of hearing the truth, a famine of hearing the Word of love for others, a famine of hope, a famine of peace. We are called to speak, especially for the sake of the ones whose voices are not heard, and to bring the light of Truth into the corresponding glut of misused power and wealth, willful deafness and blindness, of greed, and hubris.

How shall we preach the Gospel? How shall we speak Truth with Love to both oppressers and oppressed. How shall we plead for the earth, its community of life in danger of ruin and extinction? How will we listen to and speak for the hungry, the weeping, the unjustly treated, the despairing?

Remember our Brother Dominic, not given to thundering condemnations, but rather, singing loudly as he traveled the road and pleading loudly in his nights of prayer–not pronouncing wrath and judgment, but listening and conversing, considering and persuading. We call him Preacher of Grace.

We have pledged ourselves to the preaching of the Gospel. We see, we hear, we are awake and aware. We are responsive and responsible.

And now is the moment to speak: because it is not enough to be aware, and it is not Dominican to hoard the Good News in a world of famine. We must also live loudly, educating and advocating, praising and blessing and preaching. Grace abounds. But how shall they hear if there is no one to preach to them?

What is it about kids and a plate glass window? No matter how many times we wipe off their fingerprints, lip smacks and breath marks, they just keep coming back for more. They want to leave an imprint somehow so that we know they have been there.

In the Gospels, Jesus tells us that we are the salt of the earth and lights for the world. As Christians, we need to leave an imprint, too. People need to know that we have been here, too.

Christians cannot stand by while children are being separated from their parents and are herded into detention camps because it is alleged that those parents are coming into this country illegally. News reports show us that the centers are clean; the children have clean clothes and food; they have bathrooms and people to watch out for them. How bad can it be? Except that now suddenly there are “tent” cities being erected by our Department of Health and Human Services and costing millions of dollars, that should help, right?

Please pay attention to the news reports and requests for getting in touch with our elected officials. The City Council of New Orleans has filed a joint resolution stating its conviction that the actions being taken are inhumane and even un-American. You know everyone won’t agree with them, but they are leaving their imprint.

This is only one issue where Christians can make an imprint, can be salt and light. The country we live in as Christians needs more salt and lots more light. There are way too many plate glass windows waiting for the imprint of some valiant Christians.

“Green is the season after Pentecost. The Holy Ghost in an abstracted space/ spreads out the languid summer of his peace,/ unrolls his hot July./ O leaves of love, O chlorophyll of grace.” Jessica Powers

“I was sitting in the river….and all afternoon I listened to the voice of the river talking./ Whenever the water struck the stone it had something to say,/ and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water./ And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying./ Said the river: I am part of holiness./ And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.”    Mary Oliver, “Evidence”

“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is./ I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down/into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,/how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day/.… /Tell me, what is it you plan to do /with your one wild and precious life?    Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day.”                                                                   

“The world is charged with the grandeur of God,” writes Gerard Manley Hopkins, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning chimes in: “Earth’s crammed with heaven and every common bush afire with God.”

Summer glows and grows with the glory of God. It preaches to us of life amazing and tenacious, fertile and fruitful.  You hear it singing in the bird songs of morning, see the pink edges of clouds, the golden shimmer of early sun wobbling toward you over the water, the profuse growth and blossoming of petunias and zinnias and roses, herbs and tomatoes and the tendrils reaching out as the zucchini stealthily captures more ground. Hummingbirds and butterflies. Tiger lilies and Queen Ann’s Lace in weedy plots where fields meet roads. All is holy, calling us to surprise and delight, to a moment’s contemplation of all that “dearest freshness deep-down things” (Hopkins) where God’s ongoing, unfolding creation celebrates seasons present and promised.

Love lives and speaks in bright bits and subtle tones and dangles its green to be noticed. Notice.  Let the small sacraments stir your soul in brief encounters of graced creation, so easily lost in all the noise, the troubles, the constant searing, blearing, smearing (Hopkins) that human progress and fractiousness and technological too-muchness can bring.  See, hear, taste God’s peace and promise of a blossoming beyond our imagining.  And with e.e.cummings, thank God “for most this amazing day” and “for everything which is infinite which is natural which is yes.”