volume one | issue one
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AUGUST 2012
IN THIS ISSUE
Who We Are
Contact Us
My Take: You Never Really Run Alone | Jennifer Scroggins
Keep It Simple: Clean Out Your Home,
Mind, and Soul | Susan Vogt
Pop Culture: Blame It on Andy |
Christopher Heffron
Reel Time: “To Rome With Love” | Christopher Heffron
Black + White + Read All Over: “Abraham Lincoln:
Vampire Hunter” | Kathleen M. Carroll
Channel Surfing: When Reality Television Gets It Right | Christopher Heffron
At Home on the Farm | Carol Ann Morrow Where faith and family meet
More Than Mere Food | Diane M. Houdek
It’s Easy Being Green | Christopher Heffron
Your faith and the environment
In the News | Rachel Zawila
Did You Know?: Can Catholics Celebrate
Weddings Outside? | Pat McCloskey, ofm
Questions about faith
Inspiring Lives: St. Augustine and St. Helena | Kathleen M. Carroll
Saints Among Us: Clark Massey | Judy Zarick
Parting Words
My Take_________________________________
J E N N I F E R S C R O G G I N S
You Never Really Run Alone
Even when you’re not running with a
partner, and it feels like it’s just you and
the road, you’re always part of a great big
community of supporters.
That’s one of the first lessons you learn
when you take up the sport: runners love
other runners. They love to talk about
running, think about running, blog about
running, and then listen to other people
talk about running.
If you’re training for “only” a 5K, an
experienced marathoner will cheer you
every step of the way. She’ll advise you on
your mileage, your shoes, your pre-race
breakfast—you name it.
It doesn’t matter how fast (or not) you
might be. It doesn’t matter what kind
of fancy (or not) gear you use. All that
matters to one runner is that you also
are a runner and, thus, you are forever
connected by the power of the pavement.
Running is a sport of great equalizers.
The best runners in the world can be
sidetracked by injury or illness just as
easily as a neighborhood jogger can be.
In any race, every runner has to battle
the same course and the same weather,
whether it’s extreme heat, bitter cold, or
even the occasional spray of hail.
There’s a unity in the battle of running.
No matter the circumstances, we’re
always racing against ourselves, fighting
our body’s desire to stop and our mind’s
doubts and disbeliefs. As often as we think
we can’t, we know we must—and we
know we will.
The power in that determination bridges
the gaps between male and female, young
and old, fast and slow. It even can bridge
the philosophical and social gaps that tear
us apart on a global political level.
Never more was that evident to me than
in the Jerusalem Marathon on March 16,
2012, when a Catholic from Kenya won
an event that featured runners from 50
different countries—including a woman
running through the streets of Jerusalem in
a shirt that said “Palestine.”
David Cherono Toniok won the race
in a course-record 2:19:52 and told the
Jewish Telegraphic Agency news service
that, as a devout Catholic, he was thrilled
to have his first marathon win happen in
Jerusalem.
Toniok covered the 26.2 miles in about
a minute less than it took me to complete
the half-marathon that day.
Yet we are the same. We both set out that
morning to conquer hills, wind, rain, and,
yes, even sporadic hail.
I can’t prove it, but I say with certainty
that we both worried about the weather;
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obsessed over what to eat and when;
arrived at the start of our races with a mix
of excitement, dread, curiosity, and nerves;
and took off knowing that no matter what
happened, the result would be ours and
ours alone to revel in or to regret.
I suspect we both spent countless hours
after the race dissecting every detail with
our friends and plotting ways to do better
the next time out. And I’m willing to bet
that if I ever met Toniok, we’d have no
problem striking up conversations about
everything from energy gels and hydration
to pre-race routines and superstitions.
Runners love other runners. The
camaraderie is genuine, and the support is
heartfelt.
The bond of the community grows
stronger with each step its members take,
and newcomers are welcomed with open
arms (and plenty of free advice).
It’s a powerful thing to call yourself a
runner. It means something. Other people
see it and wonder: Could I do that? Am I
strong enough? Do I have what it takes?
The answer, of course, is yes. It won’t
always be easy, but there always will be
another runner along the way when you
need encouragement and inspiration. The
community will be there, accepting you for
all your fears, struggles, and foibles, and
celebrating your milestones and successes.
Running has been likened to a religion,
and there’s ample reason to affirm that
analogy.
At its best, the Catholic Church resembles
the scene at a road race, with crowds of
runners and their families and friends
cheering and supporting one another from
start to finish.
Every shape, size, race, and class can be
seen, and we all have a unique story to tell
about how we got to the start line in the
first place and how our journey is going.
Some miles, we feel great! We’re cruising
along, thankful to be enjoying the sights
and sounds and the strength of our bodies.
But seemingly in an instant, we can grow
tired and discouraged and we need a
partner to help us keep trudging toward
the finish.
At its best, the Catholic Church prepares
us well for the race, and we share our
insights and passion with one another
along the way. As runners love other
runners, so we love each member of our
faith community. And as runners love
to talk about running, so we are moved
to share the beauty of Catholicism with
everyone we encounter.
Both running and religion boil down
to belief. They’re about learning to trust
our training and push ourselves from our
comfort zones to reach the bigger goals
to which we aspire. We acknowledge
the difficulties with the understanding
that every run is a good run—part of the
process of growth—no matter how we
judged it when we were in the moment.
We know that every step we take is
made in faith and that we never really
run alone. +
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Pop Culture _________________________________
C H R I S T O P H E R H E F F R O N
Blame It on Andy
Perhaps no other celebrity in history has
been a greater champion of pop culture
than Mr. Warhol. From that alabaster-
white wig, to the oversized sunglasses
that could shame an Olsen twin, to the
monosyllabic way he communicated,
Warhol was the birth father of the modern
pop culture movement. And nowhere was
his keen understanding of it on greater
display than in his art.Who else could
take a bland design concept like a can
of Campbell’s soup and reinvent it as
something wholly new and stimulating?
Who else could turn a sultry Marilyn
Monroe into a punk-rock painted lady?
Warhol just got it.
Thanks to that modern miracle—
television—pop culture satisfies our
collective sweet tooth every day. And
we’ve never been hungrier. Browsing a
used bookstore recently, I passed a shelf
of random titles. Nestled in between
Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged and Truman
Capote’s In Cold Blood was (are you
sitting?) Snooki’s bestseller, A Shore Thing.
But I wasn’t disgusted. I should have been,
but I wasn’t. I was proud of that girl for
using her 15 minutes to conquer every
conceivable medium at her tanned and tiny
fingertips. (Yes, I bought a copy. It was $3.
Leave me alone.)
But pop culture is more than 4-foot-9,
Chilean-born reality stars (though I
wouldn’t hate it if it weren’t). It’s about
flavor. It’s about fun. Pop culture doesn’t
demean. It entertains as it informs. It can
take the shape of MC Hammer’s parachute
pants, or Linda Blair’s pea-green projectiles
in The Exorcist, or Jennifer Aniston’s coif
on Friends. Pop culture takes a snapshot of
the world in which we live—even as that
world rapidly changes.
Life would be just a Campbell’s soup can
without it. +
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At Home on the Farm_________________________________
C A R O L A N N M O R R O W
On his family’s 27-acre farm in Indiana, Kyle Kramer connects faith and farming—for everyone.
Photo by Krista Hall/The Herald
themselves to the complexities of living
simply.
Kyle and Cyndi Kramer live with their
three small children—8-year-old twins
Eva and Clare and 5-year-old Eli—in
a home Kyle built largely by himself.
They use solar power, a cistern, and
firewood they harvest from their
woods. The Kramers grind their own
grains, buying them in bulk.
Kyle later jokes that their wedding
gifts included a grain mill and other
practicalities seldom found on
bridal registries! Their cozy home is
furnished with substantial pieces that
Kyle has crafted, complemented with
hand-me-downs. Their home is airy
and pleasant, even on a mid-August
afternoon. Their dogs, Bella and Lulu,
bark at me without menace. I sniff the
promise of both bread and soup.
Acres of Life Lessons
Why make this journey off the beaten
path? I want to see the earthy outdoor
classroom in which Kyle learned Life
Lessons in Work, Prayer, and Dirt,
the subtitle of his 2010 book, A Time
to Plant. I want to walk the land Kyle
bought in 1999 and visit the pole barn
he raised that fall and lived in for four
years. I want to see the home that the
imminent arrival of twins spurred on.
Lastly, I want readers to discover
with me whether the youthful author
has harvested further life lessons as he
balances family, a 40-hour workweek
at a Benedictine abbey, 27 acres of
formerly abused farmland, and an
idealistic calling to trace the threads
that bind his Catholic faith to his
“vocation of location.”
In the first chapter of A Time to Plant,
Kyle wrote, “My calling was to a life
whose exterior might seem small and
insignificant but that cultivated an
interior spaciousness and centeredness.
I wanted a life that was grounded in
acts of justice and awareness of divine
mercy, a life connected intimately
to other people and to the rest of
creation.” Toward the end of the book,
he speaks more of “vulnerability,
weakness, and need.” That trajectory
continues to unfold in his life.
Genesis Organic Farm’s precise location
isn’t available by satellite today, farmer
and author Kyle Kramer is pleased
to report. Incredulous, I consult
MapQuest. Beyond the interstate, its
directions always hedge—“If you
reach . . . , you’ve gone too far.” Two
state roads and three county roads
later, I have avoided going “too far,”
though some might wonder if the
Kramers have by planting themselves in
rural southern Indiana and committing
Kyle and I take a look at the edges
of Genesis Organic Farm, while he
explains the evolution his family’s
ambitions are experiencing. First, they
have expanded their focus beyond
organic to what he calls “regenerative”
farming. Second, they are decreasing
their focus on market crops so there’s
more time for reflection, family,
writing, and relationship to the wider
community.
As we walk the land, Kyle feeds the
chickens, gathers eggs, and introduces
me to Fluffy, a decidedly unfluffy
rooster. An anonymous and annoying
barnyard dictator, Fluffy was headed
for an early death—until the twins
christened him in protest. Fluffy
personifies the tension the Kramers
experience between stripping away and
engagement.
Health and Character
What exactly is regenerative farming?
Kyle explains: he and Cyndi are moving
toward no-till crops such as nut and
fruit trees, berries, and perennial
vegetables such as asparagus. Tilling
releases carbon into the air, and that
contributes a lot to farming’s carbon
footprint, as does the use of the tractor,
Kyle explains. He and Cyndi want to
follow nature’s lead.
“Mother Nature Doesn’t Till. She
Mulches.”
That observation has prompted another
practice at Genesis Organic Farm.
“We’re trying to generate on-farm
fertility, not import it from somewhere
else.” The Kramers harvest their hay
for mulch, encouraging the richness of
their own soil, rather than importing
soil amendments from someone else’s
land. Because of their commitment to
this specific place, they are trying to
heal its soil, respect its woodlands, and
maximize its potential to thrive over
the long haul.
“After all,” Kyle says, “if I ruin this
place, it’s ruined for me. I’m not going
to move elsewhere. . . . I can’t escape
the consequences. This is our place of
sustenance.”
When Kyle was discerning the life
choices that led him to this Indiana
farmland, he sought the counsel of
Wendell Berry, the distinguished
Kentucky farmer, author, and activist.
Berry encourages small-scale, practical
action inspired by broad knowledge
and informed principles. It is obvious
that Berry has influenced Kyle and
Cyndi profoundly. Kyle cites Berry’s
belief that a farm’s most important
products are the health of the soil and
the character of the farmer.
So, while Farmer Kramer nourishes
his soil and seeks to improve it, the
husband and father also cultivates
his inner life. Despite a self-described
tendency to brood and obsess, Papa
Kramer chooses to nurture and be
nurtured by family. While Cyndi
keeps the three children entertained
in another room after dinner, their
laughter erupts often and little Eli
escapes several times to crawl on his
papa’s lap and distract him. After all,
this is the evening, when the family
often plays guitar and sings, and it isn’t
happening—yet!
“God created us in the image of
belonging and connection,” says Kyle,
who sees both as very particular, with
no pious generalities. So, while he
is a man of prayer, he still splits the
firewood, lets the chickens out, and
gets the kids to school on his way to
work. At Saint Meinrad, a Benedictine
seminary, graduate school of theology,
and publishing house, Kyle is director
of lay ministry programs.
Kyle sees a strong resonance between
the abbey and the farm, however. Both
are about “the work of belonging,” he
says. “While I shepherd people through
a graduate theological degree program,
ultimately what we’re doing is building
community. We’re sending healing
agents out into community. And that’s
what [Genesis Farm] is about, too. It’s
about belonging and healing.”
For his wife, belonging has come at
a price. She is not a native Hoosier,
and she says, “Finding kindred spirits
in a rural area is not so easy.” Just
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as her husband has wrestled with
balance and challenge, so has she. “I’m
learning how to be more practical and
grounded, as my tendency is to live in
the world of ideas.” That groundedness
is a daily effort.
Belonging and Healing
Belonging is integral to Benedictine
spirituality, as Kyle learned in his work
at the abbey. Monks take a vow of
stability. Essentially, Kyle and Cyndi
have taken this vow as well. But
Francis of Assisi also inspires Kyle.
“Francis laughed. Francis showed
people that the kind of life he was
living was not only satisfying and right,
but joyful and happy,” he says.
While “moral outrage, anger, and
desire” drew the youthful idealist to
a life rooted in nature, “what’s grown
in me is a sense of affection for people
and places.” He adds, “I fall in love
with God though the particulars.
. . . God created us in the image of
belonging and connection.”
After attending to place, however,
people need to help with the healing.
Action follows attention. Kyle and
Cyndi have, predictably, given that
careful, prayerful thought in their
home, as well as on their land. “I don’t
see a lot of distinction between our
economic life and our spiritual life.
Every economic decision is a moral
decision. The authentic life of Christian
discipleship would be a life that is
simpler and more mindful. It would be
less ambitious and more communal.”
For the Kramers, that includes
bartering for services, giving of
their harvest and their talents, and
participating in the wider community.
They know their neighbors by name
and by need. They are ministers of
music in their small parish.
What about the Global Village?
It seems obvious that not everyone
can move to a farm. But what can the
typical suburbanite or city dweller do
to heal the earth, live more simply, and
cultivate a sense of belonging?
“An ideal scenario for me,” says Kyle,
“is that we have more people on the
land, with smaller acreages, and that
there be stronger partnerships between
people who live in cities or towns and
those who are in rural areas. To be
honest, we need each other. . . .
People who live in cities need to find
ways to reconnect with nature. They
need to know where their food comes
from. They need food, period!”
The larger question, perhaps, observes
Kyle, is, “How do we belong in our
places?” The answer, he thinks, is,
“First, you make a commitment. This
is where I am. . . . You start being
attentive to the place and its needs
and its limitations. You inhabit it in a
healing way. . . . You pay attention well
enough to know what is the proper
scale. What can this land support?
Whom can this land support? In what
form or fashion? With what lifestyle?
“I would be thrilled if someone read
my book and said, ‘I’m going to live
on my little suburban lot and I’m going
to plant fruit trees and put in a little
garden and grow as much food as I
can to eat and share.’ Or if someone
in the city said, ‘I’m not going to move
out. But I am going to take this vacant
lot next door and begin a garden.’ Or,
‘I’m going to grow tomatoes on the
balcony.’ To me, the issue is less about
whether you’re in the country or the
city, but it’s more the relationship you
have with your place—and with the
people in your place.”
Paradise Is Still Ahead
Kyle wants the world to know that he
and his family aren’t living in paradise.
“This is a hard life, and I’ve got
calluses inside and out. But it’s a real
life.”
And real life has its rewards. “What’s
been most satisfying is that, however
imperfectly and falteringly we do it, we
do belong here. We have a place in the
world, and it’s a place made and held
by grace.” +
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