Living as a Paradox

Didn't take a picture of the house.
Even I know that's creepy!

There's a house in our neighborhood that always makes Chris and I laugh. It's a very cute house with a white picket fence around a backyard filled with children's toys and a big porch across the front. In the windows are drawings of hearts and flowers and rainbows. Posted about every six feet around the entire house are signs that either say "No Trespassing" or "Beware of Dog." (Note-I have never seen a dog...just sayin')

I call it "The Paradox House" and usually with a superior, judgemental tone. Today as I ran by it I thought about it a little bit differently...

Last week I posted on Facebook, "I want to say it's been a really shitty day." One person commented, "I can't believe that an ordained priest would use shitty in a post. Poor form Katherine. Hopefully the Bishop can give you guidance." At first, I was amused, then I got annoyed, and then I got downright indignant. I texted and called people who would join me in my outrage, and I refused to take it down. After I calmed down I posted this reply, "I appreciate your feedback and I apologize if I offended you. I am always aware when I speak on social media I bring my whole self--wife, mother, daughter, sister, cousin, friend and yes priest. Yesterday several of those roles collided in a difficult way. I understand if you would like to block or unfriend me. I cannot speak for Bishop Terry White and what he may or may not think about my choice of words. He does, however, know what a difficult day I had and was very supportive as he always is."

Okay--just going to say it. On the one hand, I did want to respond in a calm way, but I was also acting out of self-righteousness, and I also am a teensy tinsy bit embarrassed and ashamed for being publicly called out.

Today when I ran past the house I thought about the Facebook exchange which obviously has bothered me more than I let on as that was six days ago and I'm still thinking about it. Aren't we all a little bit (or more likely a lot of bits) a paradox? It's not so easy to see when we are playing our roles in their proper places--home, work etc, but when the roles collide it definitely becomes a little more apparent.

One of my favorite Dr. Seuss quotes is, "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." I'm not ready to throw the quote out, but I do wonder. Maybe those who mind do matter. Maybe we grow as people and as people growing into the image of God more when we hear from those who do mind. Maybe hearing why it matters to some people gives us an opportunity to expand and stretch and define. Maybe it brings about change in us or maybe it solidifies who we are.

It's worth thinking about....

I had a colleague with whom I disagreed on what seemed like almost everything. We are both priests, and we both take our calling very seriously. I can honestly say that is true for both of us. The years we worked together were stressful and painful and eventually, we had to part ways. But during those years and in all the years since, I have had to really think about what I believe, how I see myself as a person and a priest, and what my die on the hills are. Despite how hard it was, I can now look back and give thanks to God for that time of growth.

I guess what I realized today is we're all living paradoxes. I also believe we're all (mostly) doing the best we can.

Oh, and I'm still not taking the post down, and I still stand by I had a shitty day. I love Jesus, I love being a priest, and I cuss a little!

I Was/Am Self-Promoting

I suppose I'm always a bit self-promoting, but a recent post had a purpose...

Here's a well-kept secret that was never meant to be a secret--I am the reason we live in Louisville, KY. It was 2008 and we had already moved 5 times. Sarah Katherine was in middle school, and we decided it was time to find a place and settle.

Growing up I had moved multiple times--the final time in high school. We never lived near extended family, and I had a very romanticized view of what it would be like for our children to live in one place for the majority of their childhoods surrounded by extended family. Chris lived in Louisville for the majority of his life and his parents and both brothers live in Louisville. So I went to work convincing him this would be perfect.

Well, it hasn't been perfect--good yes? Sometimes even great.

But, what I wasn't prepared for was feeling like I am always the outsider. Always.

Let me explain.

One of Chris's brothers is married to a native Louisvillian and the other is married to a woman who graduated from  Centre College here in Kentucky, so she too has tons of long time friends here. Very quickly our children began identifying as being "from Louisville." I was 40 when I moved here--I would never be from here. That was very clear. Our family loves and accepts me; I have never doubted that. My sisters-in-law are not only in-laws, but they also are my friends, and yet there are still times when we are all together I feel it--I am the outsider. I am not from here.

Three of our four children went to the same school Chris did. I loved it AND it was a constant reminder. It is a wonderful school full of tradition. Traditions they all share. They even had some of the same teachers Chris did!!! I've got to tell you for many reasons I was so happy Sarah Katherine went to UVA but one is a bit selfish--I wanted to have that commonality with at least one of my children.

There is one (or only one I'm going to tell) painful story. I received a gift from someone who as I opened it said, "I was going to give you fleur de lis earrings, but you're not really from here." We had lived here for 6 years. (I told my dear friend Hope this and she promptly gave me a fleur de lis belt! I love you Hopie!!!)

Anyway, you get the point. Y'all, I also want to say, no one should feel sorry for me. We've had a mostly great life here in Louisville. I have a vocation and friends I love. But I can't lie and say there weren't times, are times, I am well aware I am the only Doyle not "from here."

Fast forward.

Earlier this week I was commissioned a Kentucky Colonel. I opened the envelope and sobbed in my office. It's not that I think I deserve it, or that I worked for it. But seeing Honorable Katherine Kanto Doyle commissioned a Kentucky Colonel, said to me that while I'm not from here, I belong.


*I will still ALWAYS cheer for UVA over Louisville....

The Kingdom of God is the Silver Lining

Most every morning I spend a few minutes looking at my Facebook

memories. I love looking at the pictures and reading the stories. Some mornings it brings me great joy; some mornings it breaks my heart with triggered memories; today it did both.

One year ago today I processed down the aisle of Washington National Cathedral. My dear friend Jenifer Gamber was ordained that day to the sacred order of the priesthood. It was a great day for the Church. Right before I left Jenifer blessed me--little did I know how much I was about to need that blessing.

My friend who's family, Pattie, drove me to the airport. I was full of joy and eager to get home as summer camp was starting the next day. I was looking forward to a relaxing, uplifting summer. Instead, I walked into our home and into what I can only describe as the beginning of a descent into hell, a journey that would last for months.

Over the next 5 weeks, 3 young adults would end their own lives. Two more followed in August. Our family plunged into the dark world of drugs. I buried my cousin; he was younger than me. What felt like rapid succession brought the deaths of some of the most important people in my formation as a person and as a priest. I had a cancer scare. I couldn't wait for 2019 to be over. Over and over I said, 2020 has to be better. Is it?

Before I left for my run this morning I scrolled through Facebook and Instagram. As I began to run I realized three things at almost the exact same time. I thought about the Instagram post my niece had posted, "Ask us about silver linings"; I realized I have not processed my grief from 2019 much less 2020; I am sick of hearing people explain what God is trying to teach us or saying, "God has a reason for this."

God does not have a reason for this if by that you mean God makes things happen or even use the word "allows" things to happen to teach us a lesson.

I can promise you this...

God did not allow me to lie in bed night after night wondering if my son would die that night either because of an overdose or in a drug deal gone wrong to teach me a lesson.

God did not allow Maddie to die so I could watch Maddie's family and the youth of All Saints I love dearly struggle with understanding and through that, I would learn something.

God was not trying to teach me something as I purchased book after book about grief to send to mothers who buried their children.

God was not trying to teach me something as I watched my aunt and uncle say goodbye to their son, or as I stood and watched my husband and my sons carry their cousin to his grave silently giving thanks it wasn't one of them.

God was not trying to teach me something as I struggled to find the words to describe a woman who was the mother I needed and loved deeply. I miss her every day.

God was not trying to teach me something as I waited for test results, and my results weren't negative because I prayed harder than others or because I'm such a good Christian. God doesn't use cancer to teach people lessons.

And God is not using Covid-19 or systemic racism to teach us, please for the love of God stop saying that.

So what about that silver lining? I believe that the silver lining is the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom of God was evident the first day I met Lisa and she said, "I've got your boy. He's a good one." The Kingdom of God was evident with every text, card, and call I have received over the months as people reached out and prayed for me. The Kingdom of God was evident when friends loved our family through the days of waiting. The Kingdom of God was evident last night when I gathered with high school classmates to talk about systemic racism and what we needed to learn and what we could do. The Kingdom of God indeed has come near and will continue to come near. That silver lining--it's a thin thread right now and God is calling us into creative participation as we seek to thicken the lining. God is calling us to live lives of compassion, to live lives seeking justice, to live lives standing with the marginalized and oppressed, and to live lives of love and mercy and forgiveness.

God does not break our hearts to teach us or punish us, but our broken hearts can and do release the power of love into this broken world. And that's the silver lining.

But First I Will Listen

After not sleeping much Saturday night, I got out of bed early

Sunday morning to again rewrite my sermon and to message my friend David Snardon.

David and I have been friends for over a decade. We met in seminary and bonded over our love/hate relationship with football. We both love it, and we were both secretly glad our sons chose other sports. (Okay and to be totally honest, I also had a little hero worship or some other words because David was a former college football player, and even though it was for UK, I was impressed.) David liked to talk about my two favorite topics—sports and theology, so he quickly became one of my favorite people.

In Our Younger Days

Our paths crossed again when our sons played lacrosse together at Collegiate. We would sit in the bleachers and talk about what we were preaching on that week. We talked about current events, the Gospel, and the Kingdom of God. Obviously, EVERYONE wanted to sit right next to us!

Friday and Saturday night as I sat at home worrying about my children who were down at the protest, I thought about David and his beautiful wife Alicia. I thought about how the fear I was feeling was a fear they probably felt every day when their son left the house. I realized we have talked about so many things over the years, but I could not remember a single conversation about race. And I was ashamed.

So I reached out to David early Sunday morning and he responded. We didn’t have a lot of time as we were both getting ready for worship, but he let me know about a protest that was going to happen that day and there were going to be clergy gathering in prayer and support. We agreed to meet that evening.

My plan was to stand with my brothers and sisters of color and to listen. I mostly did. Alicia and I stood talking. I could hear the deep anger and pain in her voice as she described what it was like for her when their son left the house. She described what it was like to walk around the mall. She described her son to another woman standing with us. “He’s a good boy,” she said, “Smart, kind, athletic” and here’s where I didn’t listen. I interrupted and said, “He is a great kid, but even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t deserve to be targeted.” I meant what I said. I still mean it, but I interrupted HER story. I inserted myself into her narrative without being asked. And I am sorry.

I am going to continue to reach out to and work with David. I want to be part of a new narrative. Not a narrative to erase the past and ignore the narrative of people of color, but a new narrative that is written together. A narrative that seeks justice, and loves kindness, and walks humbly. I will continue to show up, to speak out, and to stand in solidarity.

But first I will listen.