Building a New World in the Shell of the Old

Hope and horror holding hands

I spend a lot of time thinking about Peter Maurin, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement. More specifically, you can generally find me meandering around Seattle pondering his insistence that we must build a new world in the shell of the old. How do we do that, I ask myself, as I drive past unhoused neighbors. How do we do that, I ask myself, when our state legislature has neglected public education so egregiously that schools will be closed, and, of course, it’s the most marginalized who will be most negatively impacted.

Peter Maurin looked out into the destitution and desperation of New York City during the depression and said, “We must build a society in which it is easier for people to be good.” I don’t know about you, but I would love to be better. I would love to peel back the desiccated fragments of this old world and find a warm, thriving, new one inside. How do we do that? How indeed.

I may bite off all my fingernails before November 5th (and…there’s no guarantee of a peaceful transfer of power even after that, given our horrifying new historical precedent). Maybe you, too, are watching the unfolding of terrifying rhetoric and campaign promises in real time. Peter Maurin, can you give us directions to that new world?

I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly how to get there, where to show up with my wooden planks and hammer. But I am pretty sure of the direction we shouldn’t take. It’s dehumanization.

I heard that “joke.” And then I saw the same hateful rhetoric deployed by just about every other person who took the stage at that rally. This is the thought that burned in my brain: when one of us is dehumanized, we are all dehumanized. I saw some interviews with people from the country that was denigrated. One of them expressed his dismay and then said, “We are all brothers.” What an incredible statement by someone whose dignity had just been maliciously attacked.

And it’s true, a foundational belief woven into our story from the beginning. We are our brother’s (and sister’s) keeper. That Samaritan lying in the road is our neighbor. The one we are called to love as ourselves.

I’ve been reading a lot of twentieth-century mystics for my book, and one thread that runs through their writing is a belief that the horrors committed by humans do not cancel out the hope of our potential goodness. Looking out at this terrifying election, thinking of the hundreds of millions of people who inhabit this country, that’s where I find myself too.

Here’s a prayer I wrote for us (for this podcast, which is a breath of fresh air if ever there was one—my episode will be out later this week!):

I’m allowing the hope and the horror within me to co-exist. Allowing them to hold hands. Refusing to dehumanize others. Wandering with my drywall and screws. Looking for the new world I’ll never stop believing we can choose to birth into existence.

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A Few Hopeful Things (Or Maybe a Lot of Them, Since It’s Been a While Since My Last Missive):

—I took a quick trip to Portland in September (with bonus guest: my mom!) to visit Simone Weil House, a Catholic Worker community. We feasted, we laughed, we sang and prayed compline, and I only took two pictures, but one of them was of this mighty tome that I have a copy of in my dining room/office.

—I wrote a piece on the spiritual value of friendship (and fleas!) for the Jesuit Conference, and it was a joy. I’m so grateful for the people in my life who are on the receiving end of texts about the dinner I burned or the funny thing my son said at dinner. Love y’all. (PS: not literal fleas. Those are…not great!)

—One of my flea friends is Ryan Carroll, who wrote this incredible piece on writing, spirituality, and uncertainty. Highly recommend!

—Advent is upon us! My son has already made a bunch of Christmas decorations, and I am here for it. Let’s drink down all the joy of the season, for as long as possible. (See above: we need it.) I always try to provide a free offering for you, and this year I think it will be…Advent with Rilke?! Who wants to spend four weeks pondering mystery with the inimitable and spiritually nourishing German poet? Nothing to buy or download—I’ll just send out four posts for the four weeks of Advent as we go. If you’re subscribed, you’re good to go! (I’ll also be back with my annual roundup of Advent resources—lots of good stuff in the pipeline!)

Until then, showing up for construction with you,
Cameron