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Our second and third work day were much the same as the first. The group divided into two groups with one group staying at the mission and the other group going back to the trailer deep in the reservation at St. Mary’s Church, to make trips to the new house loaded with Kathy’s belongings. It became increasingly clear that Kathy would be taking every last item from the trailer whether it was worth saving or not. As we packed things up we learned more and more about the tragedies that had plagued her as well as the role that the Church had played in giving her purpose and love. Our sweet, gentle Kathy became fierce as we tried to help her part with empty shampoo bottles and water soaked stuffed animals. We began to understand that these items represented her profound loss.

Box after box filled the storage shed at her new tiny house on the plateau, and as we ran out of space we delivered the bigger pieces to her current trailer at the mission. It was only then, at the end of our time with Kathy, that we saw the true circumstances of her living situation. The trailer was piled high with boxes, magazines, kitty litter and what can only be described as junk.  Kathy allowed us to witness first hand the degree to which she was holding on to everything. It was heart wrenching. Here was the wife of the first Diné Bishop, an ordained priest herself, living in uninhabitable conditions from our perspective. The kids were humble and helpful. They asked about her cats and helped her get things where she wanted them. They all hugged her goodbye and thanked her for her time and knowledge. But we were very quiet as we drove the short distance back to our group. 

Intimacy is a funny thing, a double edged sword. We were grateful for the lens Kathy and Walter offered us; it gave us deep insight into their childhood, their family life, their own journeys to and with the Church. They brought us in. When you go deep that quickly, under those circumstances, with the Spirit at work in all of us, it is inevitable that a kind of love is born. The kids truly saw Kathy, and mourned with and for her. This is a reality that cannot be taught in the classroom or inherently understood from scripture that asks us to see the Samaritan or Canaanite women. Jesus teaches in parables to challenge us to come to these conclusions, but I would argue that it is in the experience that most of us really learn. Even as I write these words my throat tightens thinking of Kathy. I say a silent prayer and know that God is with her. My guess is each one of the kids feels the same ache. But as I remember Kathy’s pain, I also remember her faith, and what an offering that was to me and to the kids in the face of such lament. In God, and in the Church, she finds rest.