Sr. Quincy Howard takes part in a rally for an accurate Census count outside the Supreme Court April 23, 2019, in Washington. (Courtesy of Network)
by Quincy Howard
Contributor
After nearly five years, my ministry in federal advocacy is going in a new direction. Since taking my first vows in 2017 I've been engaged in the fast-paced, high stakes, emotionally charged and relentless occupation of pushing Congress to protect our fragile democracy. Particularly with COVID-19, the 2020 election and then the Jan. 6 insurrection the ministry took on an existential import and weighed even heavier on my spirit.
With the onset of the pandemic, I spent hour upon hour, day after day in back-to-back meetings and lobby calls from my bedroom. A friend once described the workday as "future dystopian robot world," which struck a chord. My goal each day was to step away from my computer to go on a walk or take a lunch break, but the truth is that some days I failed to even brush my teeth until 4 p.m.
By early 2021 I was painfully aware that the stress of the ministry and the neglect it meant for my spiritual well-being was not sustainable. Sooner rather than later I would need to create an off-ramp for self-preservation. But crafting an intentional exit plan and exploring different ministry options seemed like an impossible luxury given the relentless pace.
Then a colleague suggested the 30-day Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, describing it as a transformational discernment process. It sounded like exactly what I was looking for. Based on prior spiritual direction with a Jesuit priest, I sensed a resonance with their spirituality so I decided to pursue the idea. By end of year 2021, I figured, the legislative process for our capstone bills would have run its course, so I would time my retreat accordingly. While the legislative timeline was wrong, scheduling the retreat in November was spot-on.
Then, in September — with everything already locked-in at a center in Colorado — it became clear to me that the exercises, the discernment, the entire retreat would revolve around the life of Jesus Christ. In retrospect this should have been a no-brainer (Society of Jesus, ahem!), but when it first dawned on me it was an uneasy realization. You see, my Trinitarian image of God had always been a bit lopsided: God and the Holy Spirit were intimately familiar in my prayer life and in my spirituality. Jesus, on the other hand, remained at the friendly distance of a dear acquaintance. The idea of spending a month with him in such an intimate and vulnerable setting was outside of my comfort zone but there was no turning back.
The first challenge would be disengaging — unplugging from the frenetic, dysfunctional hamster wheel of following and responding to Congress. I decided to drive to Colorado, framing the three-day road trip as a "soft launch." It was perfect: The miles on my odometer were a metaphor for leaving that world behind and approaching the space I wanted to inhabit at the center. By the time I arrived it was surprisingly easy to turn off my iPhone, let go of those concerns, and pivot to the interior.
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I can never fully articulate the impact of that time on my soul — and it continues unfolding within me — but I can say it was exactly what I needed. My spiritual director, a Cabrini sister, masterfully adapted the process to meet me where I was so that my reflections and discernment deepened quickly. The hermitage was my own personal cocoon with a cozy fireplace and a distant train whistle to keep me company. My days quickly became a blur of praying, running, taking contemplative walks, reading Scripture, journaling, and practicing unfamiliar reflective exercises like the colloquy.
Moving through those 30 days did not feel like the earth-shattering transformative experience I fantasized about, but it was deeply enjoyable, peaceful and spacious. Neither did the discernment process result in any revelations about what I'm called to do in my next ministry. I finished the retreat much as I had begun: with no idea where my journey would take me next, but with a sense of what my next steps needed to be. The few "concrete" decisions were largely affirmations of what my gut was already telling me. I needed to leave my current ministry for self-preservation, and I could not responsibly make final vows without moving closer to and re-engaging with my congregation in Wisconsin.
The unexpected fruits of that space — the "graces" I received — are still emerging, but I'm able to articulate a couple. First, there's been a shift in how I'm engaging with the uncertain, rapidly changing, daunting terrain that is "the road ahead." Come what may (and there will be a lot to come in the next months!) I have a sense of freedom, calm and solid grounding that makes me confident I can navigate it with integrity. I'm settled into the unknown and embracing the journey of call-and-response differently: confident there is a call and more attuned to listen for it. That call remains a mystery, but now I have an awareness and appreciation for the gifts that I will bring to bear in responding.
(Unsplash/Alessandro Bellone)
Second, I have a budding and passionate relationship with Jesus Christ! We have reached a level of intimacy that enriches my prayer life, my spirituality, and my approach to navigating this crazy world. What would Jesus do? used to be a flippant jingle to me, now it's a sounding board. My Trinitarian triangle is finally balanced, with each "person" bringing a unique and supportive presence to my spirit. I call on them in different ways and they all respond in turn.
I write this as I am taking intentional steps to transform my ministry. Miraculously, I am still hopeful that our democracy protection and voting rights bills may pass. In recent days, I have been transitioning my day-to-day advocacy and organizing to United Methodist Minister Christian Watkins, who recently joined Network's staff. Now, I am giving up this burden to the Divine Advocate. It is no longer my charge to make it happen but I will rejoice when it does.
I have no idea what my next ministry will be, but my spirit is excited and ready for it to take shape in Wisconsin. I am re-engaging with my congregation with a heightened appreciation for their welcome, support and openness to let come what may in this murky process of discerning my call.
I will always think of that sacred time with profound gratitude, knowing that what I received will always remain with me. The truth is that having the liberty of taking that space should not be a secret privilege of the sisterhood. In these noisy and hyper-demanding times, finding and creating openings like these meet a basic need for being human. How might you make it happen?
