Rhode Island Weekend

Cliff Walk, Newport RI

I spent much of this weekend in Rhode Island for an extended Dartmouth reunion of sorts– my classmate Monica is in a doctoral program in art history at Brown, and our friend Anna Mae (a longtime chaplain at the Dartmouth's Catholic Student Center) is director of campus ministry at Salve Regina University. Amid the first genuinely springlike Saturday and Sunday of the season, Monica, Anna Mae, and I attended Mass, enjoyed swapping years of stories (it's been seven years since we all gathered in the same place), and strolled Newport's famous Cliff Walk past impressive mansions, a few of which are on Salve's campus.

This post is also an opportunity to introduce a traveling companion of mine– a gargoyle whom I've named Claude (pronounced, of course, "Clawed"). During my years as a scholastic at Saint Louis University, a number of students and I frequented a particular spot on campus, and were likened to gargoyles by one of the campus ministers. Upon graduation in May 2009, members of our informal Gargoyle Club not only bestowed on me the honor of "superior gargoyle emeritus," but also gifted me with a gargoyle figurine. That summer, Claude accompanied me to San Francisco and back, and more recently, has come along for various expeditions around New England. Claude had a great time visiting Newport's Cliff Walk today.

Claude visits The Breakers, Newport RI

Claude on the Cliff Walk, Newport RI

The homily at Mass this morning– on Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead in Chapter 11 of John's Gospel– was striking to me in an unexpected way. It didn't specifically address some of the major themes in this powerful story– the fact that Lazarus dies while Jesus waits two days before going to visit him and his sisters; the contrast between the faith of Martha and Mary, and the confusion of the disciples; the growing tension between Jesus and the Pharisees that heightens in the aftermath of this event. Instead, the celebrant chose to preach on Jesus' internal reactions to the situation developing around him– the emotions of Lazarus' sisters, the reaction of the crowd, the nearness of death– in a way that led me to reflect on my own responses to challenging and difficult situations that appear on the horizon. As I've written earlier this Lent, my efforts to diminish my tendency to self-criticism have been hard-fought yet inconsistent, and every looming setback fills me more with foreboding than with boldness. Yet in following an praying with Jesus over the last three Sundays of Lent– meeting the woman at the well (John 4:5-42), healing the man born blind (John 9:1-41), and now raising Lazarus (John 11:1-45)– has urged me to recognize my own need for honesty with myself and with others (and rebuilding the relationships of trust and mutual acceptance that enable that honesty to develop), to see myself more authentically (and also through the eyes of those who know me well), and to recognize that Jesus is present not only in my progress and accomplishments, but also in times when I'm dismayed, for he too felt this on that fateful day in Bethany.

All things considered, it was a pretty fabulous weekend– great weather, some refreshing solitary rambling, the delight of sharing hours of warm company and rich conversation, the insights of quiet prayer, and the growing mildness that heralds, at last, the arrival of spring here in New England.

Daffodils, Providence RI