Memorial Observance

Nantucket MA

Comings and goings, arrivals and departures, whether for a short time or a long duration, are a common part of Jesuit life. As an apostolic community, Jesuits are often on the move– taking up new assignments, assisting in ministries that complement their primary work, or traveling for a variety of purposes. A Jesuit friend and I spent the weekend on Nantucket, not only to see this lovely island as summer makes its unofficial arrival in New England, but also to spend some time together before the end of the academic year carries each of us in different directions, both apostolically and geographically. In exploring the island– small beaches, quaint villages, wildlife refuges dwarfing small cottages– along the gently rolling filaments of bike paths and two-lane roads, our conversations touched on the lessons learned in our respective classrooms, our plans and hopes for the coming months, and the various figures in our lives whom we memorialize and honor for their inspiration, influence, and witness as we each strive to live our vocations to the fullest.

Dionis Beach, Nantucket MA

The Jesuit community in which I live is also hosting a few Jesuits making their annual retreat, and the silent presence of these men as they delve into eight days of prayer, recollection, and discernment is a gentle inspiration to my own prayer life as I wrap up the year at Nativity Worcester. I’ll soon make my eight-day retreat, and although I have yet to determine where and when I’ll undertake this yearly exercise, I’m eagerly looking forward to the peace and serenity that it will offer. After another year with as many challenges as rewards, as many tough lessons as joyful accomplishments, I need plenty of time to settle, examine those events and their impact upon me, and dialogue with God about where I’m being called, led, and invited in the months ahead.

Some bagpipes and drums on the ferry!

The band had marched in a parade on Nantucket, and had another on Cape Cod the next day.

Weekend Highs

It's been a busy weekend for me– a celebration for Nativity graduates who are now graduating from high school, the wedding of two Dartmouth classmates, a day trip and hike in northwestern Connecticut with a friend who's also a teacher. And just as the dust settles from all of these festivities and travels, it's time for me to pack my lunch, set aside my sports clothes, and prepare for the start of the final five-day week of the school year. I'll treat the notable graces and blessings of these events in turn.

Imagine that, just before graduating from high school, your middle school invited you and your family to brunch, with a slideshow filled with laughter-inducing images of your younger days, and the gift of a book and a promise of support as you head off to college. For the second year in a row, members of the Nativity community– current and former teachers, administrators, and our alums and their families, gathered to honor and send off another group of young men to college, most of them the first in their families to embark on that journey. Though these students came and went long before I arrived, their presence reminded me of the latent importance of the work I'm doing with the 27 boys whom I formally instruct, and the 29 boys whom I hopefully teach in other ways. At the close of the school year, when the frenzied activity of eagerness for summer vacation can obscure the studies and tasks yet to be completed, signs of the future fruition of my efforts are as welcome and heartening as the spring blossoms I've been encountering over the past few weeks.

Following the event for the Nativity grads, and a quick stop at home to grab a snack and change into a nicer outfit, I drove to northern Massachusetts for my second Dartmouth wedding this academic year. The groom and I were acquainted through many games of cribbage with the chaplain at Aquinas House (the Catholic Student Center at Dartmouth), with whom we both remain good friends; the bride and I both majored in geography and can trace our ongoing friendship back to an early morning breakfast with secretaries, bankers, and fishermen at an iconic waterfront diner in Portland, Maine while taking a break from a fieldwork project during senior year. The wedding, conducted within an Episcopalian liturgy, was replete with the values of faith, commitment, love, and community– expressed in song, word, action, and fellowship. When she walked into the church on her father's arm to the delicately passionate piano and violin of Dvorak's "Songs my Mother Taught Me," I sensed every heart (including my own) suspended in admiration of the beauty we all beheld. When we as a congregation affirmed that we would "do all in our power to uphold these two persons in their marriage," I was reminded of the complimentary bonds of family and friendship that, in supporting and sustaining a marriage, uphold the exclusivity of that bond while also rendering it a gift that is inclusive of those who know and love its constituent persons. The reception– held in the church hall, had the feel of a church social, and everyone pitched in when it came time to clear plates and move tables and chairs for an exuberant hour of contradancing. Being in the fellowship of so many good, faith-filled people, discussing everything from Dartmouth memories to theological musings on the ministries which we study and carry out, was a truly delightful way to honor two wonderful friends who, in spending the rest of their lives together, will no doubt continue to inspire such wonderful gatherings long into the future. Congratulations and blessings to the happy couple!

My quest to reach the six high points in the New England states is now two-thirds complete, as a teacher friend and I meandered up a fogbound dirt road, then navigated some soggy trails and slick rocks en route to the highest point in Connecticut, located humbly on a slope leading from a wooded summit just barely in Massachusetts down to a level expanse of forest that contains a marker for the triple point where New York, Massachusetts, and Connecticut meet. The entirety of our hike was fogbound, creating some ethereal vistas along our journey, made more haunting and powerful by the roar of streams fed by springs and seeping runoff after a week of rain. Pictures and the words of Henry David Thoreau are perhaps the best glimpses into the atmosphere of the day.

The next Toyota Prius ad?

"Other roads do some violence to Nature, and bring the traveler to stare at her, but the river steals into the scenery it traverses without intrusion..."

–Thoreau, A Week

"It is astonishing what a rush & tumult a slight inclination will produce in a swollen brook." –Thoreau, Journal, 12 February 1851

The highest point in Connecticut– south slope of Mt. Frissell

Take care and have a great week, everyone!

Imperfection

I've made my peace with the pattern of damp, rainy, slightly chilly weather that's settled over much of the mid-Atlantic and New England this week. By my recollection, I haven't seen the sun since dusk on Friday evening, and the temperature has remained below 60 degrees in Worcester since Sunday. Yet the scene above, which beckoned from beyond my window as I awoke to the sound of light drizzle and hungry robin chicks– the eggs in the nest in the shrubbery by my other window hatched several days ago– kept returning to me throughout a busy day. Its tranquility, which lingers palpably within my room yet is unseen beyond my window now that night has fallen, is a comforting close to a day that included the following blessings:

• My 8th graders were taking a while to settle down for social studies class today. Amidst the simmering disorder, one of the students raised his hand and asked, "Mr. Ryan, were you a perfect angel in 8th grade? Because lots of these teachers think we should be, and I think they forget that they weren't perfect when they were our age." I responded that I was hardly perfect at that age– and it was at this moment that I suddenly had my students' attention– but that I can tell the difference between the natural restlessness of 8th grade boys who are about three weeks away from graduation, and those who are just looking for a justifying excuse to clown around. After another minute of exhortation to maintain discipline and respect, the same student asked, "Mr. Ryan, can we begin class now?" I happily agreed.
• A student was sent out of class today for a significant disciplinary issue that resulted in summoning one of his parents to school to discuss the matter with the principal. I happened to be passing through the foyer when the young man's mother arrived, and asked her how her day was going. Long before getting to the fact that she was summoned to school as a result of her son's behavior, she said, "Pretty good... I woke up this morning, I'm breathing, I've got a job..."
• One of the topics of discussion at community social this evening was the question of who is in heaven. A number of us were taking this quite seriously, citing all sorts of Church documents, theological writings, philosophical notions, and so on. One of the wiser men finally settled the matter, proclaiming, "Your minds are finite!"– a humorous and humbling reminder that we appreciated.

Oddly enough, moments like these are giving me more happiness than I've found in a while, particularly in my teaching. Even though the end of the year is generally a stressful time at school, I'm finding that it's helping me to be more myself, imperfections and all. The students even seem to be responding to that. With ten instructional days remaining, perhaps this will become a good, if subtle, lesson for us all to share as the year draws to a close.

Daily Reflections

Green Hill Park

Worcester MA

This picture, though taken a few weeks ago, seems to capture the odd confluence of seasonal attributes that's taken hold here in Worcester. Intermittent heavy rains nourishing lush green fields suggest spring, whereas subdued daylight and temperatures in the 40s and low 50s suggest the coming of autumn more than the intensification of spring.

As the school year winds down, and some more free time starts to emerge, I'm trying to renew my devotion to some habits of spiritual discipline and intellectual leisure. Whether meditating upon my day in the pattern of examination developed by St. Ignatius, or reading through a novel, article, or letter, I'm making an effort to spend some quality time each evening in activities that intrigue the mind and stir the soul, and hoping that some themes will emerge to guide me through the remainder of the month.

Given such reflection, here's a scattering of moments from the day:

• My 7th grade religion class was quite creative in brainstorming various scenarios for the end of the world as we began our final unit for the year: the apocalypse. Many seem to think that a combination of natural disasters will do us in. But several also wondered if we'd have a chance to escape Earth and start over again on another planet.
• I'm covering the final section of a chapter on 19th century westward migration and settlement with my 8th grade social studies class; today I had them work in pairs to compose dialogues about staking a claim in the Oklahoma land rush and farming on the Great Plains. One group went above and beyond: an Asian student and a Hispanic student took the respective parts of a railroad laborer and a cowboy who each left their previous jobs, met in a train station, and decided to share a plot of farmland, overcoming a language barrier in the process– their dialogue started in Vietnamese and Spanish, then transitioned to English.
• There was a vigorous debate at my dinner table tonight about whether or not books will become obsolete as various aspects of the digital age become more entrenched. A former missionary, a philosopher, a retired English professor, and I debated everything from the semantics and concept of the word "book" to the ongoing history of the composition and transmission of the written word.

Not bad for a "standard" Monday at work and at home. I hope to have some more stories, thoughts, or ideas to share in the coming days.

Weekend Thoughts

I made a quick trip home to Philadelphia this weekend to visit my parents and attend a friend's graduation. While at the graduation ceremonies, I happened to encounter a high school classmate; we recognized each other immediately and caught up on what we've been up to since the last time we randomly met, at a social justice convention in fall of 2008. I also shared a morning run with my dad, a shopping trip with my mom, and a visit to my sister's new place. The weather was cool and rainy, but time and conversation shared with family and friends far outshone the mild gloom of a stretch of May showers.

During the rainy drive back to Worcester this afternoon, I found myself not only grateful for the time at home, but also glad to be returning home to my Jesuit community (as usual) and my work at Nativity (a pleasant change). Somehow my involvement in both the exceptional– a graduate school commencement, a large baccalaureate Mass in a basketball arena, and dinner in a newly vibrant Philadelphia neighborhood– as well as the ordinary– a six-mile circuit around my neighborhood, the purchase of a few clothing items, a tour of my sister's townhouse– reminded me of the joys, connections, and inspirations to be found in the marvelous and the mundane here in central Massachusetts.

Though the school year is winding down, I think that some new and vital graces– hinted at in the events of this weekend– might finally be taking root and gaining some traction in the often-busy landscape of my life. I certainly hope so. At the very least, I have some new reminders, thanks to some leftovers from my mom's gardening, and the now-retired shoes that carried me through the 2010 Boston Marathon. It's supposed to be a cool and rainy week here in Worcester, so until better conditions for outdoor photography return, an indoor sign of spring will have to suffice.

New Life

With wonder and amazement, I've been keeping an eye on the robins nesting in the shrubs just outside one of my windows. About two weeks ago, I first noticed three blue eggs nestled in their twiggy cradle. This afternoon, my arrival home from school coincided with the robin's return home from foraging, and as I silently watched, two of the chicks feebly raised their weak necks, squinting with delicate eyes, toward a lightly chewed worm dangled towards their well-defined beaks. As they haphazardly gulped their snack, I was struck by the fragile loveliness of this hidden spectacle. Signs such as these from the realms of flora and fauna have always fascinated and humbled me during spring, and this year is no different, again urging me to do my part to welcome and support refreshment and renewal in body, mind, and soul.

Intentional Wandering

Clark Art Institute grounds

Williamstown MA

Today a Jesuit friend and I took a day trip to the Berkshires. It was his first excursion to the area; I hadn't visited in quite some time. The weather turned out better than we had expected; instead of clouds and showers, we were blessed with clouds and sun. Our journey included brief stops at Tanglewood, the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and also Kripalu, a yoga center housed in a former Jesuit novitiate. We enjoyed a longer stay in Williamstown, where we visited the Clark Art Institute, a remarkable institution which includes a room full of Renoirs, and sprawling grounds traversed by wooded trails. We encountered natural splendor in a state park established at an abandoned quarry, and also in the views from the famous hairpin turn on Route 2, both in North Adams. In the sunset hour, a gentle descent from the main road brought us to Shelburne Falls, home of a famous bridge of flowers: an abandoned trolley trestle that was reclaimed as a garden by local residents nearly 85 years ago.

Natural Bridge State Park, North Adams MA

I'd heard of each of these landmarks before, yet would not have visited them if my friend and brother hadn't raised the idea. He would not have seen them if it weren't for my familiarity with the Berkshires, gleaned from some earlier wanderings, whether accompanied or alone, in the northwestern corner of Massachusetts. Even our itinerary that day was somewhat haphazard: choosing activities in a given town based on not only what was there but also on the weather and our mood at the time. As much as I may strive to follow routines and strict plans in the course of my work– an approach to middle school teaching that it has its advantages and its drawbacks– it was a refreshing change to set out on the road with little more than a good companion, a sense of direction, and a notion of the hidden treasures to be sought once more, or discovered anew.

Bridge of Flowers

Shelburne Falls MA

Staying on Target

At the urging of a friend, and with a reflection to offer 56 middle school boys and a dozen young teachers at morning assembly tomorrow, my thoughts on a recent piece of news. As a reminder, these thoughts are entirely my own, and should not be taken to reflect the broader views of any constituency to which I belong.

As a sophomore at Dartmouth, I was in Hanover, New Hampshire on September 11, 2011; I had just begun my orientation for my duties as an undergraduate advisor for a floor of first-year students. Some of my residents were late arriving because of the disruption to air travel caused by the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, and I later learned that one of my friends was flying at the time; her plane was grounded for days before she could complete her journey to New Hampshire. I distinctly recall the palpable shift in the mood on campus, not only as the Dartmouth community came together to begin that fall term in a way no one could have imagined, but also as we considered what the legacy of the terrorist attacks would mean for our country and our future role in it. In the following weeks and months, targets emerged: specific countries, groups, and individuals with ties, whether factually claimed or persuasively purported, to the unprecedented attacks of that terrible day. It seemed straightforward: target those who targeted us. Bring to justice those who caused such unjust violence and suffering.

Now, nearly ten years later, Osama bin Laden is dead. An initial, identifiable, and enduring target of the war on terror is checked off. But what noble aims have we missed in the past decade? Our country has seen two rather different presidential administrations and several election cycles marked by both inspiring rhetoric and frightfully venomous verbal sparring. Particularly in the South, citizens of our country have suffered natural and unnatural disasters that have highlighted troubling socioeconomic and racial divisions, as well as an indomitable sense of perseverance and solidarity that spans those chasms. Greed and fear compete with generosity and hope in our attitudes towards business, community, our neighbors, and those who wish to be our neighbors.

Our soldiers continue to generously offer staggering, sacrificial service to us and our country, whatever each of us may think about the wars and campaigns in which we're involved abroad. Good people continue to labor in schools, hospitals, fire stations, and churches to educate our young, tend to our sick, protect our lives and property, and nourish our souls. Yet so much work remains to be done. Vanquishing threats of terror from abroad ought to be matched by resisting and reducing violence in our cities. Investing in the defense of our nation should be mirrored by investing in the health and future prospects of all its people. We must not limit ourselves to finding and eliminating targets that threaten us; we must earnestly seek and accomplish goals that will enliven us. Then we can truly celebrate the accomplishment of some very worthy missions, undertaken by special forces within our communities, our homes, and our hearts.

Frost and Trees

Hart Lawn

College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

One of my favorite Robert Frost poems seems especially appropriate, given the long-awaited, exuberant display of spring blooms on campus.

"Tree at My Window"

Tree at my window, window tree,

My sash is lowered when night comes on;

But let there never be curtain drawn

Between you and me.

Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,

And thing next most diffuse to cloud,

Not all your light tongues talking aloud

Could be profound.

But, tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,

And if you have seen me when I slept,

You have seen me when I was taken and swept

And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,

Fate had her imagination about her,

Your head so much concerned with outer,

Mine with inner, weather.

–Robert Frost

Along Linden Lane

College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

Smith Hall

College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA