Saturday Vows, Round Three

No pictures of my own this time... I left that to the professionals in order to be more focused on the company of my fellow Jesuits and the friends and family of three men who pronounced first vows last Saturday. [A brief article, with an image and a short video, may be found here.]

I'd been looking forward to this event for many weeks, anticipating a celebration that would mark an important step in the formation of these three men, bring together Jesuits from throughout New England and the Mid-Atlantic, and be a clear transition from the departing summer season to the arriving academic year. As vows are celebrated in Syracuse, where novices from these regions are based for two years of prayer, instruction, and service that introduce them to Jesuit life and provide a rich context for further discernment of their vocations, my attendance for each of the past seven years (including my own vows in August 2006) is an annual homecoming of sorts, returning to the place where my journey in the Society of Jesus formally began. I experienced many moving moments during the course of the weekend, of which I wish to highlight three in particular.

• The homily offered by at the Vow Mass by a Jesuit whose wisdom, experience, and sense of humor I have come to deeply appreciate over the past eight years. His eloquent articulation of the concept of a promise– understood in terms from the simplest to the most solemn– invited me to a stronger identification with, and acceptance of, the divine love that calls me to this particular path in life, and animates my desire and effort to respond faithfully to my vocation. What I promised at my first vows six years ago ought to remain as true and powerful today as it felt to me then, and ought not to be diminished or forgotten amidst the vicissitudes of more mundane daily affairs.
• A pair of visits to families from the local parish where I worshipped during my two years in Syracuse. The parish continues to be a welcoming community that strives to practice the Gospel faithfully, though perhaps rather radically from some viewpoints. Over the years since I moved on from the novitiate, I've managed to maintain contact with two particular families who were very supportive of me and my community during my time in Syracuse. Although I now only see them during my annual visit for vows, I always find an open door at their homes, and encounter a delight in sharing conversations that renew our acquaintance. Having known them for eight years, I have seen their children grow, their relationships deepen, and their family lives mature without losing vitality. I feel quite humbled and awed by the welcome that they continue to extend to me, whether or not I've arranged the visit ahead of time.
• Jesuit friendships. Simply put, I shared some wonderful, memorable, nourishing conversations with some fine men (young and older alike) whom I increasingly consider to be more than just brothers in the religious community which we've all chosen to join. In seeking their advice on some matters, or offering the same, I perceived a subtly palpable bond of friendship that I hadn't really noticed (or acknowledged) as readily in the past. It's a clear growth edge for me as I consider and discern what I desire to pursue this year in my ongoing formation as a Jesuit, as well as a gift that I've already received yet am appreciating in a striking and delightful new way.

The last Saturday in August will bring the Class of 2016 and their parents to Holy Cross for the annual ritual of moving in and saying farewell. I've been looking forward to this for a few weeks as well, and tomorrow morning will find me joining students and residence life personnel at 7:30am in front of one of the first-year residence halls, enthusiastic welcomes at the ready. I promised I'd be there, and in doing so, I'll be reminded of the most important promises that I've made and kept, the families to whom I belong and with whom I've become associated, and the friendships that support me in ways that I can't live without.

Saturday Vows, Round Two

Continuing my series of vow celebrations on successive Saturdays, I attended the wedding of a cousin five days ago. If memory serves, this was the first wedding that I've attended on this side of the family since my mom's youngest brother was married more than twenty years ago, and the first time in many years that I can recall assembling with all of my mom's extended family (sometimes a cousin or two would be absent at Thanksgiving or Christmas).

My newly married cousin, flanked by her husband
and surrounded by our relatives.

During the ceremony, as well as at the reception, I found myself reflecting on the theme of family. The Christian minister who officiated at the wedding described the graced manner in which a strong marriage not only unites husband and wife, but also draws together two families as a new family comes into being. Siblings of the groom and the bride each used their toasts at the reception to tell a brief story about their newly wedded brother and sister, respectively, not only to highlight an idiosyncratic trait or famous episode cementing their place in family lore, but also to welcome the other family into these ongoing narratives.

While entering the Society of Jesus eight years ago did not entail severing all ties with my parents, younger sister, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, it did bring about a decided shift in my relationships with them as I began integrating myself into my new religious family, a brotherhood living in community. It's something more than simply moving away to work in another city, even though my patterns of visitation to home and relatives in South Jersey (lately, for Thanksgiving, Christmas, perhaps Easter, and a week in the summer) are little different than several cousins of mine who do not live in that charming corner of the world. It's a situation in which I see my primary "family narrative" being written through my experiences with my brother Jesuits, while my relationships with my blood relatives take on the role of a supportive sub-plot. Conversely, while my place in the ever-expanding family narrative that continues in South Jersey and elsewhere is hardly limited to my identity as a Jesuit, the qualities associated with their perceptions of my religious life do significantly shape our conversations when I'm home, and perhaps their words about me when I'm away.

My sister and parents

So when my cousin and her sister speak of welcoming a new family into ours, and when her husband and his brother invite my family into theirs, I find myself not only drawn into that expansion of relation, but also firmly rooted in the religious family to which I've given myself– not always as perfectly or generously as I could, mind you– over the past eight years. I've often heard superiors of religious communities– especially novitiates, where the first stage of formation takes place, and the most pronounced signs of "entrance" occur– offer comfort and encouragement to parents with variations on this theme: "You're not losing a child, you're gaining a family." It seems that I've been living, and increasingly recognizing, a corollary that applies to those in religious life: "You're not losing your family, you're identifying more closely with a new one." In any event, family is important to me, and whenever I'm back home in South Jersey, I'm renewed in my awareness of, and gratitude for, the crucial and invaluable love and support that they offer to me. In turn, I'm reminded to pay attention to my bonds with them, while remaining steadfast in the spirit of my vows that commit me, through community life in the Society of Jesus, to the brothers with whom God calls me to work and live.

Saturday Vows, Round One

Yesterday I attended a Mass of First Vows and Renewal of Profession at the mother house of the Apostles of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. During my years of philosophy and theology studies in St. Louis, I took classes with several women from this religious community, and another friend from those years joined the Apostles after we both completed our respective degree programs in spring 2009. Attending this celebration had the feeling of a family reunion; I went primarily to support my friend Katie and her two sisters as they professed vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience for the first time.  Yet I also appreciated the opportunity to reconnect with the sisters whom I met in St. Louis, and to meet additional members of this wonderful religious family whose joy and happiness is infectious, and whose devotion to the Church and the people of God is carried out with contagious delight.

A particularly creative friend of the Apostles made clay figurines
resembling each of the women who professed vows.
Marvelously charming.

It was the first of three consecutive Saturdays this month that I'll spend at a celebration of vows; next Saturday, a cousin of mine is getting married; the following Saturday, three Jesuit novices (one of them a high school classmate of mine) will profess their own first vows as religious. The final Saturday of August is move-in day for the Class of 2016 at Holy Cross, which includes the College community's celebration of the Mass of the Holy Spirit to open the new academic year. Looking at a month of momentous Saturdays– followed, God willing, with restful Sundays offering time for rest and reflection– fills me with a great deal of enthusiasm, as well as a desire to consider anew the role of commitments (including, but not limited to, my own religious vows) in my life.

Having lived in the Society of Jesus for nearly eight years, and my vows for nearly six, I've become quite accustomed to, and comfortable in, the rhythms of prayer, work, and community that characterize the Jesuit way of religious life within the Catholic Church. Yet I've become increasingly that these habits are not as fulfilling and as vibrant for me when I approach them in a merely habitual manner. As I strive to restore greater intentionality to my prayer, as I seek thoughtful dialogue within myself and with my office colleagues about the projects and responsibilities we'll each undertake in the coming semester, I find a deeper satisfaction in renewing my connection with the choices I make each day to sustain and vivify the commitments by which I've chosen to live. Rising on a weekday with enough time to exercise, freshen up, pray, and converse with my brothers over breakfast before "facing the day" (as one of the brethren regularly avows when he takes his leave from the table) is a regular, repeated decision that reminds me of my ongoing relationships with myself, my community, and my God. Maintaining a variety of friendships– with Jesuits, with other religious, with friends from a variety of different contexts, periods of my life, and faith backgrounds– expresses a commitment to live with and for others in a way that is mutually constructive, yet also respectful of our respective freedom, commitments, and circumstances that distinguish our unique paths in life.

This takes work, and it doesn't always come easily. I've long been a morning person, yet some of the more poignant, valuable, and even life-changing conversations in which I've participated over the past several months have occurred late at night. I sometimes find it easier to pick up the phone and call a friend than I do to settle into a chair in the chapel and converse with God. There are occasions when I feel the tension between an invitation to spend an evening with good friends my age, and an evening of nourishing fraternal conversation with the men of my community who are my elders by a range of margins. Living my commitments with fidelity, and carrying them out with authenticity, requires creativity, careful thought and discernment, and genuine sacrifice, tailored to each circumstance and relationship.

Conservation Land, Weston MA

I wouldn't have it any other way. The delightful blessings of relationships, the invaluable gift of growing self-knowledge, and the fulfillment of the exchanges associated with genuine generosity all accompany the diligent, laborious, and continuous effort of living the commitments I've made, and embracing all of the opportunities that they offer. These are joys that I sensed everywhere yesterday, and I look forward to experiencing and sharing them anew, and in different forms, throughout the remainder of the month, one day at a time.

Good Sport

It's been a while since I've written about baseball. My team, the Philadelphia Phillies, has been having a rough year. Same for the Boston Red Sox, leaving the local Nation somewhat despondent, and more than willing to offer me advice about how to deal with a sudden turn in the fortunes of my squad. I've been entertained and intrigued by some of the unexpected successes this year, but without a favorite horse up front as talk of playoff races lies just around the corner, I must confess that I've not been following our national pastime quite as closely as in recent years.

Appropriately, the London Olympics are dominating the sports news these days, and the athletes of Team USA have been putting on quite the show. I had forgotten how excited I can be about sports I've never played– water polo and gymnastics come to mind– as well as those that I enjoy on a far more recreational basis, such as volleyball and swimming. I'm looking forward to the track and field events next week, eager to watch marathoners, sprinters, and throwers alike competing on the world stage. Yet I've been dismayed by the few stories that cast some shadows on the Olympic flame. Murmurs of possible doping, badminton players throwing matches, even social media posts that didn't reflect the wisest judgment, and led to some expulsions from the Games. I know that the pressure of competition is fierce– I go to my "quiet space" to quell butterflies and anxieties before a road race– but I also feel fairly justified in my desire that these athletes come together as a global community, do their best for team and country, and simply (to use a hackneyed phrase) "go for the gold."

It's this personal mindset, I believe, that caused me to be so impressed by something that happened at Cincinnati's Great American Ballpark this afternoon. The Reds, leading the NL Central by three games, were hosting the Padres, who are way behind the Giants in the NL West. The home team (and their weather) is hot; Cincy has won 9 of its last 10, while San Diego was headed for a third straight loss by the end of the 2nd inning, trailing by six runs. Then, in the top of the 3rd, a guy named Eddy Fernandez stood in for his first at-bat in the majors, and hit the fourth pitch he saw into the center field seats for a solo home run. He circled the bases, collected the requisite high fives and ritual slapping from his teammates, and drew some applause from the crowd. At the same time, a fan threw the ball back to the Reds' center fielder– not in the disgust or protest sometimes signaled by tossing back a homer by the opposing team– but to relay the memento back to young Mr. Rodriguez. The next Cincinnati player tossed the ball to the Padres' third-base coach, who heaved it into the dugout. (For anyone interested, a link to the game video is here, at least for a little while.)

Moments like this are some of my favorites in baseball, and sports in general. There are plenty of walk-off home runs, furious come-from-behind sprints down a track, and clutch plays of all sorts etched into my memory, but I can't help but smile at these humble class acts between fellow athletes and their fans. That's something I'll be looking for as the Olympics continue, and something I'm eager to reconnect with as I begin to sketch out my fall training plans, and look forward to meeting, and maybe engaging in a little competition with, some fellow runners in the months ahead.