Bolivia

Last week, during the Holy Cross fall break, I accompanied a fellow Jesuit and the ten students in his "Teología Anína" seminar to La Paz for several days of lectures, panel presentations, discussions, and excursions that built on the material covered in the course. Though only in Bolivia for five full days, bookended by frustrating caprices of international travel spread out over as much as 22 hours, I found myself blessed by a variety of experiences, encounters, and insights that I continue to treasure in my memory and reflect upon in mind and heart alike.

Descending into La Paz

I read in a guidebook that "the first sight of La Paz will (literally) take your breath away." I knew that the elevation (~12,000 feet) would be an issue, and I certainly felt a great deal of shock (especially as a seasoned athlete) when I gasped for air on the third step up a flight of stairs at the theology institute where we were staying. Yet I felt that more existential sense of breathlessness, signifying wonder and awe, as our charmingly clunky minibus descended the twisting road down from the airport, emerging from a cloud bank into a city that creeps in dizzying style up the slopes of sharp valleys.

Tocolí and Lago Titicaca

I spent two weeks in rural areas of Chile during a trip to that country during summer 2007, so I'd had prior experience of the stark contrast between the stunning beauty of "el campo" and the hardship, poverty, and isolation experienced by those who strive to make their living there. Bolivia was no different; I felt myself balancing the temptation to romanticize the splendor of an Aymara village on the shores of Lake Titicaca with the frank awareness that the villagers lead a hard life of farming, raising livestock, and depending on a climate whose patterns are becoming increasingly less predictable. Nevertheless, I couldn't help wondering if there is more contentment to be found in a hard life that includes deep ties to a beautiful place, and a comfortable life that is relatively detached from the natural terrain in which it is lived.

Outskirts of El Alto

There's so much in the United States that allows us to have significant control of our destiny simply because it reliably functions properly. We take our infrastructure and resources for granted so routinely that something like a flat tire or a power outage comes as a huge shock. Well, we had at least one power outage while at staying at the theology institute in La Paz, and our minibus blew a tire on two separate occasions as we trundled along dusty and rocky roadbeds in the altiplano. While I'm sure that many (if not all) of us experienced some frustrations with these delays, obstacles, and perturbations, I was impressed by how well the group took these surprises in relative stride, even if that meant taking some time to doze while the driver and I worked to change a tire (a feat I've now accomplished on two continents), or using an unexpected stop at a mechanic's roadside stall to explore a small town through which we had passed earlier in the day. 

Breathing Deeply

Autumn dawn, College of the Holy Cross
Worcester MA

Fall Break arrived yesterday at Holy Cross, as classes wound down for a one-week hiatus. Campus seemed to empty abruptly, as quickly as the trees on the College's stately grounds seemed to shed their summer greenness for the flaming hues of autumn.

For many professors with whom I chat regularly, the coming week will be a welcome time to breathe, six weeks into a semester that has proceeded at a breakneck pace. For the students, it's a chance to go home, or visit friends at other schools, but generally to take time that they surely need for restoration amidst their coursework, activities, and other pursuits. With the air turning more crisp by the day (this past week's unseasonable mildness notwithstanding), I'm reminded that this is a time of year to notice the changing atmosphere, to savor the gifts that attend each moment in a busy world, and to seek abiding signs of God's enduring, timeless presence wherever and whenever they may be found.

As I'll be spending the coming week in La Paz with a fellow Jesuit and the ten students in his seminar on theology and inculturation in the Andes, I'll also be breathing deeply... of air that is thin (the city is nearly 12,000 feet above sea level), but surely thick with grace and blessings.

Disconnected Thoughts

Daybreak at Holy Cross
September 2012

Why so long since my last post?

For one thing, it's been quite the first month of the semester. The stretch from the final day of August to the final day of September included:

• The first days of class
• Two individual grant submissions, periodic updates of the office website, and two major proposal projects (both ongoing)
• Hosting the College's trustees for dinner during their fall meeting
• Three days of events celebrating the inauguration of the new president of Holy Cross
• Preparations for a trip to Bolivia next week
• Rehearsals for the theater department's production of "Machinal"
• The daily rhythm of research, writing, meetings, chatting in the hallways, and so on

In addition, amidst this delightful breadth and quantity of events, I've increasingly relished the soothing power of quieter, contemplative time. Specifically, spending my evenings (after Mass and dinner and perhaps an evening walk with my Jesuit brothers) in the calming pursuits of reading, writing, knitting, praying, and listening to classical music, all with my door propped open to let gentle breezes cycle through.

Furthermore, continuing on the meditations described in a previous post, I'm increasingly skeptical of this blog's ability to communicate in the ways that I intend, and in ways that are consistent with the depth of communication that I believe is deserved by any with whom I might engage in conversation. I struggle to discover in my blogging, despite its potential for breadth of audience, a capacity to unify depth of connection and specificity of audience. I know that I find, and relish, that latter synergy in the art of written correspondence that I and some good friends maintain... a practice, I might add, that has recently (and happily) been occupying time that otherwise might be devoted to blogging. Yet perhaps I'm conceiving of this medium, and my usage of it, in ways not entirely consistent with its strengths.

I'm much closer to concluding this period of blogging than when I first wrote about this topic in July. Yet I'm not completely convinced that my work, and my learning, is finished here. One thing seems to be true... I'll be changing my style of, and approach to, using this method of communication, whether I stay with it or let it go. I'd welcome any thoughts, not only about how I might proceed, but also about your experience of communication in all its forms, particularly those that you savor most deeply.