A Year of Gifts

"The artist appeals to that part of our being...

which is a gift and not an acquisition–

and, therefore, more permanently enduring."

–Joseph Conrad

Beach sandscape, Cape May NJ

So begins the introduction to Lewis Hyde's The Gift, a book that I'll be reading and discussing with roughly a dozen Holy Cross faculty over the course of the coming semester. Hyde devotes the opening pages of this work to presenting the broad themes of art, creativity, gift, commodification, and economy that he'll take ip in subsequent chapters. Without quoting him at length, I'll say that his notion of the artist's craft as a gift in its own expression, as well as in whatever works may be created and bestowed upon someone, has already intrigued me. For one thing, I've been given a renewed perspective that sees the events, experiences, and insights of 2012 for what they are– gifts that I've been fortunate enough to receive and humble enough to accept, rather than a list of accomplishments made and items (material or immaterial) acquired.

Pittsburgh PA
December 2012

And so, here's a sampling of the gifts of 2012:

• Travel: Between work and pleasure, I visited Washington DC, New York City, northwestern Vermont, New Orleans, Pittsburgh, and South Jersey, among other places. While I sometimes traveled alone, none of these trips were solely for myself... rather, they brought me into delightful contact with family, fellow Jesuits, friends, and colleagues. Some trips, or detours along the way from Point A to Point B, were specifically undertaken with someone special in mind.
• Visits: From elderly Jesuits to youthful friends, from times of sadness to occasions of joy, the people whom I journeyed to see, and the circumstances in which we met and shared time, gently deepened my gratitude for the virtue of hospitality. The countless visits that I made– or welcomed– throughout the course of 2012 gradually invited me more deeply into the graced mystery of human relationships. Often through the apparent simplicity of sharing food, drink, and conversation, I was blessed to be caught up in the complexity and humble trust of being invited (and, eventually, inviting others) into opportunities to contribute powerfully to one another's journeys through life.
• Work: I'll confess that I once gave the word "networking" a vaguely sleazy connotation in my youthful and naïve mind... it was something that I believed rich and accomplished people did to concretize and entrench their privilege. And I never thought that an office job would be a good fit for me. Yet after this year's variety of projects, proposals, and conferences that I've participated in as a "grants associate" (perhaps my first real workplace title), I've been pleasantly surprised by how happy I've been in this line of work. Networking with faculty and administrators at Holy Cross, and colleagues from grants offices in liberal arts colleges around the country, has been a gift that I embraced slowly and timidly at first, yet I owe much of the success and confidence that I've felt this year to the people whom I've gotten to know in this job. And while I regularly take short breaks throughout the day to leave my office and stroll the hallways to clear my mind, I'm gradually making my office into a space that's welcoming to those who visit, whether to transact business or to simply shoot the breeze.
• Connections: I've been blessed with some new relationships that, whatever happens to them in the future, are the kinds of connections that I'd like to cultivate in my next placement. As one-quarter of a "Thinking Club" with two professors and the spouse of one of them, I've been treated to lively monthly discussions about everything from the jurisprudence of neurological evidence to the nature of divine love. As a cast member of the theater department's production of Sophie Treadwell's Machinal this past semester, I gained a new set of linkages with a wonderful group of faculty and students who are fine artists and exceptional human beings. As a creature of habit, I've found myself sharing and receiving the gifts of my routines– greeting some of the same students on my way to the office every morning, counting on some faculty members' open-door policy as an invitation to weekly late afternoon chats, calling a friend on Sunday evenings during Lent, having a running partner who motivates me to be the first one to the track on chilly and dark Tuesday mornings.

My office windowsill
October 2012

To me, the Conrad quote above, and Hyde's use of it to open his musings on "Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World" (the subtitle of his book), point me towards an appreciation of these gifts not as static objects or discrete items, but as fluid components in a pattern of life that I strive to live as a gift. As a Jesuit ever seeking to be a faithful companion of Jesus, who is both gift and giver, I draw upon his example and our relationship to constantly animate and refine my humble efforts. Looking toward 2013, I feel myself moved towards deeper creativity and connection in the areas I've described above, as well as other realms of my life that I haven't explored so well in recent months. It's my hope that such efforts will themselves be fruitful– in the contributions they'll make to the lives of others, and the courage that they'll give me to continue creating and sharing good gifts.

Watching the Sky

See anything?

Jesus said to his disciples:

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars,

and on earth nations will be in dismay,

perplexed by the roaring of the sea and the waves."

– Luke 21:25

The readings for the first Sunday of Advent include a passage from the end of Luke's Gospel that, at first glance, can seem a bit grim and foreboding. There's no talk of a prophecy involving a cuddly child, an improbable birth, and a new era of peace. Instead, the Church has selected a passage that foretells upheaval and calamity, events that seem more capable of shaking faith than strengthening it.

Thus I was surprised when the Jesuit who presided at a special Advent Mass for members of the Jesuit Connection, a group of young alums of Jesuit schools who reside in the Boston area, chose to focus his homily on the verse that appears above. While his preaching went on to address topics as diverse as the hectic pace that easily creeps into December, the pitfall of being too inwardly-focused in one's contemplative habits, and the place of "end of the world" passages in the context of cultures both ancient and contemporary, he kept returning to this notion of seeking signs in the sky.

As I stare out my office window at the end of a reasonably busy workday, I see a mostly clear sky fading gently into darkness. Aside from a few stray clouds tinged slightly reddish-yellow by the light that casts lengthening shadows everywhere else, a subtle shift from a darker to a lighter shade of blue is what catches my eye, drawing my gaze from the heights to the horizon. The view reminds me that I beheld the same process, occurring in reverse, earlier this morning as I ran 7 miles just before daybreak. Thankfully, the weather was calm, the streets were free of snow and ice (thanks to oddly mild temperatures), and there was no dismay or perplexity in sight. But were there any signs?

Perhaps so: in this act of observation and recollection, it occurs to me that the spiritual growth that I desire, the changes that I wish to achieve, and the "goals" that I have for this Advent season are not to be attained in sudden or grandiose fashion. Instead, it seems that they may creep into my life at an infinitesimal pace, as subtle as the movement of light during dawn and dusk. Perhaps I should spend more time noticing the rising and setting of the sun (or the moon and stars, for that matter)... that I may become more acquainted with the graced timing of the sky, as well as the ongoing turns of my own spiritual cosmos.

Advent 2012

Last night, one of my Jesuit brothers and I attended a performance of Handel's Messiah at a lovely concert hall in Worcester. At brunch this morning, we remarked about several aspects of the concert. Reviewing our observations of the four principal vocalists, the choral ensemble, and the orchestra, we discovered that we had each noticed their reactions to the music they collaborated to create. When the audience customarily stood for the Hallelujah chorus, I was struck by the humble admiration that seemed to wash across the face of the soprano, who, along with her three companions, kept their seats. The same was true during a bass aria in the work's third part that features a complicated and jubilant trumpet solo... the performers were clearly swept into something more than the mere art of making great music.

A view from my room as Advent 2012 begins

As Advent begins, and with it, a new liturgical year, I'm again fining myself drawn to the foundations of my faith and spirituality. The "purple seasons" that precede Christmas and Easter are, for me, a time to distance myself from the distracting entanglements that I've allowed to creep into my prayer life, and a period for restoring some desired sharpness and discipline to practices and attitudes that I've allowed to waver and decay amid the busy pace of life. A student opinion essay that recently appeared in the campus newspaper gently argued for the restoration of passion in student lives, not by embracing a multitude of activities or constantly striving for perfection and excellence in all things, but by identifying and embracing the fundamental means by which one lives a genuine life, builds and sustains authentic relationships, and becomes more capable of living with true and deep devotion.

As the work and activities at the end of the semester build to a potentially stressful pace, restoring a firm foundation in the rhythm of prayer and reflection becomes timely and fulfilling. As consumer culture places an emphasis on commodified buying and giving, I feel that my desires in preparing for Christmas are oriented toward creating and offering gifts from the blessings that I've already received. And as days darken and conflicts around the world can dim one's global outlook, I'm increasingly grateful for the light that is best visible through the eyes of the heart, in a gaze that takes in the entire person.

I'm excited to undertake another Advent journey, and eager to see where it leads, for while I've walked this route before, each transit towards Christmas follows a novel and grace-filled path.

Have a blessed Advent.