A Year of Change

As the world welcomes a new year, I find myself doing little more than changing the calendar. The most notable changes that I experience tend to come not at the turning of the year, but in its midst, spread across days and weeks that don't attract widespread attention on their own merits. That being said, I did participate in two events that made global news this semester, though the role they played in my life was far more significant than what my presence contributed... a humbling counterpoint to my general desire to give more than I receive. In the main, I approach 2014 with the goal of maintaining and deepening the good things that have gotten underway at various points along the course of 2013.

Boston Strong display
Copley Square

Running: Eight months later, I still have a hard time talking about the Boston Marathon bombings. Even though I finished an hour beforehand, and all of my friends and family escaped harm, I'm reminded of that day every time I walk, cycle, or run through Copley Square. But it's not just the tragedy that I recall; it's the way that the city and its people displayed newfound solidarity in subsequent days and weeks. Now that I'm a proud resident of Boston, I feel part of the effort– even responsibility– to sustain that sense of community in my travels around the city.

MAGIS pilgrims
Rio de Janeiro
July 2013

Pilgrimage: It's been an interesting ten months in the Catholic Church, and for those whose attention has been captured by the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI and the words and actions of Pope Francis. I had the privilege of spending three weeks in Brasil with thousands of pilgrims from Jesuit colleges worldwide, and sharing in an experience of not only global Catholicism, but also the global human family. I'm happy to be maintaining contact with a few of those friends, scattered from Philadelphia to Montevideo, as we go about our lives of study, prayer, recreation, and work in the company of family and friends. Even though my hiking pack has spent much of the last five months in my closet, my ordinary walks in Brighton often remind me of the extraordinary steps I took in Brasil.

Conservation land
Weston MA

Happily, this year is ending as last year did... in the company of good Jesuit friends, sitting by a fireplace, waiting to salute the stroke of midnight. I hope to undertake the new year with renewed devotion to prayer, to community, to family and friends... building on the best moments of 2013. After a year of change– moving from Worcester to Boston, shifting from full-time work to full-time study, meeting new friends and taking on new projects– it's the fundamental and unchanging things that give me life and joy, and help me to confidently welcome everything new and unexpected that comes my way. Happy New Year, and many blessings to you in 2014!

Thanksgiving, At Last and Always

Unexpected Thanksgiving guests
Blessed Peter Faber Jesuit Community
Boston MA

I couldn't help marveling at the boldness of our local population of wild turkeys. After keeping a low profile all semester, they suddenly began making regular appearances the other day. Perhaps they heard that our communal celebration of Thanksgiving, held last Friday to give the seventy of us an opportunity to gather and celebrate before many traveled to visit families elsewhere, did not feature turkey as the main course. Perhaps they've seen me faithfully stocking our backyard bird feeder, and are tired of letting their smaller cousins have a monopoly on the bounty I provide. Whatever their motivations, they're lucky that no one here feels sufficiently inspired, or within their legal rights, to add these pilgrims to the abundance that we celebrate at this time of year. Lucky birds.

Given the arrangement of the semester, this is my first extended break since classes begin in August. It's astounding to suddenly slow down, look over my shoulder, and see three months stretched out behind me. Countless hours of class, a few thousand pages read, hundreds of miles logged (most before 6:30am), and a dozen delightful Monday visits to cafés and libraries in other neighborhoods. More importantly, in meditating on the great blessing of numerous friendships, as I often do at this time of year, I discern the humble rhythm of ordinary conversations before and after class, shared experiences of prayer, worship, and Thursday lunches, and recognition of distinct yet shared desires to grow in wisdom and knowledge through study and ministry. In a way, I've been giving thanks throughout the autumn, harvesting the produce that I had only a partial hand in planting and nurturing, and striving to keep those blessings active and circulating in the communities where I find a home.

Many have noticed the rare coincidence of Thanksgiving and Hanukkah this year, and although attention has been given to some creative fusions of these two holidays, I've been intrigued by their convergence in the liturgical calendar. For the Catholic Church, this is the final week of Ordinary Time, and as such the readings feature imagery of fierce struggles between good and evil, presaging the apocalyptic conflict that ancient believers would end this world and usher in a heavenly age. As it happens, this year's readings include the tale of the Maccabees and their revolt against Persian occupiers of Judah, the very event that Hanukkah celebrates. For the first time that I can recall, we are not only sharing a holiday, but simultaneously telling the exact same stories in an unmistakable way.

At Mass this morning, an elderly Jesuit preached a homily that reflected honestly about the imperfect state of our world, and the sad cases of social sin, inequality, suffering, and division that afflict so many people in this great country and around the world. Yet he encouraged us not only to let these shadows motivate us to generosity and charity as a fitting act for Thanksgiving and a counterpoint to the commercialization of the holiday season, but also to give thanks for the blessings we do have, no matter how subtle, small or simple they may seem. That is surely a task for us on this long-awaited Thanksgiving Day, but also on each day, as we are continuously called to be lights for the world, miraculously persisting even when resources are scarce and darkness seems to abound.

Father all-powerful, your gifts of love are countless and your goodness infinite; as we come before you on Thanksgiving Day with gratitude for your kindness, open our hearts to have concern for every man, woman, and child, so that we may share your gifts in loving service.

~from the Collect for Mass for Thanksgiving Day

And now, bless the God of all, who has done wondrous things on earth;

Who fosters people’s growth from their mother’s womb,
and fashions them according to his will!

May he grant you joy of heart and may peace abide among you;

May his goodness toward us endure in Israel to deliver us in our days.

~Sirach 50:22-24

Whew!

Boston College School of Theology and Ministry
Chestnut Hill, MA

A month and a half into the semester, and fully into the season of short papers and midterms, I've been going at a brisk and sustained pace for several weeks. The school was closed for Columbus Day, but my schedule has no Monday classes anyway, so my workflow was relatively unaffected. Nevertheless, gorgeous weather beckoned me outside throughout the weekend, both in Brighton and in other neighborhoods of Boston, whether to read or to get some fresh air amidst hours inside with my laptop. I'm still refining the art of balance necessary to keep five classes, responsibilities and activities in my community and my parish, training for a half marathon, and socialization with classmates in creative tension... all of this grounded by sufficient rest and commitment to daily prayer and reflection.

This is indeed what I sought and desired as I looked forward to theology studies last spring and summer, and though the pace and burden of the semester engender both swiftness and fatigue, the deep and slow breaths that I experience at the end of the day are sighs not of relief, but of gratitude.

Now, once again, it's time to begin another week of class... in a fine building that houses an even finer community.

Rabbits

In running parlance, a "rabbit" is a fellow runner who's just a little faster than you– he or she may push you to a speedier pace during a workout, or perhaps needle your sense of pride to inspire your strong finish in a race. They may bound along with you, or give you a much-needed kick in the... ego. Rabbits may be long-time friends and regular training partners; they might also be circumstantial companions on a given day, never to be seen again. As I've been making my way through the busy rhythm of the semester over the past few weeks, whether I've felt myself striding smoothly or struggling to keep up, the presence of rabbits has never failed to be helpful, instructive, and memorable.

Public art installation
Boston Ahts Festival

This morning, for the second time in three days, I found myself suddenly in the company of another runner, matching pace at a brisk clip for one to two miles. On Saturday morning along the Charles River, it was an engineering student training for his first marathon (Chicago); this morning, in the predawn glow along Commonwealth Avenue, it was a cross-country athlete taking the season off after (and rapidly recovering from) an injury in early summer. Though my unexpected buddies and I traded little more information than our names and our schools, and kept our conversations to staccato sentence fragments while running near our aerobic thresholds, I felt a firm solidarity that reminded me of the teammates and training partners who have nurtured and accompanied my love of running for over 15 years.

As I keep pace with the nearly continuous stream of readings, class meetings, short writing projects, and other responsibilities inherent in my five courses this semester, I find that a key source of motivation is the community of scholarship and ministry at the school. The rich backgrounds, enthusiastic engagement, and honesty about the competing demands of life, work, and studies that my classmates– religious and laypersons alike– bring to our discussions keep me rooted in both the material at hand, and the realities in which we interpret and use it. The friendships developing in classrooms and hallways, facilitated by the fact that many of us live in the same neighborhood, are thus far making this experience of graduate school far more fulfilling than my previous stint, and pushing me to bring my best intellectual and experiential learnings to the table.

Berklee School of Music student
Boston Common

Finally, there are my Mondays, when I have no classes, but plenty of schoolwork to complete. I'm striving to ensure that I utilize each Monday's freer schedule to get out of Brighton, explore other parts of town, and discover nooks conducive to study that also enrich me with the break from my routine that they represent. So far, those adventures have included a wonderful conversation over tea with a Jesuit housemate from Rwanda, a long lunch and discussion of ministerial vocations with a good friend, and being treated to an outdoor piano concert simply by virtue of choosing a particular plaza as a location to work on a few short papers. These moments renewed me in soul-soothing ways, breathing new life into the busy days that followed. Alongside swift morning runners, the wonderful men in my new community, and the lively students in my degree program, I'm called to relish the company of all who participate in my life's journey, no matter the timing, duration, and circumstances of the steps we share.

Corrective Instruction

St. Mary's Church
Charlestown MA

Brothers and sisters, You have forgotten the exhortation addressed to you as children: “My son, do not disdain the discipline of the Lord or lose heart when reproved by him; for whom the Lord loves, he disciplines; he scourges every son he acknowledges.” Endure your trials as “discipline”; God treats you as sons. For what “son” is there whom his father does not discipline? At the time, all discipline seems a cause not for joy but for pain, yet later it brings the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who are trained by it. So strengthen your drooping hands and your weak knees. Make straight paths for your feet, that what is lame may not be disjointed but healed.

~ Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13

This was my first Sunday in Boston with my new community, and in a custom of formation communities that I've always enjoyed, we were all encouraged to attend Mass at local parishes. I chose to venture just north of Boston to a Spanish-speaking Mass at a parish in a working-class neighborhood; the midday hour of the Mass allowed me to reflect on the readings ahead of time, sipping tea on the patio at home as a crisp morning warmed with the rising sun. While I found timely themes and helpful insights in each reading– Isaiah's prophetic language of people gathering from all nations to encounter the Lord, the challenging words from Luke's Gospel about whom Jesus will (and won't) recognize– it was this passage from Hebrews that rung quite true.

Coming off a great deal of professional and personal growth that was largely self-driven (with light but necessary and regular guidance from a wonderful mentor, and the subtle yet essential aid of divine grace) over the past several years, I'll soon be sitting in class to receive instruction, to engage in conversations driven as much by a syllabus as by issues of the day, and ultimately to write papers that provide space to explore important topics, yet respond to questions not entirely my own. For all of the knowledge and wisdom that the coming years will develop and impart, I anticipate that this stage of my formation my also have some periods that will feel more confined, regimented, and disciplined. Some of the freedom and autonomy that I relished– and endeavored to apply to good ends and worthy pursuits– during my years in Worcester will be redirected to activities that will sometimes, no doubt, be rather trying.

Yet this is exactly what I need. I could stand to be refreshed in my intentional and genuine devotion to participating in and shaping the bonds of community that will bring our diverse family of 70 Jesuits closer together as friends in the Lord. Even as creativity and adaptability in the timing and style of my prayer served me well during the varied schedules of my working days at Holy Cross, I know I'll benefit from a structure that allows (and, with gentle force, nudges) me to root myself anew in the fundamentals of Christian prayer, including daily visits to the chapel that lies at the foot of the stairwell just beyond my door. As I continue to navigate the spectrum between introversion and extroversion, I know that, in exercising the latter, I must give preference to my brothers here even at the occasional cost to friendships near and far, for it is these men with whom I am called to walk particularly closely along the final steps towards the priesthood that we all desire to receive and exercise in faith. I'm confident that each of these disciplines will make me a better Jesuit, and a better companion and servant to God's people. As the first day of classes draws closer, I'm ready for the challenges and instructions, and especially the blessings therein, that the months ahead will offer.

[Note: today's other readings are: Isaiah 66:18-21; Psalm 117; Luke 13:22-30]

Settling In

This past Tuesday, along with another scholastic who joined the Jesuit community at Holy Cross for the summer while studying English, I moved to Boston to begin three years of theology studies. Our new home is a community of nearly 70 Jesuits from more than 20 countries, all of whom engage primarily in theological study and reflection, while also serving in a variety of religious and social ministries in Boston and its surrounding communities. Having visited New England's largest city frequently over the past four years while living just down the road in Worcester, I'm quite familiar with the layout, culture, and feel of Boston. Yet I'm also feeling the excitement and anxiety that accompany the move to a new home, the tasks of getting settled, and the uncertainty about how new friendships and activities will unfold.

Chapel of the Holy Name of Jesus
Blessed Peter Faber Jesuit Community
Boston MA

After traveling rather lightly in Brasil (25 pounds of gear in my pack) for three weeks, I felt quite weighed down by possessions that half-filled a Honda Element, despite my efforts to thin out my stuff last spring. Once I arrived in my room, I quickly went about lightening and scattering that perceived load– unpacking my boxes, arranging my bookshelves, and hanging various items on the walls. Making a space my own– even if I change rooms in the house during my stay, I'll be in this room for at least a year– is a process that I tend to complete quite rapidly in a physical sense, but pursue more gradually in a relational and spiritual sense. Knowing that I'll have three years here, and being already in touch with a strong desire to put down roots and become involved in the life of the city, allows me to be patient with myself in these first days and weeks as a Boston resident.

Wonderful bookshelves!

I'm conscious of so much that the city and school have to offer, but I'm even more intent on embracing the friendships that will develop with my brothers, my fellow students, and the people with whom I'll do ministry. While I look forward to hanging out in the cozy neighborhood library branch a short walk from my house, cycling to various cafés when I need a break from studying on campus, and experiencing some great music and art, I'm even more eager to get to know the people with whom I'll share these places and activities. My prayers about Boston– in the days before moving and the days since my arrival– continually call me to see the city as a vibrant community that is itself "settling in," as a new wave of students arrives at various universities, as state and national issues play out on a local scale, and as longtime residents continually adapt to the changing faces of their neighborhoods. Even though studies, ministry, and recreation will surely keep me busy, I hope to find time regularly to share my experiences and reflections over the coming years. I also extend my prayers and best wishes to all who, like me, are settling into a new environment as the summer draws to a close.

"Indigent Bohemians"

Edward MacDowell's original studio
MacDowell Colony, Peterborough NH

Last Sunday, I made a delightful journey on back roads to Peterborough NH, home to the MacDowell Colony. Established just over a century ago, MacDowell is an artists' colony on bucolic wooded grounds just outside the center of a quaint little town near Mt. Monadnock. Their annual Medal Day– which features an award given to an artist who has made prolific contributions to his or her field, a picnic lunch, and three hours of open studios hosted by the artists dwelling in them at the time– is the only day each year when the colony is open to the public. Throughout the rest of the year, it provides a haven, and a community, amidst which artists can devote themselves fully and deeply to the creative labor required to bring their ideas and imaginings to life.

This year's awardee, Stephen Sondheim, offered some wonderful reflections on the role of artists and creativity in the life of society, as well as the significance that recognition– be it public or private– of their work's impact and value can have on their own sense of themselves and their creations. Before his brief acceptance speech, several other MacDowell officials shared some remarks on the colony's history, as well as the state of creativity as a social and cultural value. One described a comment made by J.P. Morgan when asked if he'd provide some seed money for the project back around 1906– he flatly refused to provide any funds for what seemed to be a place designed solely to coddle "indigent Bohemians" with little potential lasting benefit to society. Naturally, those present laughed at Mr. Morgan's miscalculation, though I'm sure most were keenly aware of the role that philanthropy and other forms of support provide for many artists.

MacDowell Colony, Peterborough NH

Strolling the colony's wooded paths, stopping at studios to visit and chat with artists, I found myself thinking not only of the "indigent Bohemians" phrase but also of the annual silent retreat that I undertake. In hearing the artists describe their creative processes– experimenting with ideas, trying out designs, passing through cycles of revision and critique– I recognized my own efforts in prayer to refine my sense and practice of faithful discipleship, practical work at whatever assignment I'm given, and the contributions I make to my local community. Having the time to dwell deeply on such questions– especially in a place as lovely and secluded as the MacDowell Colony– is a tremendous gift, and it was clear that these artists were intensely grateful, and eager to invest their talents to inspire and intrigue the society that, at least to some degree, invests in them.

MacDowell Colony, Peterborough NH

Taxi Montage

It's been two weeks since I left Brasil, and as I've generally been either on retreat or on vacation since returning to the United States, I've had plenty of time to recall the people, moments, images, and ideas that filled every waking moment in Salvador and Rio. One that keeps returning is the 20-minute cab ride that ferried me from a family friend's apartment to the international airport, from the city's southern end (a few beaches down from Copacabana) to an artificial island on the northern edge of town. The route took me through familiar neighborhoods, past places newly inscribed with many pilgrims' memories besides my own. After a valiant effort at kind small talk with the driver, I settled into a prayerful recollection of the previous three weeks, scenes racing through my mind just as apartments, hills, and other parts of Rio whizzed by, glowing in the long rays of the wintry sunset.

One friend, with a flair for the artistic in his metaphors, responded to this story with an intriguing phrase: "If your Brasil trip were a movie, your ride to the airport would be the taxi montage." And so, here's some of that taxi montage, or at least some elements of it that I actually captured. Lovely summer sunsets here in New England, a world away and at the other end of the seasonal cycle, have proven quite adept at triggering additional screenings of this part of the film.

Colegio Antonio Vieira, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Bahía de Todos os Santos, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Jesuit church ceiling, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Magis delegation flags

First glimpse of Cristo Redentor
Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Santa Marta community, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

St. Ignatius Church, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Nossa Senora de Penha shrine, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Claude at Ipanema, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Claude and Cristo Redentor, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Leaving the Mountaintop

Cristo Redentor
Corcovado, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Jesus took Peter, John, and James and went up a mountain to pray. While he was praying his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were conversing with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his exodus that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As they were about to part from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good that we are here; let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But he did not know what he was saying.

While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. They fell silent and did not at that time tell anyone what they had seen.

~ Luke 9:28B-36

This account of the Transfiguration of Jesus, read at Mass on that feast this past Tuesday, naturally brought to mind my visit to the Cristo Redentor statue high above Rio de Janeiro. Perched atop a mountain in a vast park that protects Atlantic rainforest, the statue is often swathed in the rain, wind, and cloud that I and some fellow pilgrims encountered on our visit, during some scant free time amidst a wide array of World Youth Day programming. Amidst jubilant crowds– we were treated to the Paraguayan national anthem by a group of 50 people dressed in their national team's soccer jerseys– and occasional glimpses of the city below through fleeting breaks in the clouds, we literally soaked in the experience.

In the context of the silent prayer and meditation of my retreat this past week, this Gospel imagery and personal memory promoted further reflection not only upon this mountaintop experience, but also its aftermath. The disciples wanted to stay, but apparently "did not know what [they] were saying." They said nothing, whereas I and my companions at the clouded statue all exuberantly shared the account of braving the weather to see Cristo. In the days since we've each returned to our homes and communities, there have surely been numerous discussions about various vignettes, memories, and insights from our experiences in Brasil... that's certainly been the case as I've settled back in among my Jesuit brethren.

Santa Marta community, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Just as Cristo looks over Rio while residents, tourists, and others come and go about journeys both daily and extraordinary, I newly feel Christ watching over me as one journey ends and another– three years of graduate studies in theology at Boston College– is about to begin. Three weeks with inspiring, energetic, and hope-filled youth from all over the world constituted a remarkable joy and blessing, yet we were called to that mountaintop in order to be sent back home with new ideas, new graces, new insights, and new companions. Even as we encountered serious needs in Brasil– troubling social and economic inequality, unsettling physical and emotional suffering– we became more aware of the needs that seek our attention in the cities and nations that we call home. I've long known Boston as a visitor, as a "local tourist," as a city graced with wonderful parks, splendid museums, and one of the best marathons in the world. Now I'll get to know it as a resident; I desire to explore its neighborhoods, truly meet its people, and even learn– the phrase comes straight from one of my retreat meditations– "how Boston prays."

I'll keep supplies for physical and metaphorical tent-pitching on hand– there will always be mountains to climb– but it's now time to ensure that I truly go forth from the great peaks that I and so many ascended in Brasil, and to follow Christ's urging to take up the work that lies ahead in other terrain.

Making Disciples

Magis pilgrims
World Youth Day, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had ordered them. When they saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted. Then Jesus approached and said to them, “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

~ Matthew 28:16-20

This Gospel reading provided the theme for this year's World Youth Day, and was read at the closing Mass with Pope Francis, a gathering that drew three million people to the famous beach and boulevard of Copacabana on Rio's southeast coast. With a dramatic backdrop of rolling Atlantic surf and towering hills, Pope Francis offered an eloquent, succinct, and engaging homily that spoke of Christ's call to today's youth: a mission of discipleship and proclamation that is confidently entrusted to us.

Praying anew over those words, and the memories and experiences shared with a group of 30 students from Jesuit universities in 6 countries (Argentina, Bolivia, Brasil, France, United States, Uruguay) during the week leading up to World Youth Day, I found myself repeatedly drawn to the disciples' doubt, and to Jesus' instructions. Our small group engaged in several days of interreligious dialogue with the major non-Christian faiths found in Rio: Islam, Judaism, Umbanda, and Candomble (the latter two are indigenous/Afro-Brasilian religions). On various occasions, students sought me out to share their misgivings: Why is my faith so lukewarm compared to the vibrant worship we beheld? I'm troubled by a conversation I had with a person who converted from Catholicism to Islam. I'm confused about the value of learning from other religions when my faith is a deeply personal and private matter. Yet they also lived out Jesus' call to observe and exemplify his teachings on love, hospitality, and non-judgment: This leader of the Umbanda community is just like my grandmother who serves on our parish council back home. I'm slowly realizing that I have an important role in keeping my local church vibrant and welcoming. I can't wait to tell my Jewish friend how excited I was to sing psalms in Hebrew for the first time.

Our multinational, multilingual, interreligious dialogue group
Jardín Botánico, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

The closing words of Matthew's Gospel, and the words with which Pope Francis sent us all home to continue our pilgrimages of faith, now motivate me to encourage our group– and all of the other pilgrims with whom new friendships arose– to continue the blessing and privilege of encounter, dialogue, and proclamation that we all relished during three weeks in Brasil. We all have stories to tell, people to meet, and graces to convey to our own corners of the Catholic Church and the nations that we inhabit. I'm eager to see how this adventure continues.

Es Brasil!

Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Well, friends, I'm back from three wonderful, intense, memorable, and grace-filled weeks in Brasil. Participating in the Magis program and the events of World Youth Day brought me into contact with inspiring youth from all over the world, the vibrant culture and humbling hospitality of South America's largest country, and a remarkable experience of the Catholic Church on both a global and a local scale. The trip was not without its challenges– most media outlets noticed some of the disorganization that arose as Rio de Janeiro struggled to transport and accommodate an influx of pilgrims that numbered half its population– but what I'll remember most (and post about in more detail soon) are the countless instances of ordinary people encountering one another in peace, joy, faith, and friendship.

Santa Marta, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

For now, though, a few notable "It's Brasil" moments:

• Streamers and flags make everything better. During an afternoon when 2,000 students of Jesuit universities in 30 countries wandered through the streets of Salvador de Bahía, our melting pot of languages and cultures was stirred into joyful fervor by simple decorations strung above the alleys in the oldest part of the city, home to a Jesuit church and some charming religious and residential architecture.
• The favelas are places of bizarre paradoxes and unsettling graces. The largest, Rocinha, constitutes a full 10% of Rio's population. Another, Santa Marta, is just down the street from the Jesuit high school, and scales at a dizzying pitch the side of the same rocky massif crowned by the city's iconic Cristo Redentor statue. Narrow alleys, cramped living quarters, and tremendously improvised electrical, water, and sewage systems are blunt signs of physical and economic poverty, yet there's a radiant spirit in these communities that feel so close-knit and have some of the best vistas of the city's diverse social and physical landscape.
• On the first afternoon of World Youth Day, the city's transportation system effectively collapsed. A power outage closed the subway, and tens (if not hundreds) of thousands of pilgrims soon overwhelmed the buses as they all tried to reach Copacabana Beach for the opening Mass. Rather than delve into the crowds, a few Jesuits and I decided to walk the two miles from the English-language catechesis center to the high school where we were staying. Ten minutes into our walk, as we stood at a street corner getting our bearings on a map, a Rio resident offered to help, and then accompanied us for the next hour, as she was heading home to the same neighborhood, unable to get a bus home from work. While we exchanged some justified frustration at the transit failure, we spent far more time sharing our life stories, our impressions of Pope Francis, and a sense of companionship that quickly bridged cultural and linguistic differences.
• For the close of World Youth Day, 3 million people (many of them camping out the previous night) gathered on the beach and sidewalk for Mass with Pope Francis on a splendid Sunday morning. Although my fellow pilgrims and I stood roughly 2 miles from the altar, we felt a clear sense of connection to the community– the largest assembly for a single event in Rio's history– that participated in a liturgy unlike any I've ever seen. Even the street vendors and the military helicopters patrolling the scene (with obviously different purposes) pulled back and quieted down during Mass. Our little patch of sidewalk was as much a part of the Church as any other for a mile in either direction.

Crowds gathered for Mass with Pope Francis
Copacabana Beach, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

These and other insights and memories from my time in Brasil deserve further elaboration, which I'll compose and share in the coming days. I'm already missing the "cidade maravilhosa," but keenly aware that its spirit is now rooted within me, poised for growth and fruitfulness that I can't yet imagine.

Brazil!

For the rest of July, I'll be in Brazil for Magis and World Youth Day, guiding students from Jesuit schools in Europe, South America, and the United States from Salvador de Bahía to Rio de Janeiro before meeting up with pilgrims from around the world. I'll do my best to condense and share some reflections on my experiences– social and cultural immersion, juggling at least three languages, living out of a hiking pack with only 25 pounds of gear, Mass with Pope Francis on a giant airfield– over the course of August; in the meantime, feel free to consult the sites below for more timely information from Brazil.

Please pray for us, and know that we'll be praying for you.

Magis & World Youth Day (US Jesuits' site)
Magis 2013 (Brazil Jesuits' site)
The Jesuit Post (blog maintained by US Jesuit scholastics)

Gentle Currents

Horseshoe crab (and hitchhiking snail)
Avalon NJ

Thanks to happy circumstance (and some subtle conniving), I was able to follow my last day of work at Holy Cross with a full week of family vacation at the Jersey Shore. For the first time in over ten years, I joined my family for Fourth of July week at my grandparents' summer house, reviving a tradition that I fondly recall from my youth. Some things have changed (we can now take different beverages to the beach for the fireworks display) while some have remained the same (the house still has much of the 1970s decor that seemed weird to me as a kid). Most importantly, my parents, sister, and I were able to relax in one another's company, enjoy our favorite activities on the beach (reading for hours, taking the sun, swimming in the ocean), and enjoy some respite from the routines and responsibilities of life on the mainland.

Dune path at sunrise
Avalon NJ

The week also served to begin my gradual turn from administrative work at Holy Cross to graduate studies in theology at Boston College, a new three-year assignment that I'll begin at summer's end. Between chapters of novels and short dips in the unusually cold (56 to 60 degrees!) Atlantic surf, I stared out at the rolling waves and felt myself being pulled along in a new direction, ebbing away from the shores that I've happily called home for the past four years. I certainly feel sadness and loss in leaving behind many fabulous colleagues who became friends, and an atmosphere where I was blessed with so many opportunities and resources that facilitated tremendous personal and professional growth. At the same time, I sense an undeniable goodness to the movement that's carrying me into a new stage in my Jesuit formation, a new community of brothers from around the country and the world, and a milieu that will foster intellectual, pastoral, and social engagement with a variety of issues, rooted in the context of a vibrant city that I've long known well, yet never called home. Though I won't arrive there for good until mid-August, now that I've turned in my office keys at work and dropped off some winter clothing in my new digs, I know that I've been caught in the first tugs of a tidal shift, and I'm grateful to be riding such a glorious current.

Tidal pool, Seven Mile Beach
Avalon NJ

Last Saturday

Halfway through my morning run along a route I've traveled countless times through Worcester's hills and flats, it occurred to me that this is my final Saturday in this fair city. My upcoming travel schedule– some family vacation at the Jersey Shore, a trip to Brazil for gatherings of Jesuit-educated students and Catholic youth from around the world, and time for a private 8-day retreat– will eventually culminate in a move to Boston, where I'll begin three years of theology studies at Boston College. After living for four years in the "heart of the Commonwealth," I'll soon be receiving mail, voting, and residing for the first time in New England's largest city.

A Chagall window finds a new home.

Fittingly, this afternoon brought the opportunity to roam around Worcester with a good friend who's just completed one year in town, and recently moved to a new place. A stained-glass window that had previously hung in my office became an ideal housewarming gift, adding character to a quaint apartment in a stately home that has weathered the decades rather well. Roaming around two of Worcester's parks reminded me of the lovely pockets of town that I often overlook while savoring the picturesque Holy Cross campus, or venturing further afield to other towns and landscapes in Massachusetts.

Elm Park
Worcester MA

I'm still processing all of the farewells that I've shared over the past few weeks with faculty, administrators, and students. I'm still absorbing the significance of intentionally leaving the best job I've ever had, and journeying forward with a large and varied array of friends and colleagues who genuinely desire to stay in touch. In focusing so keenly on accomplishing the tasks before me and caring for those whom my work served, I know I've often overlooked the broader impacts that I've made, and some of the esteem in which I'm held. I assiduously avoid pride, yet have also learned that my humility can cause some blind spots in its more obsessive periods.

Green Hill Park
Worcester MA

With many summer Saturdays to come before I take up residence in Boston, I hope to let the lessons and graces of the past two years percolate through my being, just like the late spring rains that have brought so many verdant hues to Worcester's parks and gardens in recent weeks. I'm undoubtedly entering a period of transition, and I'm grateful for the several weeks I'll have to experience the shift from Worcester to Boston, from work to study, from years of fulfillment to years of opportunity.

Backup

Jesus summoned the Twelve and began to send them out two by two and gave them authority over unclean spirits. He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick—no food, no sack, no money in their belts. They were, however, to wear sandals but not a second tunic.

~ Mark 6:7-9

Hiss. Whir. Three miles into a ride down a shaded trail along the Blackstone River, unexpected sounds suddenly emanated from my road bike's rear tire. I didn't recall braking, and I wondered what minute piece of floral flotsam I might have scooped into my wheel. A downward glance brought a troubling sight... the tire noticeably flattening, even as I deftly eased the bike to a halt. I saw no tear, but much air had clearly escaped. Suddenly resigned to giving up on my planned ride of 25 to 30 miles, I swung the bike around, and started back on a walk to the parking lot that I estimated would take roughly an hour.

Perhaps foolishly, I was traveling light, as I often do, trusting that nothing will go wrong. I carried only two hex wrenches and a valve adapter in the small pouch under my seat. Acknowledging the morning's heat with more than just an early start (awake by 5:30am, in the car by 6:00am, riding away from the Woonsocket RI parking lot by 6:45am with the temperature already in the low 70s), I had chosen to carry not only a bottle of Gatorade but also my Camelbak, giving it its first use since my last long run before the Boston Marathon. Wallet and cell phone, yes... any other supplies, no.

Perhaps more out of efficiency than piousness, I've often followed Jesus' advice to his disciples when I travel. I've been able to fit clothes (including running shoes) and other necessary items for a three-day business trip into two carry-ons (a real money saver). I plan to carry no more than 30 pounds of material in my trusty hiking pack when I travel to Brazil next month for Magis and World Youth Day... a journey of nearly 20 days. When I took the train from San Francisco to Boston over the course of 15 days in summer 2009, I carried only what that same hiking pack could hold. Travel can be demanding enough without being encumbered by too many possessions, and with less to worry about carrying (or losing), I find myself more free to devote my attention to the thrills of the journey.

Sadly, I had no power over whatever malevolent forces gave me that flat tire. Fortunately, within a minute of starting my slow and warm stroll, two cyclists happened along, stopped, and wound up giving me an extra tube, which they than helped me to install and inflate. This utterly disarming gesture of generosity took less than five minutes, and they were gone as quickly as they came. I felt somewhat guilty for depriving them of some significant backup supplies, even though they hinted that they'd easily obtain new ones at a bike shop further along their route. With a strong sense of gratitude, and a tempered confidence that kept me from going too fast, lest I suffer another incident, I continued with my planned ride. Past dams and waterfalls, through residential neighborhoods and barren industrial zones, I rode through five Rhode Island towns, returning safely to the parking lot and beginning the drive back to Worcester by 9:00am.

I'm still planning to travel light in my future expeditions, but I'll be giving some extra attention to carrying items that I could easily give away to another traveler in need. And although I'll likely continue to pack minimally for running and riding long distances, it seems that I should tweak Jesus' advice just a little, and ensure that my bicycle always carries a second tube.

Spring Cleaning

Not long ago, I promised myself that I'd spend the first rainy weekend day after the Boston Marathon thoroughly reviewing the contents of my room. Last Saturday, waking to the sound of gentle rain, I knew that it was going to be a long day... and hoped that it would be a productive one, as I didn't want to lose any subsequent lovely weather to the task that lay before me.

Sorting paperwork

After a refreshing morning run and some pleasant breakfast conversation with my brothers, I headed upstairs to undertake the first (and hardest) phase of the project: my desk. One drawer at a time, all kinds of paperwork, envelopes, folders, and similar items were spread out on the floor... one pile for discards, many others for reclassifying the material that I'd keep. A few hours later, my carpet was clear of debris, my desk drawers were neatly closed, and I'd carried more than 15 pounds of paper to the shredder bin or the recycling bucket.

Clothes for donation

I spent the afternoon going through my clothes, thinning out a wardrobe that has seen me through four distinct seasons for the past four years in New England. I didn't diminish its scope, yet I did narrow its variety, culling enough items to fill two hefty plastic bags with a range of attire suited to Worcester's broad range of weather. The next morning, I heaved them into a donation bin adjacent to the city's freight rail yard, completing the process of spring cleaning.

During the course of the day, a number of my brothers passed by my open door and commented upon my progress. One offered simple advice– "When in doubt, toss it!"– while another inquired wittily, "When's the yard sale?" Many stopped to chat across the threshold for a minute or so, some commenting on their own practice of periodically reviewing and thinning their possessions. When it came time to relax with the brethren before dinner, I felt a certain lightness, yet also a renewed sense of rootedness. Discarding so much paper and so many clothes gave me greater peace about the feasibility and smoothness of an upcoming move, but also reminded me that I'd much rather focus on the immaterial possessions that are genuine treasures– particularly the relationships of brotherhood that exist in my community and lend so much support and joy to my days. With notably less in my room, I'll hopefully be more apt to regularly appreciate those gifts that aren't possessed or owned, yet held with great care and devotion.

Spring Training

In the weeks since the Boston Marathon, I've been attending not only to my emotional and psychological recovery, but also to my physical recovery. Particularly amid a stretch of delightful spring weather, I've been finding joy in simply getting outside to exercise for the sake of relishing the gift of fitness and the blessing of each new morning. At the same time, in giving myself a break from running, I've embraced the freedom to indulge in other activities.

Spring cleaning the road bike

My Trek 1500... 15+ years old and still going strong!

The spell of mild, dry days has been marvelous for cycling. During my first ride of the season, on some lovely rural roads in towns north of Worcester, my friends and I noted with great admiration the efforts of various highway workers who had cleared the shoulders of leftover sand and grit from the winter, exposing the pristine blacktop that cyclists love. The gift of a smooth ride allowed us to savor the radiant beauty of tranquil marshes, forests awash with budding trees, and verdant fields– even the one at the top of a long hill, which advertised from afar freshly its freshly manured state as we sought to filter oxygen from odor while cranking up a steady grade.

Glencliff Trail, Mt. Moosilauke
Benton NH

Mt. Moosilauke summit (4,802 feet)
Benton NH

My spring training isn't entirely without purpose; it's been my practice for a few years to have a specific post-marathon goal in my calendar before I get to the starting line. This time around, it's an early June trip with friends (a repeat expedition for me) to Maine's Baxter State Park and a hike to the summit of Mount Katahdin, weather and wits permitting. As a warmup, while in New Hampshire the other weekend for a conference at Dartmouth, I was able to round up some friends for a hike up Mount Moosilauke. It was the season-opening hike for each of us, and as we discovered when we encountered 6 to 12 inches of packed snow on the trail's upper reaches, we were perhaps starting the season a bit early. Our strident efforts, collectively assessed every 20 minutes or so for their level of safety and sanity, paid off; clear skies in all directions from the peak afforded us views that stretched from the Green Mountains to southern Quebec to Mount Washington, the White Mountains, and Lake Winnipesaukee– more than 20,000 square miles of valleys, lakes, hills, and mountains.

Greenough Boulevard path
Watertown MA

Greenough Boulevard path
Watertown MA

The fitness that my friends and I have chosen to cultivate and share makes our adventures on the roads and trails possible, but we wouldn't be as drawn to the outdoors if it weren't for the real stars of the spring training season– the flora returning to life after a long winter. These daffodils along the Charles River are a short walk or drive from anywhere in the towns on Boston's western edge, and the only training needed to enjoy them is an ability and motivation to simply notice them. In my case, it took a conscious decision to park my car nearby (I was running early for a meeting), settle on a bench, and take in this charming spring scene. Mountaintops may be far less accessible, and cycling far more exhilarating in its rush of speed, but literally stopping to smell and gaze upon these flowers was just as rewarding as any peak I might gain or bend I might round.

May your spring be a blessed season, whatever training you might undertake.

Assignment

I'm participating in a faculty seminar that explores "the spirit life of art and ideas." In addition to a slate of thought-provoking readings, intriguing conversations, and a marvelous film on the works of artist Andy Goldsworthy, the dozen of us in the seminar have been given three assignments. The final assignment, to be completed by May 1, is both straightforward and challenging:

Create an art installation in a public space somewhere on campus (not your office). Do not seek permission; do not tell anyone what you are doing. Your installation should be inherently impermanent. Visit and document changes (and, if applicable, responses) to your installation over a few days or weeks.

Although I've narrowed down my ideas into a feasible project and chosen a site for my artwork, I've hesitated to undertake the work of collecting and arranging the materials I have in mind. Facing the elements of that "artist's block"– my tendencies to self-criticism and perfectionism, my ambivalence about maintaining anonymity while working in a place where I'm likely to be noticed– is surely a more monumental endeavor than the effort I'll invest in the installation itself. I suspect I'm not alone in the group, for I haven't noticed any other installations around campus, and there aren't many parts of it that I miss in my daily and weekly rounds.

Then, suddenly, I stumbled across one today. It wasn't there yesterday. I'm convinced it's someone's fulfillment of the assignment, but I'm not sure whose work it is. It's something I never would have imagined, and yet it's perfect for the space... a stairwell that gets reasonable use despite its remoteness. I won't say anything more, inviting you to contemplate this surprising creation just as I did... and to perhaps undertake the above assignment on your own.

Ambition

In the midst of a stop-action series I've been developing this spring, I've become much more attentive to sudden and subtle growth in a variety of the campus flora, in addition to the crabapple tree and rhododendron bush I've been photographing each day. Although there have been some lovely days over the past week or two, a sense that winter is fully behind us has been slower to arrive. For example, as I went about my floral rounds today, my subjects and I were braving temperatures in the 30s with a chilly mist under gloomy overcast skies. Students, professors, and staff seemed halfway back to their wintry hibernation habits as they shuffled from building to building.

Ciampi Hall lawn
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

Yet the plants seemed ambitious, even brazen, in the face of another chilly day. Pansies lived up to their hardy reputation, crabapple blooms didn't grow any further (as far as I could tell), but they didn't retreat. Some sprouts that I didn't notice the other day are rising assertively from our recently regraded garden... sprung from seeds that no one intentionally planted.

As the campus community gears up for the semester's final push– reading period begins in two weeks, and Commencement is a month from tomorrow– the grounds are already setting the tone. God willing, all will look wondrous by the end of May, and ambitious efforts seen and unseen, intentional and inexorable, will draw the admiration that they merit.

Boston Recovery

Ordinarily, I'd follow my running of the Boston Marathon with some reflections on the day of the race, a week or so off from running, and a more or less routine approach to the physical recovery process. Yet last week saw no ordinary Boston Marathon, and the coming days, weeks, and months necessitate a very different recovery process.

Boston Marathon Finish Line
Copley Square, Boston MA
14 April 2013

Marathoners, by virtue of their hundreds of miles of running over several months, do some intentional and measured harm to their bodies. Training is really about strengthening bone and flesh, as well as mind and nerves, to survive (and eventually thrive) under ever-increasing exertions. Running 26.2 miles on Patriots Day is an emphatic exclamation point, but the sentence it concludes is far more personal, hidden from throngs of cheering spectators, but known to family, friends, and running partners. The motivations, details, and adventures of getting to the starting line are the stories that animate the athletes' village in Hopkinton, where friends are made with the person who sat next to you on the shuttle bus, the runner who's next to you in the portajohn line, and the person who notices a common detail on the apparel that you might soon donate to charity. ("Do you work at Boston Children's?" "No, but my friend was a resident there, and she gave me this hoodie.")

Ever since the actions of two young men started Boston's people down an arduous course they never expected nor wanted to run, my prayers have been focused on those whose lives were cruelly ended or forever altered. The rising rhetoric of "Boston strong," and the courage with which over a million of us ran through the toughest first days of this new course, points me toward my faith in Christ who restores all things, heals all wounds, and companions us throughout the long, gradual, yet unstoppable progress towards these glorious ends. Thoughtless and impersonal harm was done to us, and we've been responding to the task of recovery with truly inspiring and deeply personal generosity and solidarity. It will take a long time; after my first marathon, it took nearly three months for me to again feel the same level of physical fitness and stamina that blessed me at that marathon's starting line. Whatever time and mileage my physical recovery requires this year, it will be no less than what my psychological and emotional recovery will require. In talking to fellow runners and Boston-area friends, I've heard the same sentiments.

Prudential Center, Boston MA
14 April 2013

A week ago, no one anticipated how relevant Adidas' "all in for Boston" slogan might suddenly become. We've been blessed with the resolution of the manhunt, and a weeklong (and welcome) surge of solidarity and support that raised up a stunned city and gave great hope to the fallen and the surviving. It's my hope that we're mustering that energy not for a sprint, but for a marathon, not only in Boston, but also in all of our neighborhoods, towns, and cities. I hope that we, as a nation of communities, will go "all in" for the training that will achieve lasting peace, harmony, and justice that remains to be gained and secured for all people. That goal's exclamation point is still a long way off, but we can all start writing our sentences in that story today, and every day. Recovery, just like training, is one day at a time.