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.