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.

Snowshine

Viewed from a distance, the snow cover on campus shone brilliantly in today's radiant sunlight. Seen from a foreshortened and immediate perspective however, the snowshine took on a texture of light and darkness, glimmers teasing shadows around tufts of crystal. Not unlike the contoured terrain and the air of mystery I encounter when I take the time to truly see what lies before (and within) me.

Random Inspiration

Uncollected leaves
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

One of this week's projects involved tweaking our contribution to a yet-to-be-published booklet that showcases redesigned or newly-constructed science buildings that promote innovative opportunities for research, learning, and interaction among all members of a campus community. In our case, throughout the process of renovating and adding to our science complex, one of the most important design principles was simply to foster "the serendipitous collision of ideas." I've used that phrase with some frequency as I've written about the science center, offered tours of the facility to visitors, and described this part of my work to faculty, students, and staff.

Just this afternoon, I came across a slightly different take on this concept. While browsing through The Chronicle of Higher Education (one of many publications I try to monitor with some regularity), I stumbled upon an article by an adjunct professor who developed an innovative solution to a vexing problem: How to hold office hours without an office? A Holy Cross faculty member whom I know well holds some office hours in the coffee shop in the student center, so it was that connection that attracted me to the article, which is a brief and reasonably entertaining personal narrative.

As I've become more involved and connected on campus this semester, I've experienced the "serendipitous collision of ideas" quite often over the past several week, particularly when I walk the halls of the building where I work to take a break between tasks or refill my ever-present mug of Earl Grey tea. The Classics Department has the best and most frequented water cooler on the floor; a certain professor of religious studies and I have inspired one another's research; a visual arts professor and I routinely discuss contemporary themes in cartography and folk music. In meeting with students, and in nurturing connections with colleagues over lunch and other social functions, I've enjoyed the conversations and interactions that have occurred in other settings than those in which we do the majority of our work, or at least the tasks explicitly indicated in our job descriptions.

Yet I've noticed the exact opposite in many public spaces over that same stretch of time. Strolling through downtown Boston recently, I overheard plenty of chatter, but it was between folks who clearly know one another, and in many cases, was directed into a cell phone. In a public park in Providence, benches sat empty on a lovely day, while a short distance away, a coffee shop was packed to the gills, with the majority of patrons typing away on laptops, surrounded by earbud-augmented quiet. In the communities of New England, which tend to have a great deal of social, cultural, artistic, and intellectual capital, the potential for transformative inspiration triggered by random exchanges seems boundless. Yet it's been a long while since I've randomly gotten into a conversation– whether responding with enthusiasm or initiating it with some anxiety– with a fellow traveler on the subway, a bus, or a plane.

I'm the first to admit that, having an appreciable introverted streak in my personality, I'm more apt to notice something intriguing than to engage its source– whether that means asking someone about the book he's reading, making a note to research a place that attracts my attention, walking into an establishment whose storefront intrigues me (within reason, of course... I'm committed to window shopping only at tattoo parlors), and so on. Yet, in describing, experiencing, and relishing the serendipitous collision of ideas in various spaces on the Holy Cross campus, I can't help feeling the impetus to do my part to foster such occurrences in my travels beyond the College's gates.

Priorities

I know why I haven't blogged for a few weeks. It hasn't been important to me.

In processing my experiences in Bolivia, working with a phenomenal student cast and crew towards the recent opening of Machinal on campus, toiling diligently with several faculty members on grant proposals, and working on an application to theology studies, my time has become a precious resource. Moreover, I've found myself more motivated by these projects– as well as the desire to sustain the flexibility to respond to serendipitous opportunities for rich conversation– than by the idea of developing some theme on which to post thoughts and reflections. It's far easier, and far more fulfilling, to work with a known audience– whether on stage, down the hall, or one the other end of a timely phone call or carefully crafted letter.

Yet the play's run ends this coming Saturday, the workload in the grants office has eased (for now), and I'm approaching with serious thought and prayer the question of how to use the time I'll soon regain as some delightful activities subside. I feel a nudge to pick up my camera more often, setting out not to capture a specific image, but to practice another way of witnessing the visual beauty that I so often encounter in this part of the world. I want to engage in reflective and creative writing more regularly; not only for the sake of journaling and recording my musings, but also to explore the uncharted paths that I often notice at the end of my thoughts.

Hand of Christ sculpture and fall foliage
College of the Holy Cross

For some reason, today's elections have brought these inklings into greater focus. For although I voted today for specific candidates seeking specific offices, as well as a few state referenda concerning certain laws, I felt I was also expressing my choices about the priorities that I believe our nation should pursue. In a similar, though perhaps rather unrelated way, I hope that the manner in which I use and apportion my time in the coming weeks and months does reflect my priorities, and that these priorities in turn allow me to be the best friend, colleague, brother, and person that I can be.

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.

Speeding Up, Slowing Down

The new academic year is off and running at Holy Cross, as faculty have returned, students moved in last weekend, and classes began last Wednesday. The Grants Office has taken on three major projects since August 20, all of them involving a moderate yet steady investment of time and effort that keeps me happily occupied. Although various deadlines are comfortably situated at the end of September, I'm noticing a sustained, even occasionally urgent, rhythm in the tasks and interactions that fill my days– meetings, phone calls, online research, document revision, and strolling the corridors to chat with professors and clear my mind.

Tower Hill Botanic Garden
Boylston MA

The increased intensity of my working days– a welcome change after some very slow and quiet days in early August– has inspired an intentional calming of my evenings. Walking up the hill to the Jesuit community at the end of each afternoon, joining my brothers for Mass and dinner, savoring some of the last pleasant evenings to chat and dine on our patio, has been a delightful reward for each day of work. In the evenings, I haven't felt much inclination to return to the world of Internet and e-mail; I've instead found myself reading, penning letters, and knitting, often while listening to the rising crescendo of crickets as cool nights beckon sleep with open windows. It's been surprisingly pleasant, even liberating, to claim these stretches of time for maintaining contact with the deeper fibers of my life– admiring the subtle wonders of nature; delving into intriguing poetry and prose; sustaining and savoring the bonds that connect the Jesuits with whom I live, pray, and work; crafting correspondence that overcomes distance no less powerfully (and sometimes much more so) than other forms of communication.

Shifting daily between these two paces does take effort and intention; I imagine that I'm getting some sense of what it's like to run through the range of a transmission (I've never learned to "drive a stick") on a road trip that involves both modern highways and older country roads. I'm glad to have both speeds in my life as the semester gets rolling, and appreciate the contribution that these complementary modes of work and rest make to my ongoing journey.

Shifting Gears, Part II

The physical shifts now emerging in my summer training aren't the only changes afoot. Here at Holy Cross, the summer's populations and programming are undergoing a transition. More than one hundred summer research students just completed their work, in fields ranging from the hard sciences to the humanities, and have vacated the dorm, labs, and libraries where they've been toiling with their professors since just after Memorial Day weekend. Members of the incoming class have been stopping in for some additional orientation and enrichment activities before arriving for good at the end of August. This morning, I discovered a small flock of office chairs scattered throughout the hallway leading to my office; it's the week for major cleaning, repainting, and moving in the departments inhabiting this particular floor. Construction and renovation projects, always a popular news item on our website, are largely finished. The campus won't be characterized by relative emptiness and planned disarray for too much longer.

Hogan Oval, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA
Quiet for now...

With August arriving tomorrow, and grant proposals for the new academic year already rolling in, I'm in a summer endgame mentality, planning for initiatives and projects to undertake and/or adjust in the coming semester, and concluding the summer tasks that have been helping to pass the time during these lighter weeks in the rhythm of the College's workings. With the likelihood of, God willing, moving on to theology studies in fall 2013, I'm looking to the next nine months or so as an opportunity to contribute to some restructuring and strengthening of the Grants Office, as well as to renew or develop ties with other individuals and sectors within the Holy Cross community.

Within a few weeks, the campus should be humming with students preparing to welcome the Class of 2016 through their service as orientation leaders, RAs, and brothers and sisters in the Holy Cross family. Professors will arrive for departmental meetings, administrators will shift their focus as necessary, and campus ministers will help us all to call down God's blessings on a new year. For now, though, we're still making the shift... conscious of what's on the horizon, eager for what is to come, and wrapping up our various accomplishments from the summer months. As I walk the corridors of my building, and see signs of these processes, as well as long-quiet offices being inhabited again, I'm gladdened by these changes, and grateful for the potential that they promise.

Summer Order

It's a phrase that I first picked up in the novitiate, the first two years of my Jesuit formation. The exact form of "summer order" has differed in the various communities in which I've lived over the past eight years, but generally it refers to a slightly different pace and rhythm of activities during those months outside of the academic calendar. Here at Holy Cross, it brings the promise of socializing on our front patio after Mass, even eating dinner there, taking advantage of the short season New England offers for such pleasures. There's a more casual feel to the house; I no longer think twice about wearing a soccer jersey to dinner, maybe even to Mass if one of my two favorite national teams (Mexico or Chile) is playing. (Thanks to my Jesuit brothers in these two countries for introducing me to this habit... no pun intended.) This season also speaks of greater mobility; within a week of Commencement, nearly a third of the community had departed for destinations around the globe: immersion trips, a pilgrimage, conferences, annual retreats. I hit the road tomorrow, first to New York for a few days of gatherings that will culminate in the priestly ordination of three Jesuits, then to New Orleans for a weeklong workshop on management and administration– the latest body of skills and experience that I've been developing.

I'll have my fair share of work and leisure, engaged activity and contemplative retreat, days on the road and days here in Worcester, during the summer months. While I'll strive to sustain my foundational rhythm of prayer and reflection, and the attentiveness to God in all things and all people that it fosters, amidst my comings and goings, I'm grateful for a different order that shifts the patterns of my days, and contributes richly and seamlessly into the ongoing journey of my life. The familiar and more intense pace of the academic year will return soon enough... three months from now, we'll be through the first week of class. In the meantime, summer order is a welcome change, and one that my brothers and I are certainly appreciating after a good year at the College and in our various apostolates around the city.

The Class of 2012

With yesterday's awards ceremony and Baccalaureate Mass, and today's Commencement Exercises, the members of the Class of 2012 have graduated from the College of the Holy Cross. I've been blessed by their company throughout this academic year, and pray for their continued happiness, success, and growth as they continue their journeys through life. The campus is certainly much quieter without them tonight.

Awards Ceremony
Dinand Library

After passing through a gauntlet of faculty applause (at left),
the Class of 2012 takes the field.

Congratulations, graduates!

Empty Grandeur II

The seniors will notice a few changes when they return to campus in a few days. Lawns are being cut, shrubs are being trimmed, and flowers are being planted in newly-mulched beds around various buildings.

Smith Hall and the Hill Dorms

A variety of banners highlighting themes of Jesuit education appeared around a central gathering space.

Buildings that were heavily used during finals week are being cleaned and put back into order. While checking out some summer reading items, the librarian gestured to five fully loaded book trucks marked "Returns." Over in the science complex, the detritus of marathon study sessions is being scoured from countless nooks and crannies.

Dinand Library– packed to the gills a few days ago, now eerily empty.

Benches such as these will surely facilitate many more good conversations, and witness a few tears, as the members of the Class of 2012 take their leave.

A senior and I had a long chat here the other evening.

After gifting this community and this city for four years, they'll receive hard-earned diplomas, as well as grand and well-deserved blessings, from a grateful College next week. I can already taste the bittersweet mix of emotion gathering in the atmosphere, awaiting expression amidst both well-planned pageantry and serendipitous encounters between seniors, parents, professors, administrators, Jesuits, and staff. For now, it remains strangely quiet, a tranquil prelude to the year's final movements.

Empty Grandeur

Final exams have ended. The last of the underclassmen (except RAs) seem to have moved out, a year (or two, or three) at Holy Cross under their belts. Nearly thirty students and a handful of chaplains entered the silence of the five-day Spiritual Exercises retreat this evening. While many of my Jesuit brethren are grateful for the peace that attends the close of a busy semester, not to mention the conclusion of grading final papers and exams, I already find myself missing the students who contribute so much to this school's identity and the vitality of this beautiful campus. While most of the seniors have departed to enjoy a few days on Cape Cod and elsewhere, before returning for the social events of Senior Week, a handful have chosen to remain here, engaging in one last, long, loving contemplation of the home they've created, and been created by, at Holy Cross. The Class of 2012, and legions of their proud admirers, will assemble next Thursday and Friday for the pomp, circumstance, and emotion of Baccalaureate Mass and Commencement. In the meantime, if my stroll this evening through a suddenly empty campus is any indication, every nook and cranny will continually hum with the echoes of the fine young men and women who breathed life into this community throughout the year.

May Day

May 1 is a big day in much of Europe, as I learned firsthand ten years ago while studying in Prague for the spring term of my sophomore year at Dartmouth. Communities in the countryside organize festivals featuring maypoles, dancing, athletic competitions, and other celebrations of the season. Cities play host to parades and rallies that honor the dignity and contributions of workers, organized by the trade unions which, a mere generation ago, provided much of the physical, political, and social momentum that drove totalitarian governments from power.

Here in the United States, it's just another day in the office, on the factory floor, or on the road for those of us blessed with employment in an economy that, despite any empirical gains in strength and vitality it has achieved in the past year, remains a source of fear and anxiety for far too many people. Whatever the unemployment figure may be in the minds of economists and policymakers, it represents men and women of many ages and backgrounds who find themselves unable to work, and obscures the very real, unique, and sometimes private struggles of those who desire to contribute to the needs of their families, communities, and nation through the tangible, productive, and dignified labor of their bodies and minds.

As I live and work on a college campus, I'm aware of some particular significance that attaches to May Day in our corner of the higher education landscape. Today is the last day for high school seniors across the country who have been offered admission to Holy Cross to postmark and submit their deposit, the first formal installment of a four-year investment of time, money, study, formation, and experience that will transform them in yet-unimagined ways. For the members of the Class of 2012, commencement exercises are a mere two dozen days away, bringing not only a formal conclusion to their fine and distinguished tenure at Holy Cross, but also a raft of emotions distributed across the full spectrum of the human experience– hopes and anxieties, elation and sadness, conviction and uncertainty. In conversations with some of them over lunch, after Mass, or between classes, it's clear that there's much on their minds and hearts, whether or not they're sufficiently comfortable or unhurried– deadlines for papers and upcoming exams loom large in this final week of classes– to articulate them aloud.

There's plenty of work to be done– in our communities, in our country, in our world– towards ensuring justice, peace, stability, health, and productivity among all people. There's much to celebrate in the lives of those who labor to accomplish these goals and provide these goods to their loved ones and their neighbors. There's much to support, develop, and encourage in the community of study, service, and reflection that exists here at Holy Cross, so that our next class of graduates will go out and take their place in this great human enterprise. On a quiet, cold, and rainy morning (apparently, April showers are late this year), that's the work in which I'm grateful to be involved, and in which I place a great deal of confidence and hope.

Through the Lens

In addition to my responsibilities in the Grants Office, I'm occasionally invited to photograph events on campus for the staff in Public Affairs. I covered two athletic events– women's basketball and men's hockey– at the end of February; yesterday, I was one of several campus photographers working at an awards luncheon for Holy Cross staff– basically anyone who isn't a professor, student, or head of an administrative department. By my estimation, nearly 300 people attended the function, which included a series of awards for 5-year increments of service, as well as distinguished recognitions of several employees for their devotion, dedication, and other highly esteemed qualities.

O'Kane Hall
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

I've never been completely comfortable photographing people, especially those whom I do not personally know. "Random" shots, no matter how carefully composed, still strike me as impersonal, despite their ability to portray the tender human interplay of a given moment. I witnessed several yesterday: colleagues leaning across a table to chat, a tradesman from the physical plant gently resting a hand on his young son's head, the smiles exchanged between award recipients and the College's president as they shook hands. Yet the very moments that I captured in these photographs– images that will hopefully charm viewers of the website and readers of the publications where they may appear– escaped my gaze in the instant when they occurred, driven from my consciousness by the act of peering through a lens.

Fenwick Hall
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

A wise Jesuit with whom I shared my developing interest in photography once cautioned me, "Don't hide behind the lens, nor miss what the camera helps you to see." I heard his words constantly as I moved about the ballroom yesterday, striving to be appropriately friendly and engaging while also sufficiently innocuous so as not to unduly influence the people whom I photographed. A certain level of focus on movement, lighting conditions, background, and other compositional elements noticeably shifted the character and depth of my presence in the room. Only in reviewing my images– and culling some truly awful ones– did I feel a fuller sense of appreciation for the events that I witnessed, the people whom I met, and the sense of community that I experienced during the luncheon. This insight continues to challenge me– whether or not I have a camera in hand– to be fully present to the variety of situations and people I encounter in my daily rounds, and to see not only through the fine photographic equipment with which I'm increasingly entrusted, but also through the senses with which I'm so lavishly blessed.

Called by Name

While walking to work this morning, I met a student who had been on the Spiritual Exercises earlier this year. Though she was not one of my directees, I greet her when we cross paths on campus, as I do with other Holy Cross students whom I know. Her name is an unusual one, so I've been worried that I wasn't pronouncing it correctly. When I sought some clarification this morning, the following conversation ensued:

Me: "Good morning, V!"

V: "Good morning, Chris!"

Me: "V, have I been pronouncing your name correctly?"

V: "Yes; in fact, I'm impressed you remember my name."

Me: "Well, thanks. Names have long been important to me. Whenever I'm on a retreat, like the Exercises, and people go around introducing themselves on the first night, I make an effort to pay close attention and remember everyone's name. I think it's really important to pray for people by name, and I try to do that as much as I can."

V: "Yeah, it's nice. We [she and other students, I imagine] like being called by name on campus."

Me: "Don't you get that all the time from your friends?"

V: "Not really... people will just say 'Hello!' or maybe wave, but we don't really call each other by name. So it's really nice when someone does."

By this point, we'd been standing in chilly air (about 20 degrees) and a light breeze, with the sun's first rays feebly shining through some gauzy low clouds on the horizon. So we quickly wrapped up our conversation, bidding one another a good day. Yet her comment stays with me, not only calling my attention to the significance of being called by name, but also urging me to consider the effects of an absence of such calls on the fabric of a community.

I've gotten to know many of the professors and staff whose offices are on the same floor as mine, even if only by name and department, and I enjoy opportunities throughout the day for brief chats... passing in the hallway, chatting around the water cooler, stopping by an open door to say hello and catch up on the affairs of life. I tend to greet them by name, but now I'm curious about how often they do the same (either with me or with their colleagues), and I'm going to pay attention over the coming week. Could it be simply a generational difference between professors and staff on the one hand, and V and her fellow students on the other? Is it a more widespread pattern? Or is it just a random effect dependent on individual personalities?

In any case, I'm still intent on remembering as many names as I can, and always grateful for opportunities to forge or sustain a connection by calling (and being called) by name.

A Simple Wish

In the course of talking with a number of students the other night, our conversational meanderings arrived at the topic of retreats. Upon my reference to the Spiritual Exercises– the Holy Cross version spans five days, features several talks each day by chaplains and guest directors, includes daily spiritual direction, and occurs in an atmosphere of intentional silence– those students who had made the retreat generally praised it, while those who had not generally stressed their anxiety about the silence, or even claimed near-certain knowledge that they would be incapable of quieting themselves for a week. Yet one student in the latter category swiftly added, "You know, we're all secretly looking for a chance to stop and breathe."

Last night, I attended a standing-room-only talk delivered by a sociology professor from MIT who studies the impact of technology on society. Sherry Turkle, officially the Abby Rockefeller Mauzé Professor of the Social Studies of Science and Technology (whew... my fingers need a break), shared an array of comments and themes drawn from her most recent book, Alone Together, which I would recommend on the basis of its intriguing inquiry into the effects of social media and communication technologies upon social and relational concepts (and experiences) of relationship, intimacy, and connection (as well as their converses). Though some members of the audience– most of them first-year students who had been examining her material in the context of various courses and seminars– may have interpreted her remarks as being highly critical of Facebook, Twitter, and other increasingly ubiquitous elements of the cultural and communicative landscape of certain segments of society, her intent was clearly the identification of serious and crucial questions regarding our usage of such technologies.

In a deliberate connection with the Turkle talk, these same first-year students are being invited and encouraged (yet not truly required) to refrain from texting, tweeting, using Facebook, and so on for a 24-hour period beginning around sundown this evening. Professors associated with the College's first-year program are providing them with small notebooks– bearing the word "Connections" on their covers– to write down their musings, experiences, and reflections as they communicate and interact without the influence of digital media. For myself, awareness of this event, as well as my own continuing reflections on Turkle's book, are leading me to strongly consider incorporating a similar measure into my observance of Lent this year; perhaps a Sunday devoid of Internet and cell phone usage, replaced with reading, writing letters, and intentional interpersonal interactions, for example.

In any event, it's my hope and desire that the students who choose to "disconnect" this evening and tomorrow are indeed able to "stop and breathe," but also to do much more. I hope that, in stepping back from the technology that so often surrounds them, they can see it as a suite of tools and capabilities that are valueless in themselves, but capable of supporting incredibly constructive and gravely destructive goals and behaviors. I hope that they can better recognize their own intentionality and agency– not merely in technology usage, but also in how they choose to interact with the world and its people, how they experience prayerful or meditative solitude, and how they devote their attention, their time, and their talents. These are questions that can't be fully examined, let alone answered, in a single day. Yet I hope such lines of inquiry are further opened by, and sustained long after, this experiment in "disconnection" and its inherent opportunities to explore methods of real connection.

Fraternal Admiration

I'm always excited when the lives, work, ministry, and legacy of my Jesuit brothers catches the attention of a wider audience. Today, I came across three items along these lines, which I offer for your consideration. Clicking on each title will lead you to another site as indicated. Enjoy!

Greg Boyle, SJ and the Homeboy Cafe in Los Angeles' City Hall

Greg Boyle, SJ has spent years ministering to current and former gang members in Los Angeles, and has worked with them to establish a variety of programs, services, and full-fledged businesses that provide a viable, safe, and fulfilling alternative to life on the streets for thousands of Los Angeles' youth. The "Homeboy Industries" organization that grew from Fr. Boyle's vision and devotion now operates a cafe in Los Angeles' City Hall; its opening is profiled in a short video linked above.

The Jesuit Post

The Jesuit Post is a blog recently launched through the efforts and collaboration of a number of young Jesuits around the country. Blogging on a variety of topics– from social issues to spirituality, from technology to theology, from cultural affairs to contemplative reflection– these Jesuits, many still studying and preparing for ordination to the priesthood, offer an intriguing perspective on the world in which we all live. The link above guides you to the blog's home page, where you can read about its staff and contributors, as well as peruse their writings.

The book "Fraternity" highlighted on the Callie Crossley Show

The Callie Crossley Show, aired on WGBH, a public radio and television station in Boston, profiled Fraternity, a new book by journalist Diane Brady that profiles a significant period in the history of the College of the Holy Cross. [This link directs you to a news article on the Holy Cross website.] Amidst the social and racial upheaval of the late 1960s, a Jesuit professor– who went on to become a dean and later president at Holy Cross, and who remains a beloved fixture and wisdom figure in the community– traveled throughout the South to recruit promising African-American men (Holy Cross became coeducational in 1972) to join the College community. As the book describes, their education and experience at Holy Cross, and the ongoing mentorship and support of Fr. John Brooks, SJ, set them on the path to success, prominence, and remarkable contributions to society. The link above directs you to the full audio of the one-hour show.

Exercises

Following up on last week's post about smart training for the Boston Marathon, which Mother Nature seems to have read with delight and taken as a challenge, I'm happy to report that I've enjoyed two fulfilling, exciting, and safe morning runs this week. They've been quite wintry, slightly gritty, yet not at all stupid (at least in my estimation... others may beg to differ). Yes, it was only 4 degrees on Monday morning, but there was clear pavement, no wind, and abundant warm clothing in my running drawer. Two well-chosen layers and a reasonably warm reflective vest did the job. Today, snow and slush on the ground... but no ice, and a well-timed window between overnight snow and some light rain forecast for later in the day. The schools were gracious enough to delay opening for two hours; the plows and I managed to avoid one another on lightly traveled streets. With 90 days to go until Boston, losing a day or two is fine if need be, but there's something comforting in clicking through my plan as smoothly as I click through five to seven miles on quiet, chilly weekday mornings.

This afternoon, in the company of nearly fifty Holy Cross students and eight other spiritual directors (Jesuits, women religious, and laypersons among them), I'll head to a Jesuit retreat house for the next five days, where together we'll share a silent retreat designed from the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola. The founder of the Jesuits referred to the sessions of prayer and meditation during a retreat as "exercises" because he felt that they were akin to the physical and mental conditioning that he pursued so diligently as a knight and courtier in his younger life. Prayer can indeed be about resting in God's presence, but the discipline needed to settle into a silent, focused attitude of mind and heart can be especially challenging in today's busy, "noisy" society. Students often come to this silent retreat– which is among the most popular spiritual programs offered by the chaplains' office– both craving the silence and nervous about its cavernous space. It's my hope that each of them– particularly the five students whom I'm blessed to accompany more closely in spiritual direction– will find genuine joy and fulfillment in the prayer of the coming days, and feel the benefits of shaping an even stronger and healthier spiritual life.

Moore State Park, Paxton MA
January 2010

Between today and Sunday, any prayers on our behalf would be greatly appreciated, as we each strive to enter into this community of contemplative prayer, seeking to better know, love, and follow Christ in our lives, and receive the blessings and graces we desire.

Success and Succession

"Mahogany Row"
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

The ground floor of the main administration building at Holy Cross is commonly known as “Mahogany Row.” It’s one of my favorite interior spaces on campus, and reminds me of a style more akin to the elite boarding school portrayed in one of my favorite films– Dead Poets Society. When I walk down its tiled hallway, past the panes of frosted glass on office doors that open inward, my attention is drawn upwards to the oil portraits of the College’s past presidents. Early last Friday morning, workers hung the thirty-first portrait, honoring Rev. Michael McFarland, SJ, whose nearly twelve years of leadership fostered significant growth and development of the College in nearly every aspect of its identity, and made an indelible impression on the life of the Holy Cross community.

[An excellent article about Fr. McFarland's time as president of Holy Cross appeared last month in the Worcester Telegram and Gazette.]

Rev. Michael McFarland, SJ
31st President of the College of the Holy Cross (2000-2012)

Having lived in community with Michael since moving to Worcester, I’ve admired his highly successful and effective leadership of Holy Cross, as well as his presence around the house. I’ve also enjoyed seeing him on the roads around the College, as we’re both avid early morning runners. I’m grateful for all that he’s taught me by his example– the importance of regular, visible, generous, and personal involvement in the life of the community, the asset of a creative balance between prayer and work, exercise and rest, and a clear sense that devotion to a given mission of the Society of Jesus is inseparable from attention to the hopes, dreams, concerns, and needs of the people whom it serves. Even from my humble post in the College’s grant-writing office, these are lessons that I’m trying to incorporate in my daily work, striving to aid in sustaining the mission and enhancing the legacy of Holy Cross.

[Also, just posted today on the Holy Cross website, is a brief announcement welcoming Rev. Philip Boroughs, SJ to campus on his first day serving as the College's thirty-second president. May God bless him and his ministry to the Holy Cross community!]