Clear Sight

Go before us with heavenly light, O Lord, always and everywhere, that we may perceive with clear sight and revere with true affection the mystery in which you have willed us to participate.

– Prayer after Communion, Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord

Like Christmas, the feast of the Epiphany comes at a time when New England's seasonal darkness and the activity of various holidays can enhance one's desire for light and peace. For my community, it comes at the end of our winter vacation; tonight we begin a three-day retreat to renew our devotion to religious life and its particular Jesuit expression before starting a new round of classes with our fellow Boston College students on January 12.

The foreign visitors who came to Jerusalem, led by the unexpected appearance of a brilliant star, were perhaps shocked at their hosts' confusion and alarm. Did they not recognize the wondrous sign in their midst? The wise men, undoubtedly content with their riches, their wisdom, and their prominent standing in their own country, abandoned these sources of security to follow a celestial portent. Upon reaching their unknown destination, they humbled themselves before a greater wealth, a deeper truth, and a more enduring power. After encountering God before them in a most humbling and unexpected way, they eventually returned home, not only by a different route, but also as changed people.

As I was greeting families after Mass this morning, one of the many young children in attendance made a break for the altar. Within a few moments, he was crawling toward the manger scene, pointing at the infant Jesus nestled in the company of Mary and Joseph, shepherds, the three wise men (recently arrived from their earlier position in the back of the church), and an assortment of animals and angels. His mother and aunt followed closely, but gave him plenty of freedom to wander around, point excitedly, and gaze at the scene before him. We couldn't tell what he was saying– or whether it was in English or in Spanish, for that matter– but we could tell that he was captivated by something, and wanted us to share in his wonder and amazement.

As our community gathers anew after our Christmas travels, I'm delighted to recognize us renewing the tangible mystery of our fraternal bonds. Jesuits from distant countries who moved into my small community of ten back in August have transformed my experience of belonging to a religious order that is global in scope but profoundly local in practice. Living here in Boston, with these nine brothers within a larger community of eighty, has drawn me to devote an increasing share of my gifts, my time, and my devotion to the life that we share as we study, cook, pray, laugh, and relax together, day in and day out. They are the ones who remind me of my commitment, encourage me to go out to friends and neighbors with enthusiastic friendship and service, and share my joys and struggles as I accompany them in theirs. My dear brothers may have come from the other side of the world, and will surely return there in the future, just as I expect to journey onward from Boston after completing my studies. Yet none of us will leave here as the men who arrived, and I can already envision myself feeling very much at home with them in their countries should I ever be fortunate to journey there.

The heavenly light of God is sorely needed in our world, where darknesses both profound and subtle filter into the radiance of human lives, the natural environment, and various societies and cultures. Fortunately, it's already present in all of those places and people. The Epiphany message depicts that light as a guide to our journeys, a promise of encounter with God, and an assurance of our truest hopes and dreams. We've been invited into the mystery; let's be sure to take (and share) a good look.

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

Labor Day

In helping to organize and plan our community's celebration of Labor Day, I've found the following prayer to be particularly apt, given the state of affairs in our nation and our world. May each of you be blessed with fruitful labor, and restorative leisure in due measure, this day and throughout the weeks and months ahead.

O God, who through human labor

never cease to perfect and govern the vast work of creation,

listen to the supplications of your people

and grant that all men and women

may find work that befits their dignity,

joins them more closely to one another

and enables them to serve their neighbor.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

one God, for ever and ever.

– Collect Prayer from Mass for the Sanctification of Human Labor

A Prayer on the Fourth

The new translation of the Roman Missal includes special prayers for use at Mass in the United States on the Fourth Of July. One in particular, to be used before the reading of the day, resonates with me as I'm moving through my observance of the holiday this year:

"Father of all nations and ages,
we recall the day when our country
claimed its place among the family of nations;
for what has been achieved we give you thanks,
for the work that still remains we ask your help,
and as you have called us from many peoples to be one nation,
grant that, under your providence,
our country may share your blessings
with all the peoples of the earth.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever."

May you all have a delightful Fourth of July, and may our country and its people be blessed.

P.S.: More soon about the adventures during, and some of the rationale behind, my absence from the blogosphere over the past few weeks.

Fitting Prayers

The prayers at Mass today were exactly what I needed to hear. In addition to the linguistic imagery itself, the syntax– challenging and elegant, yielding its subtle eloquence after patient meditation– nicely mirrors the difficulty I've found in expressing the nuances of my Lenten pilgrimage (both in prayer and in conversation), as well as the joy and assurance I've found in occasional moments of genuine connection with God, Jesuit brothers, and friends in the course of this particular stage of my journey.

Enlighten, O God of compassion,

The hearts of your children, sanctified by penance,

And in your kindness

Grant those you stir to a sense of devotion

A gracious hearing when they cry out to you.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

Who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

One God, for ever and ever.

–Collect, Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Green Hill Park, Worcester MA
April 2011

Attend, almighty God,

To the prayers of your people,

And, as you endow them

With confident hope in your compassion.

Let them feel as ever the effects of your mercy.

Through Christ our Lord.

– Prayer over the People, Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

On Being Busy

St. Michael's Cathedral
Springfield MA

"O God, who teach us that you abide
in hearts that are just and true,
grant that we may be so fashioned by your grace as to become a dwelling pleasing to you.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever."

– Collect prayer, Sixth Sunday of Ordinary Time

Whenever I find that there's something that I haven't done for a while– be it writing in my journal, sitting in my recliner to pray after a long day, posting a blog entry, calling my parents, and so on– I readily point to the circumstances and rhythm of my life and say, "Well, I've been busy." But when does that phrase represent an honest explanation, and when is it merely a dissimulating excuse?

This past week, I've been paying attention to the ways in which I've been busy. A proposal for a given faculty member necessitated a great deal of frenzied attention when some changes were made hours before the deadline, resulting in a series of technical issues that required hasty resolution. I spent many hours tweaking a slate of documents related to some upcoming projects, setting up meetings to discuss their contents with relative individuals at the College, and then ensuring that final drafts were agreed upon and filed properly. I offered time and a listening ear in the evenings to some friends going through challenging times, happily lingered with my fellow Jesuits at table, and set aside a few hours for a wonderful conversation with a priest friend who happened to be traveling through town. But I also found ways of avoiding an urge to sit down and be still, opportunities to fritter away time and attentiveness that could have been dedicated to responding to weeks-old letters, and an unsettling hesitancy to engage in prayer when I wasn't certain that my efforts would be "worthwhile," disillusioned by a frustrating spell of spiritual dryness. Looking back over the past week, I became aware, with some sobering humility, that not all of the activities that I'd freely chosen were genuinely satisfying, not all of my intentional busyness was truly productive, and not all of my devoted attention was prudently invested.

This self-examination of "being busy" is occurring at a favorable time; with Lent beginning in ten days, I'm praying about the changes that I wish to make, the patterns that I wish to amend, and the disciplines that I wish to renew in the upcoming liturgical season of prayer and penitence, of asceticism and almsgiving. Certainly, I desire a "heart that is just and true," and aspire to be "a dwelling pleasing" to God... not just as a Jesuit, but also as a person of prayer and a follower of Christ. I know that certain types of work and rest that I may undertake lead towards that goal, in cooperation with divine grace. Yet manners of activity and idleness that can frustrate progress towards that end are all too familiar to me, in both imagination and experience. As I prepare to greet a new week, I pray for greater resolve to busy myself in the construction and sustenance of harmonious relationships with God and with God's people, as well as firmer devotion to the fruitful activity and nourishing rest that will foster my flourishing at work and at home.

A Prayer for the New Year

Cohasset MA

For thus says the Lord... I know well the plans I have in mind for you... plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope.

When you call me, and come and pray to me, I will listen to you.

When you look for me, you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord, and I will change your lot; I will gather you together from all the nations and all the places to which I have banished you... and bring you back to the place from which I have exiled you.

– Jeremiah 29:11-14

Advent (Week II)

Some images and experiences from Week II of Advent 2011:

Frost on the windows above my prayer ledge nicely framed a memento of Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish, my faith community for three years in St. Louis, on a chilly morning in Worcester.

Over breakfast on Wednesday morning, the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, some of my octogenarian brothers shared stories of where they were on that "day that shall live in infamy." Crisp memories of their high school classes being interrupted by radio bulletins impressed me with the power of recollection, and the value of honoring and drawing on such living links to the past, in order that we may live better in the present and future. 

My ongoing adjustment to the new translation of the Roman Missal has inspired some more careful study of the text. Even though there's still a long road of formation and preparation before I can be considered for priestly ordination (prayers always appreciated!), I'm finding fulfillment in meditating on the texts that have been created to guide the people of God– priests, ministers, and laypersons–  in their celebration of the Mass.

"Grant that your people, we pray, almighty God,

may be ever watchful

for the coming of your Only Begotten Son

that, as the author of our salvation himself has taught us,

we may hasten, alert and with lighted lamps,

to meet him when he comes.

Who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

one God, forever and ever."

– Collect, Mass for Friday of the Second Week of Advent

Back to School

Students returned to the Nativity School of Worcester yesterday, and classes begin today at the College of the Holy Cross, where the first-year students have been thoroughly welcomed, and returning students have finally moved in after delays caused by Hurricane Irene. Along with a vaguely autumnal clarity, there's a feeling of freshness and excitement in the air as a new semester gets underway.

In my strolls around the campus this week, meeting students and professors once again on my way to and from work, I've been reminded of a short Jesuit prayer that I've encountered many times– in the novitiate, in various schools and churches where I've worked, in community meetings. It seems fitting for this time of year, and I hope that it can help us to pay attention to God's presence in the various tasks, both new and ongoing, that we all undertake.

"A Prayer for Spiritual Freedom"

O Spirit of God, we ask you to help orient

all our actions by your inspirations,

carry them on by your gracious assistance,

that every prayer and work of ours

may always begin from you

and through you be happily ended.

[From "Hearts on Fire: Praying with Jesuits" edited by Michael Harter SJ]