No Transition, Plenty of Change

"Make Way for Ducklings" sculpture
Boston Public Garden, Boston MA

In my first true waking hours of 2015 (after a good night's sleep that began not long after midnight), it occurred to me that I'm poised to spend this entire year as I spent the past one: assigned to graduate studies at Boston College. My ten years as a Jesuit have featured plenty of transitions: between various assignments, from one city to another, and through distinct phases of formation. Although I traveled extensively throughout the United States this past summer during a 50-day odyssey that brought me to a dozen towns and cities for at least 24 hours each, throughout the calendar year I received my mail in the Brighton neighborhood and legitimately carried and used a Boston College student ID. That couldn't be said of 2013; I left a wonderful grant-writing job at Holy Cross and moved 50 miles east to hit the books after a four-year stretch of full-time work. 2011 saw me switch jobs, and 2009 featured a graduation, a move from St. Louis to Worcester, and my first cross-country Amtrak pilgrimage. (My second one took up 15 of this summer's 50 days on the road.) For the first time since the stretch from January 2007 to December 2008, I can safely anticipate doing the same thing in the same place for two consecutive years; in reality, I expect my present period of theology studies to keep me in Boston through December 2016, if not May 2017.

Transitions have always offered me timely opportunities to learn and to grow in the course of taking on a new job, moving to a new city, and getting settled in a new Jesuit community. They've also served as clear markers inviting reflection on the past, taking stock of successes and setbacks, while also drawing my attention toward the unknown future, encouraging me to develop goals, envision hopes, and welcome whatever blessings and challenges I might encounter in a new environment. Taking on my first "real job" at age 27 involved a significant learning curve, the shift from master's degree student to middle-school teacher being but one of many trails on that steep climb. Leaving that post to assume one in higher education at age 29, feeling as inexperienced in the latter as I felt inadequate in the former, turned out to inaugurate breakthroughs in self-knowledge, professional capability, and genuine happiness and fulfillment that sustain me to this day. Transitions have not always been easy or expected, but when they've come, they've come with a clear message: time for a change!

In this context, as I look back on 2014, one of its great lessons to me is that change doesn't depend upon transition. The year had an abundance of stability, a blessing for which my delight in routine makes me quite grateful, yet it was far from static. Recalling the state of my mind, heart, and soul in January 2014 in light of who I am as the first day of 2015 draws to a close, the changes I perceive are astounding. I became deeply committed to serious study of theology as a crucial labor for my formation and preparation for ordained ministry... not just as someone who's well versed in the teachings and traditions of the Church, but as someone who knows, firsthand, the importance of having that foundation from which to enter into genuine, inviting, and open-minded dialogue with the issues, controversies, and most importantly, the people of today's world. I beheld the vitality of this fine city and its people as I ran from Hopkinton to Copley Square on Patriots' Day, as one million people cheered the runners, family members, public safety personnel, volunteers, and fellow citizens who breathed new life into the Boston Marathon on a glorious Easter Monday. I felt that same spirit reveal its turmoil as it joined other cities and their people in protests and questions of racial justice and civic trust during the fall and early winter after the deaths of unarmed African-American men and the deaths of police officers on duty, all felled by bullets on city streets. I labored to grasp– in mind, heart, and soul– the meaning of divine love expressed in our humanity, from the mystery of Jesus' birth to the wondrous intricacy of deep friendships, whether long-standing or dazzlingly new.

Where to go from here? In truth, nowhere. Boston is my home, this Jesuit community is my family, my friends and relatives around the corner and across the country are a network of outstanding support, and a group of remarkable individuals. I will soon begin another semester that promises an abundance of articles and conversations from which to learn. The changes set in motion within me throughout 2014 bear a momentum whose exertions will surely continue in the days, weeks, and months to come. I don't need a transition... just the ability to keep a hand on the wheel, an eye on the road, and my whole being focused on the journey and those who accompany me in it. There's plenty of change, adventure, and progress waiting... and so much of it can be found right here. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Beacon Hill, Boston MA

A Concert for One (Hundred)

It's not every day that one of the nation's best musical ensembles puts on a free lunchtime concert to celebrate the occasion of turning in your last papers to close out the semester. Then again, it's not every day that the same group offers the same gesture to the tourists who happened to notice the sign on the sidewalk in front of Boston's oldest churches, or a job candidate who just had a tough interview, or the elderly gentleman who looks like he knows his way around the sanctuary. In reality, the Handel and Haydn Society's splendid performance of works by Corelli, Handel, Pisendel, and Vivaldi wasn't prepared for us specifically, yet for 45 minutes on a finicky spring day, the hundred of us gathered in King's Chapel relished this intimate gift.

Handel and Haydn Society musicians
King's Chapel, Boston MA

As the stone walls and relatively unadorned interior of this 18th-century house of worship hushed the myriad stimuli of Boston's Financial District, the musicians filled not only the space, but also our ears, hearts, and souls, with truly delightful music. In my developing career as a practically experienced but rather unschooled connoisseur of the classical genre, I regularly encounter moving wonders in both new and familiar compositions. I can still recall the first time I noticed the swelling progression in one of my favorite sections of Beethoven's repertoire– the second movement of the seventh symphony– as it made its way through the orchestra, section by section. With only four musicians at today's concert, it was easy to see– and no less remarkable to behold– the gestures of eyes, hands, chins, even bows, that communicated the various elements of each piece. Surely there was much more that I missed.

Boston Public Garden

While having a quick lunch in the Boston Public Garden before the concert, I thought I'd have time afterwards to return and enjoy its glowing splendor of budding trees blooming tulips, and a nesting swan. But a thick bank of clouds and a cascade of tightly confined showers swept in just as the music ended, urging me to pedal my bicycle back to Boston College at a fierce clip. Apparently I had taken for granted the gift of celebrating the fruits of sacrificial discipline throughout the semester that allowed me to finish my work before the first day of finals week. The cost of procrastination suddenly struck just as I stood poised to profit from months of its opposite.

These hours reminded me that God offers me gifts such as these every day, regardless of my workload, the weather, or my knowledge of who's performing where. (Thanks, H&H, for last night's email about today's concert!) Now that the semester's academic tasks are behind me, I have fewer excuses for putting off the choices that would focus my gaze and my actions upon recognizing, receiving, and sharing the blessings that can seem sent specifically to me, but are meant to touch many lives.

Snowpack

As February draws to a close, so too does the first half of the semester. After seven weeks of sustaining the demands of five courses, I'm grateful for a week free of class meetings, even though much of that freedom will be directed toward researching and drafting at least one final paper. As of my latest run to the library, I've got 18 items checked out, and I'm nearly out of space on the shelf devoted to the semester's books. I take some geeky pride in all this, but having nearly three linear feet of theological writings staring at me is a sobering reminder of how much information I'm being asked to process.

Faber Jesuit Community
Brighton MA

Fortunately, the other view staring at me is one of consoling wintry beauty. I'm well aware that many in New England are growing tired of the snow and unusual cold that have characterized the past two and a half months. I, for one, will certainly welcome days when the temperature for my morning runs isn't uncannily close to the number of miles I'm running. And there are already signs of spring's slow onset– the horizon brims with brilliant predawn light ever earlier, I hear more birds in that same tranquil time of the morning, and the steadily climbing sun is slowly picking away at the snowpack.

As I turn to my heavier writing projects, steeped in hundreds of pages of articles on everything from migration to the body, from ethics to treatises on faith and culture, I'm hoping to see the insights buried in nearly two months of reading and thinking slowly trickle out. Just as the northern forests sing with streaming snowmelt in March, the papers I'll write have the potential to stir my spirit and inspire my mind with new learning about the connections between theology, social teachings, and the concrete experiences and practical challenges faced by my neighbors near and far. Any meaningful contributions of mine may be as far off as the spring blooms that so many of us await, but the expectation of the latter is a powerful hope whose vigor, at least for me, grows with every passing day.

Centerline Freedom

On most weekdays, there's very little traffic in my neighborhood at 5:30am. Still, a few early birds making their way from Point A to Point B require us to the road. The other morning, I caught a lucky break– I encountered only parked cars for a full mile on a straight stretch of one of my regular loops through Brighton and Newton– and shamelessly indulged it by running on the yellow centerline. It was a rare treat that represented a brief reprieve from the subtle biomechanical stress of running on crowned roads (imagine walking on a sideways-tilted surface for an hour, and you get the idea), a throwback to cross-country courses marked by a single line of chalk or paint meandering over hill and dale for five kilometers, and a deeper sense of having the pre-dawn darkness all to myself.

As I rolled through that swift and quiet mile, it felt strange to be away from my usual space on the side of the road. Though perhaps only an inch or two higher than the curbs, I imagined myself tracing a sharp ridgeline with an expansive view of the valleys on either side. The two lanes, despite their breadth of asphalt, seemed narrower than the thin space between them that my feet smoothly paced. Until a car appeared, I had no obligation– or desire– to choose a side, even while following that centerline as rigidly as any trail weaving through the woods where I raced in high school.

One of the things I've enjoyed about my theology studies thus far is the breadth of positions, perspectives, and approaches that my classmates have brought to our conversations, both in and out of the classroom. Particularly in a course on pastoral care and a seminar on ministry in congregations characterized by cultural and racial diversity, there could be a wealth of well-argued positions about everything from liturgical style to approaches to grief, from the role of a minister to the influence of family dynamics on a given individual's development. I regularly experienced the blessing of dialogues with students and professors in which we debated firm positions without taking sides; we could each maintain a clear direction while also acknowledging the signs and directions that we exchanged to keep one another on course.

As a new semester begins on Monday, and my early morning training runs continue– the Boston Marathon is 100 days away– I'll continue to enjoy as much centerline freedom as I can. The goals are clear, there's still much of that youthful cross-country runner in me to sustain and motivate a few months of hard work, and there are plenty of views to enjoy and appreciate as I press on towards the next finish line.

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.