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.

Disconnected Thoughts

Daybreak at Holy Cross
September 2012

Why so long since my last post?

For one thing, it's been quite the first month of the semester. The stretch from the final day of August to the final day of September included:

• The first days of class
• Two individual grant submissions, periodic updates of the office website, and two major proposal projects (both ongoing)
• Hosting the College's trustees for dinner during their fall meeting
• Three days of events celebrating the inauguration of the new president of Holy Cross
• Preparations for a trip to Bolivia next week
• Rehearsals for the theater department's production of "Machinal"
• The daily rhythm of research, writing, meetings, chatting in the hallways, and so on

In addition, amidst this delightful breadth and quantity of events, I've increasingly relished the soothing power of quieter, contemplative time. Specifically, spending my evenings (after Mass and dinner and perhaps an evening walk with my Jesuit brothers) in the calming pursuits of reading, writing, knitting, praying, and listening to classical music, all with my door propped open to let gentle breezes cycle through.

Furthermore, continuing on the meditations described in a previous post, I'm increasingly skeptical of this blog's ability to communicate in the ways that I intend, and in ways that are consistent with the depth of communication that I believe is deserved by any with whom I might engage in conversation. I struggle to discover in my blogging, despite its potential for breadth of audience, a capacity to unify depth of connection and specificity of audience. I know that I find, and relish, that latter synergy in the art of written correspondence that I and some good friends maintain... a practice, I might add, that has recently (and happily) been occupying time that otherwise might be devoted to blogging. Yet perhaps I'm conceiving of this medium, and my usage of it, in ways not entirely consistent with its strengths.

I'm much closer to concluding this period of blogging than when I first wrote about this topic in July. Yet I'm not completely convinced that my work, and my learning, is finished here. One thing seems to be true... I'll be changing my style of, and approach to, using this method of communication, whether I stay with it or let it go. I'd welcome any thoughts, not only about how I might proceed, but also about your experience of communication in all its forms, particularly those that you savor most deeply.

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

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.

Saturday Vows, Round Three

No pictures of my own this time... I left that to the professionals in order to be more focused on the company of my fellow Jesuits and the friends and family of three men who pronounced first vows last Saturday. [A brief article, with an image and a short video, may be found here.]

I'd been looking forward to this event for many weeks, anticipating a celebration that would mark an important step in the formation of these three men, bring together Jesuits from throughout New England and the Mid-Atlantic, and be a clear transition from the departing summer season to the arriving academic year. As vows are celebrated in Syracuse, where novices from these regions are based for two years of prayer, instruction, and service that introduce them to Jesuit life and provide a rich context for further discernment of their vocations, my attendance for each of the past seven years (including my own vows in August 2006) is an annual homecoming of sorts, returning to the place where my journey in the Society of Jesus formally began. I experienced many moving moments during the course of the weekend, of which I wish to highlight three in particular.

• The homily offered by at the Vow Mass by a Jesuit whose wisdom, experience, and sense of humor I have come to deeply appreciate over the past eight years. His eloquent articulation of the concept of a promise– understood in terms from the simplest to the most solemn– invited me to a stronger identification with, and acceptance of, the divine love that calls me to this particular path in life, and animates my desire and effort to respond faithfully to my vocation. What I promised at my first vows six years ago ought to remain as true and powerful today as it felt to me then, and ought not to be diminished or forgotten amidst the vicissitudes of more mundane daily affairs.
• A pair of visits to families from the local parish where I worshipped during my two years in Syracuse. The parish continues to be a welcoming community that strives to practice the Gospel faithfully, though perhaps rather radically from some viewpoints. Over the years since I moved on from the novitiate, I've managed to maintain contact with two particular families who were very supportive of me and my community during my time in Syracuse. Although I now only see them during my annual visit for vows, I always find an open door at their homes, and encounter a delight in sharing conversations that renew our acquaintance. Having known them for eight years, I have seen their children grow, their relationships deepen, and their family lives mature without losing vitality. I feel quite humbled and awed by the welcome that they continue to extend to me, whether or not I've arranged the visit ahead of time.
• Jesuit friendships. Simply put, I shared some wonderful, memorable, nourishing conversations with some fine men (young and older alike) whom I increasingly consider to be more than just brothers in the religious community which we've all chosen to join. In seeking their advice on some matters, or offering the same, I perceived a subtly palpable bond of friendship that I hadn't really noticed (or acknowledged) as readily in the past. It's a clear growth edge for me as I consider and discern what I desire to pursue this year in my ongoing formation as a Jesuit, as well as a gift that I've already received yet am appreciating in a striking and delightful new way.

The last Saturday in August will bring the Class of 2016 and their parents to Holy Cross for the annual ritual of moving in and saying farewell. I've been looking forward to this for a few weeks as well, and tomorrow morning will find me joining students and residence life personnel at 7:30am in front of one of the first-year residence halls, enthusiastic welcomes at the ready. I promised I'd be there, and in doing so, I'll be reminded of the most important promises that I've made and kept, the families to whom I belong and with whom I've become associated, and the friendships that support me in ways that I can't live without.

Saturday Vows, Round Two

Continuing my series of vow celebrations on successive Saturdays, I attended the wedding of a cousin five days ago. If memory serves, this was the first wedding that I've attended on this side of the family since my mom's youngest brother was married more than twenty years ago, and the first time in many years that I can recall assembling with all of my mom's extended family (sometimes a cousin or two would be absent at Thanksgiving or Christmas).

My newly married cousin, flanked by her husband
and surrounded by our relatives.

During the ceremony, as well as at the reception, I found myself reflecting on the theme of family. The Christian minister who officiated at the wedding described the graced manner in which a strong marriage not only unites husband and wife, but also draws together two families as a new family comes into being. Siblings of the groom and the bride each used their toasts at the reception to tell a brief story about their newly wedded brother and sister, respectively, not only to highlight an idiosyncratic trait or famous episode cementing their place in family lore, but also to welcome the other family into these ongoing narratives.

While entering the Society of Jesus eight years ago did not entail severing all ties with my parents, younger sister, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, it did bring about a decided shift in my relationships with them as I began integrating myself into my new religious family, a brotherhood living in community. It's something more than simply moving away to work in another city, even though my patterns of visitation to home and relatives in South Jersey (lately, for Thanksgiving, Christmas, perhaps Easter, and a week in the summer) are little different than several cousins of mine who do not live in that charming corner of the world. It's a situation in which I see my primary "family narrative" being written through my experiences with my brother Jesuits, while my relationships with my blood relatives take on the role of a supportive sub-plot. Conversely, while my place in the ever-expanding family narrative that continues in South Jersey and elsewhere is hardly limited to my identity as a Jesuit, the qualities associated with their perceptions of my religious life do significantly shape our conversations when I'm home, and perhaps their words about me when I'm away.

My sister and parents

So when my cousin and her sister speak of welcoming a new family into ours, and when her husband and his brother invite my family into theirs, I find myself not only drawn into that expansion of relation, but also firmly rooted in the religious family to which I've given myself– not always as perfectly or generously as I could, mind you– over the past eight years. I've often heard superiors of religious communities– especially novitiates, where the first stage of formation takes place, and the most pronounced signs of "entrance" occur– offer comfort and encouragement to parents with variations on this theme: "You're not losing a child, you're gaining a family." It seems that I've been living, and increasingly recognizing, a corollary that applies to those in religious life: "You're not losing your family, you're identifying more closely with a new one." In any event, family is important to me, and whenever I'm back home in South Jersey, I'm renewed in my awareness of, and gratitude for, the crucial and invaluable love and support that they offer to me. In turn, I'm reminded to pay attention to my bonds with them, while remaining steadfast in the spirit of my vows that commit me, through community life in the Society of Jesus, to the brothers with whom God calls me to work and live.