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

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.

"Indigent Bohemians"

Edward MacDowell's original studio
MacDowell Colony, Peterborough NH

Last Sunday, I made a delightful journey on back roads to Peterborough NH, home to the MacDowell Colony. Established just over a century ago, MacDowell is an artists' colony on bucolic wooded grounds just outside the center of a quaint little town near Mt. Monadnock. Their annual Medal Day– which features an award given to an artist who has made prolific contributions to his or her field, a picnic lunch, and three hours of open studios hosted by the artists dwelling in them at the time– is the only day each year when the colony is open to the public. Throughout the rest of the year, it provides a haven, and a community, amidst which artists can devote themselves fully and deeply to the creative labor required to bring their ideas and imaginings to life.

This year's awardee, Stephen Sondheim, offered some wonderful reflections on the role of artists and creativity in the life of society, as well as the significance that recognition– be it public or private– of their work's impact and value can have on their own sense of themselves and their creations. Before his brief acceptance speech, several other MacDowell officials shared some remarks on the colony's history, as well as the state of creativity as a social and cultural value. One described a comment made by J.P. Morgan when asked if he'd provide some seed money for the project back around 1906– he flatly refused to provide any funds for what seemed to be a place designed solely to coddle "indigent Bohemians" with little potential lasting benefit to society. Naturally, those present laughed at Mr. Morgan's miscalculation, though I'm sure most were keenly aware of the role that philanthropy and other forms of support provide for many artists.

MacDowell Colony, Peterborough NH

Strolling the colony's wooded paths, stopping at studios to visit and chat with artists, I found myself thinking not only of the "indigent Bohemians" phrase but also of the annual silent retreat that I undertake. In hearing the artists describe their creative processes– experimenting with ideas, trying out designs, passing through cycles of revision and critique– I recognized my own efforts in prayer to refine my sense and practice of faithful discipleship, practical work at whatever assignment I'm given, and the contributions I make to my local community. Having the time to dwell deeply on such questions– especially in a place as lovely and secluded as the MacDowell Colony– is a tremendous gift, and it was clear that these artists were intensely grateful, and eager to invest their talents to inspire and intrigue the society that, at least to some degree, invests in them.

MacDowell Colony, Peterborough NH

Taxi Montage

It's been two weeks since I left Brasil, and as I've generally been either on retreat or on vacation since returning to the United States, I've had plenty of time to recall the people, moments, images, and ideas that filled every waking moment in Salvador and Rio. One that keeps returning is the 20-minute cab ride that ferried me from a family friend's apartment to the international airport, from the city's southern end (a few beaches down from Copacabana) to an artificial island on the northern edge of town. The route took me through familiar neighborhoods, past places newly inscribed with many pilgrims' memories besides my own. After a valiant effort at kind small talk with the driver, I settled into a prayerful recollection of the previous three weeks, scenes racing through my mind just as apartments, hills, and other parts of Rio whizzed by, glowing in the long rays of the wintry sunset.

One friend, with a flair for the artistic in his metaphors, responded to this story with an intriguing phrase: "If your Brasil trip were a movie, your ride to the airport would be the taxi montage." And so, here's some of that taxi montage, or at least some elements of it that I actually captured. Lovely summer sunsets here in New England, a world away and at the other end of the seasonal cycle, have proven quite adept at triggering additional screenings of this part of the film.

Colegio Antonio Vieira, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Bahía de Todos os Santos, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Jesuit church ceiling, Salvador de Bahía, Brasil

Magis delegation flags

First glimpse of Cristo Redentor
Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Santa Marta community, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

St. Ignatius Church, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Nossa Senora de Penha shrine, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Claude at Ipanema, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil

Claude and Cristo Redentor, Rio de Janeiro, Brasil