Morning Assembly Reflection

Each day at school, the entire community gathers for morning assembly. After attendance is taken and announcements are read, a group of four to five students present the word of the days, a historical anniversary, and some stories from national and international news. The teacher who advises those students then offers a brief reflection to the school community. On average, each teacher offers a reflection once every three weeks. Today it was my turn.

Think for a moment about three basic elements: water, fire, and air. Each, in itself, is neither good nor bad, though each has the potential to cause tremendous destruction or cultivate awe-inspiring vitality. The tsunami triggered by the earthquake in Japan two and a half weeks ago is made of the same water that swells spring rains that waken dormant farmland for a rich harvest months later. The same fire that can incinerate a warehouse or claim human lives can also cook food, warm those huddled around a campfire, and gently inspire devotion as a lone flame in a darkened chapel. Air that, as a tornado, can hurl a house half a mile across a prairie can gently, coolly rustle stalks of corn or shade-giving oak leaves on a warm summer day.

Water, fire, and air have no moral standing: they are simply elements in creation. Each of us, on the other hand, according to the teaching of the Christian tradition which inspires our school, is deeply, fundamentally good. Each of us can exert a fairly powerful influence on anyone else in the community– through our words, our actions, and our attitudes. And I've noticed, and I think everyone in the school community has noticed, that these words, actions, and attitudes can be incredibly supportive and constructive, or dreadfully hurtful. I think each of has experienced what it feels like to be hurt, perhaps even to be hated, and sadly, to have inflicted hurt, or even hatred, upon someone else by something spoken or done to that person, or something thought about that person. I think– and I hope– that the converse is even more true: that each of us has felt loved, valued, and supported, and has experienced the fulfillment of valuing, loving, and supporting someone else.

The elements of water, fire, and air– despite the technological accomplishments of society– still remain largely beyond human control. The words, actions, and thoughts that emanate from each of us are forces just as powerful, and that power is wielded by our free choice. I see plenty of positive and inspiring examples of how to use that power in creative, life-giving, and fruitful ways each day in our school. Sadly, I also see, hear, and recognize instances where that power is used destructively. I want each of us to express the goodness within each of us, and to affirm it in others. And I want us all to believe that such goodness is real. Will you believe that, and will your words, deeds, and attitudes express that belief? It's up to you.

Tension

It's the last weekend of March, but it felt like the last weekend of January during my 16-mile training run this morning. Beautiful sunshine, fields finally bereft of snow, and sparkling water in ponds and lakes freshly thawed suggested milder conditions than the low 20s (with wind chills around 10ºF) that I encountered. Winter is winning the seasonal tug-of-war that is making its latest appearance here in New England.

In a 45-minute session with a local athletic trainer this week, I learned all sorts of fascinating and insightful information about the biomechanics and physiology of knee joints, iliotibial bands, hip flexors, and other fine points of musculoskeletal structure that enable, among other activities, the running, cycling, hiking, and other forms of exercise and adventure that I enjoy. With the help of some stretching, flexibility testing, and a short yet torturous session of having some tight muscles and ligaments loosened by a polished metal bar– a process oddly reminiscent of smoothing dough with a rolling pin– his efforts got me back in shape for a strong and invigorating run around a hilly course no less arduous than the route from Hopkinton to Boston. Happily and gratefully, I feel more solidly on track for the marathon, with 23 days to go.

Yet I've still lost most of three weeks of training, a span that was slated to include some of the highest mileage and most intense workouts. In the time that remains, I'm keenly aware of the delicate balance between continued recovery and honing (if not slightly extending) endurance, between distance for its own sake and speed for pride's sake, and how each of these tensions plays out in the interplay of muscle, tendon, ligament, and bone that in turn have their own rhythm of tension and suppleness. I'm finding it a great blessing, a genuine adventure, and a slightly scary experience to be so in touch with my body's strengths and weaknesses, its fragility and resilience, as I journey through the concluding stages of a journey toward yet another starting line.

In a much more practical vein, should you wish to track my progress on Marathon Monday (18 April, 10:00am EDT start), information may be found here within the Boston Athletic Association's website. My race number is 1779. If you'll be in the Boston area that day, please consider coming out to the course to cheer on the runners... and let me know where to look for you!

Runners and spectators near the finish line on Boylston Street

Boston Marathon 2010

Spring and Signs

It's the first day of spring. After Mass today, I stopped by Worcester's Elm Park to see how the seasonal shift is progressing. The brightness of the sunshine was slightly deceiving; the air bore a gentle crispness, and a brisk breeze regularly whistled through the still-barren trees.

Back on campus, where the snow has noticeably receded, some flowers had been planted, some students may be glimpsed wearing sandals (and even shorts) instead of boots and jeans, and a number of robins and other birds may be seen and heard.

Though clad in a sweatshirt, cap, and jeans, the experience of sitting on a bench in the sun, reading a book, and journaling was a gentle joy after many winter weekends of going outdoors only to run, shovel snow, or take pictures. With temperatures bound to moderate, and daylight lengthening, I'm eager to spend more leisure time outside, where the fresh air will hopefully freshen my soul as well.

One (Long or Short?) Month

Boylston Street, Boston MA

One month from today, God willing, I'll run the 26.2 miles from the center of Hopkinton MA to this very spot in downtown Boston. In the ten weeks since my first long training run– a hilly 14-mile loop in light snow– I've covered nearly 350 miles, trained in two different time zones, and competed in one cold, windswept race. Turning in early on Friday nights, I've claimed Saturday mornings as sacred time to extend my endurance, to savor some spectacular wintry sunrises, and to exchange the burdens and fatigue of the preceding weekdays for the restorative toil of many miles on lonely country roads.

Lately my training has been significantly affected by some knee pain, which could be symptomatic of anything from overuse to stress to an imminent injury. Sidelining myself for days at a time, developing an early morning relationship with the ice machine in the kitchen, and trading a few weekdays with 5 to 7 miles of running for 45 minutes of walking a loop around the campus sports complex has been frustrating and distressing. I appreciate my running so much more now that, suddenly, I can no longer take it for granted. This year, even more than my first experience in the event last year, my participation in the Boston Marathon could be the fulfillment of a spiritual journey even more than the result of a methodical sequence of physical training.

With Marathon Monday a month away, I feel that I must gamble a bit. Decreasing my mileage, and concentrating on icing and stretching during the week, hopefully gives my body enough opportunity to rebuild for a long Saturday morning run. I tried this approach last week; covering 16 miles at what felt like an easier than usual pace, and surviving a spectacular slip and slide on black ice (I didn't fall!), I ran the same average pace as I did at Boston last year. I have faith that the strength and endurance I've developed are ready for April 18... now I'm just praying that my body holds together as I navigate an ever-sharper balance between work and rest, in my sixth annual round of marathon training.

Whether the coming 30 days feel long or short, I've got my eyes on the prize, but even more, on the providence and blessing of God, who enables and inspires me to run.

Created in the Image and Likeness of God

I'm attempting to cover some basics of moral theology with my 8th grade religion class. Today I began with the following question: The Book of Genesis says that we are created in the image and likeness of God... what does this mean to you? Some of the many insightful and thoughtful responses (paraphrased, of course) seem worthy of being shared:

• We all have different parts of God in each of us. (This student then went on to highlight particular characteristics of various classmates– being tall, being good at drawing, being fast, having a great laugh, etc.– and saying that these reflect some part of who God is.)
• We are made not just in God's image, but in the image of Jesus and Holy Spirit too.
• We were made in God's image and likeness, but then we humans evolved, so now we're a little different than God's original creation.
• We are like God because we too are creators.
• When we all come together, we make one giant image of God, like a mosaic photograph.

First Sunday of Lent

Atacama Desert, Chile

For the past few months, I've been attending Mass in Spanish at St. Peter's, a parish in the diverse and dynamic Main South neighborhood of Worcester. Today I was particularly struck by the lyrics in the entrance hymn, "La Alegria del Perdon" (The Joy of Forgiveness):

La alegría más hermosa es la alegría del perdón
Que en el cielo hay mucha fiesta, cuando vuelve un pecador.
Si la oveja se ha perdido a buscarla va el pastor
En el cielo hay mucha fiesta cuando vuelve un pecador.

The most beautiful joy is the joy of forgiveness

There is much celebration in heaven, when a sinner returns.

If the sheep has been lost, the shepherd goes to seek it

There is much joy in heaven, when a sinner returns.

As I've written recently, one of my main Lenten efforts is rooted in return and renewal– whether it's my prayer life, my relationships in the community and the workplace, or my own sense of confidence and faith. In reflecting on today's readings, I'm struck by the subtle treachery of temptation– inviting me to satisfy, by my own imperfect and misguided efforts, the desires that God will fulfill in a far more graced, authentic, and beneficial way. In the Gospel account of Christ in the desert, Satan's temptations appeal to physical hunger, prideful daring, and worldly authority. Instead, Christ asserts that it is God who satisfies all hunger, instills confidence for holy boldness, and grants the power that each of us needs to take our place in the broader community as servant leaders. I am all too familiar with my own needs, yet my vision of how to meet them is far narrower than that of God. Resisting temptations, great and small, thus becomes more than just an internal struggle to overcome vice with virtue, but an act of faith in divine grace and providence, and a willingness to be found and tended anew by the shepherd of souls.

Atacama Desert, Chile

Throughout These Forty Days...

New Melleray Abbey, Peosta IA

(Special thanks to a fellow Jesuit for this picture)

This year, the 40 days of Lent line up with the final 40 days of my Boston Marathon training; the race is the day after Palm Sunday. In a sense, my approach to this period of time is guided by both physical and spiritual goals, the attainment of which will be influenced by a blend of my own actions and the realities over which I have no control.

With respect to Lent, some clear points of emphasis emerged as I prayed about how I wanted to spend this season of repentance and renewal. First of all, I wish to pray– not necessarily about my joys and my concerns, or those of others, or where God calls me to be at this point in my Jesuit life– but simply to create time and space in which I can pray, encountering God on our terms. Undoubtedly, other forms of prayer– personal discernment, intentional concern for others, contemplation on events great and small in the world– will emerge, but is my attentiveness and devotion to the foundation of my prayer that I wish to renew. Second, after months of doubting the effectiveness of my teaching and the potential for more meaningful connections with my colleagues, I wish to distance myself from the false, illusory thoughts that constrict my creativity, my happiness, and my ability to take prudent risks in the classroom and in the office. A third point of emphasis relates to the second; renewed in confidence by better collaboration and interaction with those around me, particularly in my position as a teacher, I wish to be more generous, selfless, and intentional in sharing my time, talents, and presence with members of the communities in which I participate.

As for Boston training, as I come to terms with symptoms of an injury, the five weeks remaining until Patriots' Day are now looking to be a time of more uncertainty than I had anticipated. My smooth progress through a methodical training schedule over the past ten weeks is now giving way to a need to listen carefully and honestly to my body, to humbly seek some more qualified advice, and to gingerly negotiate the boundary between rest and activity that could keep me on course to the starting line.

The steps I'll take this Lent, both physically and spiritually, will undoubtedly be a journey of faith, and an exercise in hope and trust.

Cohasset (MA) Harbor

Foundations

13th Street Beach, Avalon NJ

December 2009

Last night I joined about a third of my community to watch a new award-winning French film, "Of Gods and Men," which portrays the true story of a community of Trappist monks in a poor Algerian village in the 1990s. Against the backdrop of clashes between the government and terrorists, and increasingly serious threats to their safety, the monks must consider whether to flee or remain. As the movie progressed and the depth of the monks' situation became more poignant, I felt the same sort of commitment and devotion with which the monks strove to preserve their faith, support one another, and face their situation with trust and integrity. Gradually, it seemed to me, there emerged a perceptible resonance between the film and our own life as a Jesuit community... hard to put into words, but a foundation that I can trust, a relationship that is genuine, a network of bonds that happily joins me to a great family that spans the world.

That stability and confidence have been elusive in my work as a middle school teacher, in large part because my tendency to harsh self-criticism, as well as my reluctance to seek advice or guidance from my colleagues, has caused me to feel isolated. The daily encounters between my ordered preparations and the abundant yet sometimes unfocused energy of my students, between my high (and likely somewhat unrealistic) expectations and the students' actual capabilities, often leave me feeling that my efforts have fallen short, my instruction has been inadequate, and my personality incommensurate with that of my students. Alone in my reflections, breezes of misgiving freshen into winds of doubt and disappointment, pushing to dislodge me from my already shaky footing.

The contrast between these two attitudes, one of joy and security, the other of anxiety and uncertainty, has been troubling me for some time. Despite growing accustomed to the rhythm of bracing myself a work environment in which I feel more shortcoming than success, then returning home to a community in which I thrive and to relationships of fraternity and friendship in which I am authentic and animated, the regular transit between these two poles of affect and emotion is not one that I feel willing or able to sustain.

The readings today, particularly the Gospel passage (Matthew 7:21-27), with its image of a house built upon rock and another built upon sand, invited me to reflect on the areas of solidity, and also instability, in my life. It also urged me to affirm that I can only live on one foundation; thankfully, it's pretty clear which of the two I want to build upon. As Lent approaches, the snow retreats, and a time of renewal and regrowth nears, the next steps of my spiritual journey beckon, and I'm eager to keep on walking.

Tower Grove Park, St. Louis MO

Winter 2009