Monthly Archives: April 2021

Student-Teacher Ratios

The first class I ever taught, in rural Uganda, had about sixty students.  My most recent class, some years ago in Chicago, had fourteen.  

Even in the class of fourteen, it was a challenge to shepherd each of their individual journeys toward growth.  

Now think about the challenge of teaching as a Catholic parish.  Maybe there are 3 full-time equivalent positions dedicated to formation and education.  And, say, that there are 1,000 parishioners.  That is a tough ratio for the educators.  How could the staff possibly know what you, individually, need?

To my mind, in this situation the best way for a parishioner to ensure their solid formation is to first develop the capacity to know what they need and then to seek it out.  

What can we do to make this easier?  That is how can we build structures that invite engagement as a kitchen and not a restaurant?  

PS – This is a different point, but here are some brilliant folks working on a development that would be a sea change for how we teach with integrity. Check them out!

The World Does Not Organize Itself

In February, Secretary Blinken made a “Zoom visit” to all serving in the US Foreign Service in Mexico. In the general session, his parting message was to recall that “the world does not organize itself.” The upshot is that if we do not, with wisdom and intention, attend to the justice of international relationships, entropy and/or bad actors will cause chaos in our world.

This is certainly true in the context that he means, and in other places of work, business, and ministry. And, now more than ever, it is true of our interior worlds.

If we do not, with wisdom and intention, attend to our relationships with the stuff of our lives and order it according to what is most important, a crush of inputs will fracture our attention and ability. Overcommitment will overwhelm us. The endless scroll of social media and outraged news leaves with our attention spent and no energy to reorient it.

Our interior world will not organize itself. And, if we do not order them, we cannot effectively serve the justice of our city, nation, and world.

St. Augustine’s Self-Criticism

It took me a long time to appreciate St. Augustine of Hippo, whose Confessions were assigned to us a few times through college and graduate school.

Here was a man who was clearly holy, writing with singular insight about the journey to know God, and, in the same volume, wrote a fantastic amount about how imperfect he was. This appeared to me, at first blush, to be indulgently self-critical.

But some years ago, I heard someone remark that an inescapable part of the journey to holiness is knowing that precious little separates us from truly destructive behavior and self-dilution. And the ability to see this reality clearly liberates us to approach others with deep compassion. We are not, in fact, any better than that person we may feel superior to.

I think that this is what Augustine knew, and why he wrote so much about his imperfection. He knew the particularity of his interior life, his capacity to be self-destructive, and, ultimately, the experience of amazing grace. I believe that it is this completeness of vision that undergirds his holiness and his life of erudite service.

70 Seconds

When I was home caring for our first son, our mornings were structured around an adventure outside the apartment. We would walk to the library, a museum, or a park, and then head home for lunch and a nap.

One day, I noticed that I always seemed to be rushing to and from these adventures. Rushing to catch the light before it turned red. Always trying to find the fastest way through the city to my destination.

Out of curiosity, I timed myself en route to our farthest adventure at a leisurely pace and then going as fast as I could while still walking.

The difference was 70 seconds.

70 seconds! This was what I gained for giving my attention over to rushing instead of mindful enjoyment of the journey.

I am still often guilty of speeding in this way. It is an ongoing challenge to remind myself that this rushing is not worth that which it sacrifices.

We Are Going to Get You Out of Here Early

When our first son was to be baptized, I went to the Baptism preparation program for parents and godparents at our parish. Ours was a thriving parish in a big city. We were a large group in the church basement, ready to tune to the mystery of the Sacrament.

Then, the catechist began the session with the following: “We are going to get you out of here early.”

What?

We were told from the very beginning that the session, an already scandalously limited time for our formation, was going to cut corners, be a box to check.

So, what is the opposite approach? In the limited time available, the catechist might give us such a glimpse of the mystery of Baptism and the religious potential of the child that we might be drawn closer to the mystery ourselves and acknowledge the privilege of being a parent or a godparent.

For our children to have a vibrant church, we need the latter approach.

Experiments

Jesuits, early in formation, go on “experiments,” relatively short-term experiences of a specific type of service. This exposes them to a new world and allows them to explore new gifts. It has a terminal point and so has low stakes if it does not turn out well.

So, that thing that you’ve been putting off… that thing that represents an expression of your generosity… is there a way to turn it into an experiment?

It just may turn out that someone would delight in the generosity of your attempt.

(PS – Audacious Ignatius was an experiment Katie and I decided to try one day while our kids played trains together. We give thanks often for giving the project a shot.)

It’s Just Soup

My dad’s dad’s mom used to say this thing when someone was feeling quite wrapped up in the emotional urgency of a difficult situation.  He would remind the person that “you don’t have to drink the soup as hot as it boils.”

For a long time, I took this to mean that I just needed to give a tough situation a few minutes before throwing myself back into the mess, back into the emotional emergency. 

But the other day, my dad reminded me that, often, the situation is not worthy of the emotional emergency I place onto it.  That situation?  Hey, it’s just soup.  

Taken this way, the first seven words of my great-grandmother’s sentence also suffice as quality advice.  You don’t have to drink the soup.

I don’t take this as license to be aloof.  Rather, it is an invitation to hold my inner chatter and my emotional response to a given situation a little less tightly.  And this stance, in reality, frees me to be more thoughtful and generous, rather than obsessed with my own stress response.

So, hey, it is just soup.  And there will be more tomorrow.  

Consume accordingly. 

Your Conflicts

About a year into my time as a lay volunteer in Uganda, I found myself in the middle of a number of conflicts that I had not anticipated. I was confused and sad, unsure of how to proceed.

I wrote a rather conflicted email to the director of our program, the remarkable Fr. Tom Smith, CSC, who was then living in the United States. In retrospect, I was, in that email, trying to evade my responsibility in the situation. I was trying to hand Tom my problems.

Fr. Tom, in his characteristically thoughtful wisdom, handed them right back. (The subject line of his response was aptly named “Your Conflicts.”) He affirmed the goodness of all involved and helped me see the situation in a fuller context, but let me know that I was now a part of the conflict and it was up to me to act, in love, toward a resolution.

I have often considered the kind justice of his response. I was invited to stop the externalization of blame and the evasion of responsibility. Once I accepted the ground that I was on, I was freed to work generously toward a solution.

Fewer Lines

One morning when I was learning to program, I was given a problem and told to write an algorithm to solve it. I dutifully cobbled together a tangle of code and was approaching a workable solution.

Then, one of the instructors looked at my monitor, highlighted every line, pressed delete, and walked away.

At first, I felt panicked. (That had taken me so long to do!)

And then, I felt relieved. I was free to consider the problem in a fresh way, and solved it in a few crisp lines.

It is often difficult to embrace an invitation to step back from “the way I (or we) do things.” But when I do, I am often rewarded with the freedom that comes from simplicity.