Category Archives: Accompaniment

Particular Friendships

Recently, I was speaking with a life-long friend, a Catholic priest, about how his order considers on-going priestly formation.  One observation focused my interest.

He said that, some time ago, priests were discouraged from forming “particular friendships.”  The rationale was that forming these connections would decrease one’s ability to respond to the needs of the church, to serve where sent.  

My friend reported that the opposite is true today.  Particular friendships are regarded as integral to one’s formation, one’s development as a whole, flourishing person.  

What a gift of insight!  Particular friends are able to know us in the fullness of our history and evolution as a person.  When I consider what is of ultimate value in my life, particular friends who know me in the fullness of my history ranks among the top.

So, let us attend to our particular friendships.  Who we know and who knows us will make all the difference.

PCS Season

In the United States Foreign Service, the acronym “PCS” refers to a “permanent change of station.”  Most often, this means moving from one country to another for a new posting.  

At most posts, summer is “PCS season,” since this is when the majority of moves are scheduled.  

So, over the summer months, 25% of the households in a community can turn over.  And given that the Foreign Service attracts folks of wide life experience, “PCS season” is a chance to meet a lot of new people often.  All I need to do is to show up and learn from the people that the season shuffles into my life.

Wondering what to do about division in our country?  How about declaring your own “PCS season?”  You don’t have to move countries – just put yourself in the path of new people, committing to create expansive relationships.  (This will likely make your Relationship-Garden Audit more interesting.)

Memento Infantia

Memento mori, latin for “remember your death,” is a powerful spiritual practice.  When we recall that we are finite and that life is unpredictable, we can live with singular purpose and focus on the most important things.

Relatedly, I wonder what happens when we stop to memento infantia, “remember your infancy?”  

For me, memento infantia is an occasion to imagine great love.  Though I have no actual “memory” of it, I am certain that my infancy was marked by singularly loving care on my behalf.  Daily, hourly, thoughtful, (sure, imperfect, but nevertheless) faithful love.

If love is the root of all faithfulness, of all trust, we do well to remember our infancy.

Actionable, Specific, and Kind

When I was learning to program, the first thing the instructors taught us was a framework for effective feedback.  The feedback we offered to our partners was to be actionable, specific, and kind. 

And “kind” was not “nice.”  We were not to be vague and falsely flowery.  Instead, we were to courageously offer a partner the gift of constructive feedback, a gift of growth.

Knowing how to give feedback, we were now on the hook to actually offer it when the time came, to take the risk that the exercise implied. 

How often do we, when we see a situation in need of insight and compassion, neglect to even engage the dynamic?  It is far easier to complain about the person concerned or fold our observation into the other noise in our head.

Though it is not easy, the risk of actionable, specific, and kind feedback is a risk worth taking.

Join Them in Their World

I’ve been reading a remarkable book about how to listen and speak to young people.  One suggestion, from a chapter on interacting with children with sensory sensitivity, is to “join the child in their world.”

This strikes me as an exercise that is universally productive for our relationships.  Each of us has an inner world, rich and conflicted, formed by the narratives we rehearse.  Failing to attend to this “world” of another, our communication can fall flat.  Ships pass in the night.

The choice to join a neighbor in their inner world is always available to us.  When we opt for this generous way, the other feels affirmed and known.  Our insight of how to encounter them is refined.  The relationship is strengthened.  We are able to love more skillfully.  

How’s the Moral High Ground?

How is that moral high ground you’ve claimed?

Feels amazing, doesn’t it?  The high of claiming the moral high ground is intoxicating.

The thing is, though, that this high keeps us from actually creating the relationships that would enable generous principles to enter the world.  If stuck on the high ground, we spend time protecting and purifying our position (that is, polishing our idols) which further limits what we are able to see and do.

Often, those who lead the most compelling lives don’t pay all that much attention to the moral high ground.  Certainly, they are principled, but they focus their energy instead on encountering people as they are and inviting them along to build a world in which it is easier to be good. 

Narrate the Positive

I taught for a number of years in a remarkable middle school where student trust and cooperation were earned. Put another way, classroom management was a constant challenge.

One of the most effective classroom management techniques is to “narrate the positive”. That is, to verbally recognize the excellence and effort that you see. Even if it is only one or two students, calling out these positive exemplars can transform a classroom.

I see Mr. Smith has closed his Chromebook and is thoughtfully annotating the text.

I see Mr. Johnson is carefully editing his partner’s story according to the rubric. Outstanding.

Soon, the whole class is caught in the virtuous cycle.

What if we chose to do this more in public life?

I appreciate your generous risk-taking when you…

And what if we did this in the church?  

I appreciate how you vulnerably live your vocation because…

Let’s commit to imaginatively narrate the positive more often.

Painting Together

When Leonardo da Vinci was fourteen, he began working in the workshop of Andrea del Verrocchio, a superlative Florentine artist.  (Verrochio’s teacher was Donatello.  These people were good.)

As art historians studied the paintings that came out of Verrochio’s workshop, they saw that many artists contributed to the same canvas.  That is, Leonardo, Verrochio, and associates painted on the same canvas in order to create the same Renaissance masterpiece.

Can you imagine?  Consider the patience, empathy, and communication needed to paint a consistent, astounding whole.

We need these same skills as we build our communities, large and small.