Monday, November 28, 2016

Thou Shall Not "Kill"

Recently, I haven't spent quite as much time on my tech devices as usual. As I watched the election counts move toward a decisive result, I sat down to process my thoughts at my blog. Then, the next day, I reviewed the world on social media. Usually one to wade fairly deep into the social commentaries to appreciate many sides of an issue, I started to get upset amid the unique but tired climate of this election's fallout. I was especially bothered by one comment that vilified voters whose consciences and voting decisions are formed by religion, and decided to take an indefinite Facebook fast, checking notifications and messages but not consuming my feed. I haven't come off my break yet, and I'm not sure when I will.

Then, this past week, enjoying Thanksgiving festivities with family, I spent most of my days in the house of some elderly relatives who don't have an internet connection, let alone WiFi, in their home. Aside from occasional browses through my Twitter feed using cellular data, I was hardly online. Instead, for better or worse, we were all simply together - from food prep to cleanup to down time - mostly detached from our devices. Now back from the holiday and seated on my couch in the warm bubble of my modem and WiFi router, I want to articulate a realization I've found: our technology must not become a time-killer.

You know how iPhones let us organize apps into groups, dragging several into the same little square to categorize them and give them a group name? I have a friend who has a set labeled "Wasting Time." While I know the label doesn't exactly match the reality, the kernel of truth there is telling - the way people consume their threads on Reddit, go down YouTube or Wikipedia black holes as one search leads to another, or allow Netflix's continuous viewing feature to keep them sucked in - our use of our technology makes us deeply susceptible to killing time, which we should only do in particular situations.

Killing time should be limited to those moments when we have indefinite down times, times that aren't meant for anything in particular, that could end in a moment or drag on for a while, times when we are captive to a particular constraining activity. I think of waiting rooms at doctors' and dentists' offices; I think of being parked at the curb, waiting to pickup a friend or family member; I think of sitting on an airplane, with nowhere to go while you travel to your destination; I think of standing on the platform waiting for the train or at the signpost waiting for your bus; I think of waiting for a table at a restaurant. These are the moments when you have little else to do, when killing time helps move us from what we were doing to what we're about to do. Even then, these times could be useful for different things, but I find it thoroughly understandable to resort to killing time.

However, time-killing cannot become our norm. We need to think about what a reasonable amount of time-killing might be and limit ourselves to it. Part of that is discerning what activities are empty-headed "time-killers" and which are enriching and engaging. I don't think it's about depriving ourselves of fun and leisure but about distinguishing the mindless from the mindful.

I think a key question to start from when evaluating an activity, an app, a show, a routine is Does this help me grow in some specific way? and to answer the question with authentic discernment - no kidding yourself about what's what. For some, Wikipedia black holes may be a way of procrastinating, of delaying spending time on something more substantial; for others, it may be a way of satisfying curiosity, of studying a new concept, or expanding one's knowledge. For some, watching sports may be a way to kick back and enjoy unbridled competition; for others, it's a way to be analytical, observant, and critical. For some, watching a TV series may be a mindless way to edify one's desire for drama, intrigue, and scandal; for others, it becomes an artistic review to study methods and techniques or digest literary implications.

And any of those could become a blend of the two.

Personally, I find myself mostly mixing the two, and veering away from that which is purely time-killing to keep it as a minority stake-holder of my time and attention. I read on Twitter and Facebook mainly to find and consume news, commentary, and other content that reflects the interests of friends and those who I follow as well as to inform me about important concerns in politics, news, sports, religion, and society. I watch sports partially for the pride of being a Chicagoan and loving athletics and team competition as well as to analyze the plays, the techniques, and the coaching strategies that comprise each game. I watch TV shows because of the mindlessness of kicking back and being a consumer as well as criticizing plot and characters, production, and acting.

For me, I am happiest and most engaged when I have a healthy mix of leisure and engagement. And then I protect myself from time-killing and technological obsession with extra guards: I have no red numbers on my phone apps; I get no notifications from any apps except phone calls, voicemails, and text messages; I don't watch shows with continuous viewing enabled; I only keep one game on my phone (7 Little Words).

And then, from time-to-time, I find ways to lighten my lean on social media. Recently, the election banter has prompted me to take a break from my Facebook feed. A few months ago, the allure of a good book led me to eschew my pre-bedtime Facebook and Twitter scrolling in favor of a hardbound book and a few minutes with its rapidly-turning pages. After my first year of full-time work, I found my morning momentum at the desk strengthened when I saved all leisure reading (news, sports, social media, etc.) for a big lump sum break at lunchtime rather than smaller breaks throughout the day.

The larger idea is that I want to try with steady and dynamic effort to avoid killing time. I know too well the value of being present in the moment. My Kairos retreats as a high school student and leader first showed me the profound love present when you live in the moment. My work as a pastoral minister has underlined the magnitude of an earnest ministry of presence. My relationships throughout life have taught me the power of attention. We must strive to always be good stewards of our technology, maintaining dominion over it so that it doesn't come to rule us.

I'll close with one story. For two years, I worked a job that involved a lengthy commute home through rush-hour traffic in Chicago. After a few months, I realized the drive home with its length, with the congested traffic, with the frustrating actions of other drivers, was driving me crazy. I was impatient, tired, and at wit's end when I got home. Sports-talk radio, long my favorite drive-time companion, wasn't the best way to spend that time. I went online, bought a headset/microphone for my phone, and resolved to use the commute to catch up with friends. It certainly wasn't something I could plan for every day, but about once a week, I connected with a friend and scheduled a call. Then, for the 45 or 60 or 75 or more minutes of the ride home, rather than subject myself solely to the rigmarole of the drive, I had a companion and an opportunity to sustain a relationship and catch up with a friend. The change was wonderfully positive. I was happier, calmer, and much more delighted upon making it home. No longer was I killing time; now, that time was alive.
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Wednesday, November 9, 2016

#MoreThanRedAndBlue: What's Next

In the early throes of tonight's saga, I was thumbing through my Twitter feed, as I've done every 15 minutes or so. I came across a Catholic writer who was wondering how people were doing. While the trends increasingly paved the way to an electoral college victory for Mr. Trump, I was trying to keep patient while checking out some down-ticket things.
I was disappointed to find that Colorado had decided to approve physician-assisted suicide via popular vote. As the night wore on and Mr. Trump's progress continued, California had fallen short of banning the death penalty while Nebraska had repealed its ban to reinstate the punishment. Oklahoma also thickened up its laws. Continuing the spiral, marijuana laws - though a lesser evil for sure, and an arguably justifiable legalization when for medicinal reasons - won victories in some states.

The frustrations of this evening will spin around us with similar depth and comparable interminability as the euphoric joys of the Cubs World Series victory. For me, I abandoned any hope of a Trump appeal many weeks ago after he stubbornly and insistently refused to acknowledge the dignity and value of marginalized and vulnerable people. It has been chilling to see social media posts and TV commentators characterizing Mr. Trump's rhetoric as "connecting with working class Americans," which either insults the moral caliber of average Americans or else admits, acknowledges, and approves of attitudes that are nothing more than social sin in myriad forms. While I sympathize with the challenges of unemployment, economic hardships, and social frustrations, I am troubled by placing blame on those who are different and by placing one's salvific hopes in an ungrounded, exploitative, self-centered billionaire.

I've been saddened and gut-punched as I see people preemptively reaching out on social media to their Muslim, immigrant, refugee, and LGBTQ friends to reassure of their companionship and support. I'm hurt as evangelical Christians wonder what happened to their identity as they watch members of their traditions fall in step with Trump. I was most moved tonight by CNN's Van Jones, who riffed a thoughtful speech on the difficulty of parents' explaining the realities of this year to their children.




All of this poses a new challenge to us as Catholics. What does our faith have to tell us in this situation?

First of all, I think this is a profound reminder that the Gospel truth of Christ is countercultural. We will not find ourselves in a position of strong concurrence with the will of God until we reach our eternal life with Him. In the meantime, we are called to do God's will with maximum discernment and supreme diligence while living our lives of faith on earth, and when we are graced enough to enact God's will by our love, we glimpse the heaven that our Church prefigures eschatologically.

Next, on a practical level, we must become prophets for the Preferential Option for the Poor and Marginalized. In my theology classes, I often ask students to brainstorm groups of people who are marginalized in our society. Mr. Trump has openly derided several of those groups, from refugees to Muslims to women to disabled people and more. If half of our voting citizens have ratified a man of this character to be the leader of this nation, then we have an amazing opportunity and frankly an obligation of faith to evangelize the preferential option to everyone we encounter.

We need to actively, constantly, and loudly champion marginalized people in all of our decisions. When you spend your monthly income, make a line item for an organization that advocates or accompanies these people. My wife and I have done this, and it's my favorite part of settling our bills each month. When you budget your free time, choose a service organization through which you can encounter someone who is too often ignored. I have been meaning to get involved with our community shelter here in the city, and I think it's high time I get myself out there. As you identify and grow your talents and gifts, discern ways that you can use them to lift up those who are forgotten. I pray for further inspiration and courage to find ways to lead my students in active encounters.

Finally, concretely, reach out. Be a person of good will, an ambassador, a strong witness and representative of what you believe and the religion with which you identify. Find someone who you know could be targeted by the wave of populism that is sweeping the country and commit to actively accompanying them. Be proactive and active as you double down on the friendships you have with those who may be marginalized or further marginalized by the scary trends that loom.

In a few weeks, I'll start teaching my high school seniors again. As we learn about social justice and vocations, I ground the class in how Christ calls us to live out the Gospel in our relationships and society. I already love facilitating this formation for these teenagers as we learn Catholic Social Teaching, discern our vocations, and spend time with marginalized people. We will learn the Gospel calls. We will go out and encounter people who are marginalized. We will be prophets of outreach and companionship.
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Friday, November 4, 2016

The Love from Faith Realized and Hope Fulfilled

Adult life has been hard on my sports fandom. While I'll never dwindle away to fair-weather fan status, the amount of live sports and highlight shows that I watch has taken a big hit as I've grown up. Yet even while I miss a Bears game now and then, even while I'm content to follow the Bulls mainly through highlights, even while I don't catch as many Hawks games as I'd like, even while I basically give up on following college sports beyond the Dome, I could never let go of the Cubs.

No matter how much adulting has pulled me away from the intensity of my sports obsessions, I've continued to follow the Cubs, maybe even more than I ever have. Following the fall from back-to-back division championships, down into the doldrums, and back out again, I never scaled back on the Cubs. I even bought MLB.TV subscriptions, despite being a huge cheapskate, to watch the Cubs with a ridiculous time difference while living abroad in 2010 and 2011-12. I remained obsessed with minor league prospects, with trade deadline dumps and adds, and with the ever so warm-and-cozy Hot Stove of baseball's offseason.

From the first games at Wrigley, to my 15 straight summers of park district tee-ball and baseball, to the semi-daily phone calls from my late grandpa checking which station the Cubs were on that day, to the 18 years growing up in the northwest suburbs and my 4 years back here as a north-side city-dweller, the Cubs have always captivated me in a different way.

I believe that sports are amazingly formative because of how deeply and broadly they go. While competition and triumph are thrilling, addicting, and tantalizing, it's the constants of sports that underpin those things that make sports most compelling. No matter your team's success or lack thereof in wins and losses, sports demand great character, expose deficits in it, and compel one to constant attention and improvement.

Teamwork. Accountability. Responsibility. Effort. Goals. Dedication. Hope. Hope.

Hope. No matter what your talent level or your team's talent level is, you have to believe that your guys can overcome any deficit by determination and teamwork. Otherwise, your lack of will alone could lose you the game and make your season's struggles interminable. A player on a freshmen basketball team I coached once told his teammates, when he thought coaches weren't listening, that they would lose 100-10 against what was sure to be a tough opponent; you bet we got blown out that day.

Hope. As a kid playing baseball, I was on some BAD teams. In 3rd grade, we went 2-11; in 4th grade, we were 1-12; in 6th grade, we were 0-13. (How do you remember that, Dan?! Easy, I love sports.) The crazy thing with all of those teams was that, even though our regular season record labeled us as an easy win and a beatable team, all three of those teams won their first playoff game in the city tournament. Eventually, I was on better teams and experienced wider success, but those teams showed me that you play hard, take advantage of every opportunity, and try to play your best when it matters most.

Talk about transferable skills. Hope.

As a kid growing up as a Cubs fan, 1998 was just exciting for me. All I knew was that the funny old man who called the games on TV had died and was helping us win the Wild Card from up in the sky; the sweep by Atlanta didn't phase me much. By 2003, I had reached the age of baseball reason. I knew our roster inside out, their strengths and weaknesses, why we acquired each player, and how they fit together on our 25-man roster. I knew that Alex Gonzalez was brought in to hit homers and turn slick double plays, so it crushed me when his error and our starting pitchers' slump did us in. By 2007 and 2008, I was all but an expert. I knew the team like my own family, and could not process how such a collection of elite hitters could slump so profoundly when it mattered most. But hope springs eternal.

Hope. I'm not afraid of bad teams. Being the anti-trend person I am, I even became a bigger Bulls fan after Jordan retired and the early 2000s rosters filled up with no-names who couldn't win games. So I easily embraced the first teams Theo Epstein and Jed Hoyer cobbled together because I knew it was intentional, contrived sucking - "sucking with a purpose" as I called it. I knew what we were doing as we dumped over-the-hill veterans and one-year signees for upside talent and winning pieces - Feldman for Strop and Arrieta, Samardzija (and Hammel) for Russell, Dempster for Hendricks, Garza for Edwards and Grimm, Valbuena for Fowler, and more. I knew these deals were different than the overblown, much-hyped deals of the past, like the ones that sold high on Mark DeRosa (which netted us Chris Archer) or overpaid for Matt Garza (when we shipped Archer southeast).

Hope. It turned the corner as I sat in Wrigley on a warm summer night in 2014. Arismendy Alcantara had come up to the bigs. Kyle Hendricks took the mound. The former drove in a big run and had an impressive night, and the latter earned one of his first wins. I told my friends that this was the beginning of the turn. Baez and Soler would debut later that season. And a few months later, signing Jon Lester and Joe Maddon ratified the transition.

Hope. It longs for what is surely in the future without knowing when it's coming.

My hope was cautious. It was calm and comfortable. But it was giddy. As the 2015 Cubs got hot at just the right time, even as they passed on making splashy deadline moves, I could see the light at the end of the hope tunnel. Hope wouldn't be fulfilled that year, but I wasn't expecting it to be. I was just happy to be looking toward the light at the end of that tunnel and knowing that it was getting definitely closer.

Dispatching the Pirates confirmed the feelings, and beating the Cardinals tempted my hope to get ahead of itself. Instead, I just smiled and sat back while we took our lumps against the Mets. It wasn't time, but that time was coming. The whole point of this curve for the Cubs was to put ourselves in position for a handful of really good shots to fulfill this hope. And 2015 wasn't even good shot #1. Hope.

Hope took it easy in 2016. The Cubs led wire to wire with only one worrying lull, and even then, my hope didn't even take its feet down off the chaise. The regular season would be light and breezy; then as stories of 2003, 1984, and all the rest flooded in, hope started to shift into that uneasy position. The clinch parties passed; the playoff roster was set; the matchup came into focus.

The Giants were the first threat to hope. Could this weird believen stuff be our undoing? My hope sat up at attention but remained relaxed. Even after losing Game 3, even going late into Game 4 with bleak prospects, the pit never knotted up in the hopeful narrows of my stomach. There came the Cubs back to move us ever closer.

Next came the Dodgers, and my hope felt like all their Hollywood money couldn't stop us from doing our thing. Even at Wrigley Field, watching us lose 1-0 in an agonizingly fast Game 2, it didn't feel like it'd be our undoing.

Hope. Even as the Indians won Game 1 of the World Series, they won because they had to win it. Even as the Indians stole Game 3 and put us on the ropes in Game 4, my hope remained calm. I don't know how I never freaked out until I started to say my rationale out loud again and again. This team is different. This team is different. As I left a deflated bar, I didn't even bemoan my $20 cover charge. This team is different.

Down 3-1 in the World Series, I just felt this team is different. They don't carry the weight of 108 years in their batbags. They acknowledge it, set it aside, and play baseball the way they always have. That is how you win Game 5, 6, and 7 in the World Series. That is how you get to the do-or-die, elimination game for both teams, give up a lead late, and get it back to protect for good anyway.


Hope was fulfilled. It neared its completion as a dribbling ground ball reached the glove of a grinning third-baseman. It approached culmination as it sailed across the diamond with the ball into the glove of a first-baseman who, just minutes earlier, had stood on third base screaming with hands on head and scored the final, decisive run. It poured out as a reality in sputtery and unbridled emotions.

It was accomplished by a front office, an owner, a manager, and players who strive to always move forward and do their best in the task at hand. "Try not to suck" is the cheeky way to tell people to do their best. "Embrace the target" and "don't let the pressure exceed the pleasure" are the t-shirt slogans that make sure we have fun even when circumstances lean heavily on us.

Rather than being weighed down by the stress and pressure of all of this longing and angst and unfulfilled hope, these Cubs just played as the 2016 Cubs. And instead of turning anxiously toward the ramifications vis-a-vis their historical predecessors, they just honored them with present excellence.
Many pointed out how the Cubs' World Series win came on All Souls Day. This is the day when the Catholic Church honors the dead. We ritually and prayerfully acknowledge the lives and memories of all those who have gone before us. The day after we honor the saints - those people we believe to be already in heaven - we honor also the hopeful legacy of love that our dearly departed loved ones have left to us.

This is the hope that is fulfilled. In our Christian faith, we have faith in the Paschal Mystery of Christ and hope for the eternal life that awaits with Him. When we reach our eternal reward, our faith is realized, and our hope is fulfilled. All that awaits is love. And that is heaven.

The 2016 World Series Champion Chicago Cubs played in this vein. Rather than grieve the loss of many a game, many a season, many a snake-bitten playoff series, these Cubs simply played this season. That added up to 103 wins (though sabermetrics say they were actually unlucky! and should have won about 107!), three playoff series victories, and a championship. What better way to honor the legacy of 108 years' worth of players - players who tried hard, who succeeded in various ways, who loved this city - than to just play a season with faith and hope for its own sake and dedicate that success to them.

The sweetness of victory will endure with profound strength because it occurred in this way. Sports teach us hope when we play, when we coach, when we root. The faith we sustained has been fulfilled, and the hope to which we clung has been realized. All that remains is love.

You could see it in the players, coaches, and organizational members as they celebrated. You could see it in the live feeds of the bars and streets. You could see it at the parade and rally. You could see it as you walked the streets. And I'll bet you could feel it flowing in your celebration, and see it in the wild gestures and reactions of those who joined you.

I saw it as my wife and I visited Wrigley Field to take pictures at the marquee and statues - strangers offered to take pictures for strangers; people stopped moving to stay out of the shot; chalk messages of love and memories covered the walls; humans loved one another.

None of us have died and gone to heaven. But on the day when we honored those who have gone before us, we began an indefinite celebration inspired by a team whose success came not from grieving loss or being overshadowed in its weight but by living in the moment in a way that would make those people proud. Some of my students asked, "How long will this celebration last?" I told them that the win, the parade, and the rally where only the start of something that won't stop.

As we get a taste of the love that follows when faith is realized and hope is fulfilled, I will use those palpitating moments, those euphoric celebrations, and the impeccable video and audio of that final out as my reset button. That reset button will remind me that faith and hope are never in vein because they long for something which surely awaits.

We haven't yet died. We haven't yet gone to heaven. But man, did we gain a profound taste of the love that we glimpse in potent moments now and the love that surely awaits.
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