Fantasmic Illuminations ;)

I had the heavenly pleasure of gallivanting about the magical environs of Disney World and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter with my dear girlfriend, Katherine, serving as the executor of many wonderful donations from family and friends to celebrate her graduation with a fun trip.

Disney immerses you in a world of beloved characters, fantasy-turned-real-life settings, and nostalgic narratives brought to life. All of this brings you so easily to a place of wist, wonder, and can't-wipe-the-smile-off-your-face happiness.

Here and there we would run into annoyance and discontent.

I have an incredibly short fuse for people who walk at a snail's pace, or, even worse, stop in the middle of a pathway. I don't mind the slowness or gawking or stopping; just do it off to the side please! It makes me long for a cattle prod that I could use to cast aside the people standing in the way of us movers.

Sometimes in lines, people will become oblivious of the gradual progress their compatriots are making toward the ride and fail to move forward, leaving a tantalizing empty space between you and the ride. It's just helpful to the longing I feel in the queue if I know I'm making progress, you know?

The wonderful Disney employees had their moments of obnoxiousness, too. Some of them are really good at standing and talking to two or three of their fellow cast members rather than helping you. This came to a head when a hungry and tired Dan and Katherine were hopelessly searching for a unique meal after four straight days of amusement park food. We strolled up to a sit-down place where three hosts/hostesses aloofly blabbed away while we futily waited to be offered a menu.

And some struggle to organically grasp the elation of the world, trying to buy it with private character meet-and-greets, expensive visits to gift shops, or superfluous luxuries tacked on to the already high price of admission.

The important thing, though, is that these recognitions are fleeting, and obscured by the constant giddiness of being immersed in such a beautiful world. Even though I don't know the words to every song, I will always have a soft spot for pretty much all things Disney. Just wanted to identify some frustrations so as not to give the impression that I'm brainwashed or something!

The Tiki Room reminds me of childhood family vacations. Star Tours brings to mind the time when Chewbacca scared the crap out of my mom by sneaking up from behind. Tomorrowland Transit Authority was the site of much tomfoolery in my high school days. And now the Laugh Floor will remind me of the new generation of fun and frivolity at Disney. Everywhere there are memories of past visits, of beloved movies and characters, and new memories waiting to be made now and in the future.

I think my favorite memories this time around came from the people we saw. I loved the preponderance of help and love I could see at every turn.

For instance, the park is peppered with strollers and wheelchairs.

At various points, "stroller parking" areas harbor dozens and dozens of these little chariots. These are the means by which parents bravely undertake day-long adventures with inexhaustible little dreamers, often impervious to fatigue. Not only do they try to figure out which ride or character these volatile little humans want to check out; they even allow the kiddos time off their feet, without getting much of a break themselves. These moms and dads get quite the workout walking the environs of these mega-parks while pushing 50 lbs. of precious cargo ahead of them. God bless parents.

Then there's the handicapped. Sure, some of the groups heading backwards into rides via the exit ramps don't look real injured. But for the most part, I saw determined people pushing their own wheels, seeking the same Disney experience as those on two legs. And I saw others who couldn't propel themselves graciously receiving the help of family and friends.

I personally find that seeing and being around handicapped people lays me bare in a great way - I find a purity about their countenances and smiles that is really beautiful. I think God uses the apparent evil of handicap, defect, or disorders to give us constant opportunity to love, for us to show that the love of Christ overpowers any evil. We ought to oppose the root causes of suffering, but we should encounter the suffering in our world with compassion in action.

I saw little kids pushing the wheelchairs of their family and friends. On the shuttle bus to the park, I saw a blind man being led by a woman (sister? cousin? girlfriend?) to his seat on the bus and on to a day at the parks. And I even saw a little boy who could barely walk become a powerful prince.

In the new and improved Fantasyland at Magic Kingdom, they have an attraction called Enchanted Tales with Belle. From Disney's website:

Be magically transported from Maurice’s cottage to the Beast’s library for a delightful storytelling experience. You’ll meet and spend time with Belle, and you may even be invited to play a part in the story. Will you be an enchanted object, or perhaps fill the role of the Beast with a heart of gold?

Katherine and I stayed out of the way as a Disney cast member casted the children in our group of a few dozen people to play their parts in Belle's story. These children, holding little costume props, would be the "actors" in the live retelling of a tale by Lumiere, standing to narrate on the mantle, while Belle, who surprised us later on, would play the part of herself.

At one point, everyone was asked to give their best roar. The kids playfully let out a little scream, leaving the cast member with a tough decision. Near the middle of the room was a mom and dad with a rather bulky stroller and a son who, at first glance, looked a bit too big and old for a stroller. His parents had to hold his arms as he stood, despite the fact that he looked plenty old enough to walk. Next to the carriage was a tiny walker, with sturdy handles and little wheels. And the boy who stood next to it, who had let out a solid roar, didn't have strong enough legs to walk on his own.

Our Disney cast member walked straight over to this little guy and asked him to play The Beast. As he smiled, she tied a majestic red cape around his neck, and he took proudly to his walker with the help of his mom. His beaming smile and delight couldn't be interrupted as the rest of the parts were cast. At the end, everyone needed to practice their parts once more before showtime. When it came time to give one more practice roar, our little hero was more than up to the challenge.

As we were led into the library for the show, the little actors took their places up front, and Belle appeared to lead the show. Every little toot needed the Disney cast members to set them up for their moment in the sun - the best one was the kid playing the horse who rather dutifully and without inflection answered Belle's question with, "I. DON'T. KNOW. NEIGH. NEIGH. NEIGH."

I was welling up as I watched the little man in his cape swivel around on his walker to see all the parts of the show. Then came his big moment with Belle, and God bless the actress, she got down on her knees in her ballgown to talk with him. And when it came time for their big dance, she continued to kneel beside him and move in little steps to match his.

I choked back my tears as the show's hero kissed her on the cheek. I was so ecstatic that this Disney cast member who probably casts dozens of these shows every day saw fit to put a cape on this differently abled little man. She could have easily picked another kid or tried to flirt with a dad or young man instead, but she chose to give this lil guy the moment he deserved. There was no hesitation for his physical shape or ability; she just heard his roar and gave him the cape he was born to wear.

In the midst of so much money changing hands - of pricey tickets, expensive knick-knacks and souvenirs, meals whose cost don't reflect their quality, people trying to use money to create happiness - the greatest love was found in simply leveling the playing field, through treating people with full dignity. The magic of Disney is so potent in its themed lands, amazing rides and attractions, and the settings one can wander through. But it takes on its most human, its most loving form, in the way people were treating each other.

Moms pushing strollers. Dads taking off backpacks to reveal giant sweat stains, shaped like the backpack they'd just removed. Siblings pushing wheelchairs. Parents holding the hands of their little ones, waiting dutifully to meet a character or ride the dream ride. People telling other people that they are worth just as much, carry just as much value, regardless of their age, physical ability, or anything else, but not in often-empty words - in simple yet profound actions.

In this case, the simple donning of a cape to a crippled young man took us past his physical disability and on to his humanity. His life is just as dignified and valuable as everyone else's. His roar was just as good as everyone else's.

When Words Fail, and Love Keeps Overwhelming Us

One of my favorite songs by my favorite artist, Josh Ritter, is Another New World. It's a long, folktastic story song about the allure and downside of exploration and the fortunes, or lack thereof, of one particular explorer. As the man and his expedition set sale for the North Pole, with the thought that they can discover this new world beyond the ice, Josh sings, "But I never had family, just the Annabel Lee, so I never had cause to look back."

I have had this problem ever since I started my driving lessons. When you're ready to make a left turn, you look left, right, and left again, and when it's clear, you go for it. I would always go for it but then look again over my shoulder to make sure I was clear. My driving instructor tried to brake this habit in me. However, I still do it to this day.

My tendency to look back is warranted here, as behind me are tons of amazing students and incredible teachers whom I will no longer see and work with every day.

The magnitude of this parting - leaving this amazing high school and its students and community after one year - continues within me, as now I move from being in the midst of the partings to the epilogue, my six weeks between walking away from my wonderful "job" one last time and packing the car to move back to the Midwest. As I walked toward my car from graduation, a few students stopped me to say a last goodbye, and I joked, "There's a horse waiting for me in parking lot, already saddled up, to ride off into the sunset."

But it's not that easy. And I don't want it to be that easy. Experience only takes root through reflective processing. So here we are again.

I thanked God today because the peace He has sown within me isn't a peace that numbs me to the nature of the present moment or one that removes sensitivity to emotions. Rather, my God-given peace leads me to reflect on it all, the emotions serving as the fuel for my mind to pore over the reality.

It feels so strongly like I'm leaving a retreat... still. Retreats lead you to come off an emotionally intense, spiritually enriching, holistically renewing experience, that is built on the vulnerability and sharing of others and the community you all cultivate together. Leaving a high school after a year of working intensely in theology teaching, campus ministering, and relationship building magnifies these feelings to immense proportions.

In my recollection, I find myself trying to move back to the partings that resemble this one in magnitude and reclaim the lessons they offered:

Sitting at one of my student's (my adopted little sister's) grad parties Saturday with a few other teachers, I thought - did I invite teachers to my party? As far as I could remember, it was just a few: my campus ministers, Fons and Bro. John. And I'm proud that, to this day, John and I are still friends. That a punky 18-year-old kid recognized the value of a relationship enough to keep up his end of the bargain to sustain it enough. I saw him just a few weeks ago, and will see him much more when I return to Chicago. I feel good that a few of my students will help carry the torch of relationship into the future.

I think of parting with the Notre Dame Folk Choir and the air of senior week at Notre Dame. And I remember reminding my friends all year long that we don't need to dramatize the "lasts" because we had cherished and lived fully the 1st, the 27th, and the 74th of everything the right way. The lasts are noteworthy for being part of the end, but we need not overemphasize them or change how we roll on account of the end. And sure enough, our last concert on tour in San Diego was quite the dud for reasons beyond our control. And I was able to laugh it off, knowing that it was the dozens of concerts before that one that defined my memories and legacy.

I remember being a Mentor-in-Faith with Notre Dame Vision, and the intensity of the fraction rite of the 2011 community. The nature of working and living with the same people in a spiritually rich environment brings out incredible depth of relationship because a summer is long enough to get to know someone and grow close to them but just short enough where you don't really grow tired of each other! Amazing relationships were formed, and some of the most important relationships in my life were strengthened to new levels as well. The final Mass we celebrated - impromptu, clearing the chairs out of a small chapel to pack 70 people in, a priest in plain clothes and gym shoes under his vestments, a sign of peace that was thorough in length yet deeply genuine - was perfect. As our chaplain broke the bread, my friend recalled seeing the reflection of everyone in the metal of the patin, while at the same time I was thinking that each of those pieces of the Eucharist were every one of us. We were the most powerful manifestation of a Eucharistic people I had ever experienced, and in the Mass we became what we received: Christ - taken, blessed, broken, and shared for all.

I think also to those kids who were in my small groups. I kept up with some by email or Facebook messages. Gradually, the response rates dwindled, and the few times they'd reached out to me fell away. Now and then, I'll drop a line to one or two of them, but the sustained relationships never materialized. However, God provides - in one Triduum alone, I saw two kiddos who are now undergraduate seminarians, another who studies at Holy Cross, and a fourth who I invited to sit next to me rather than let her sit alone. Each encounter was beautifully affirming. My former "kids" remembered me exactly and were truly happy to see me, and they engaged me as individuals, as adults with their own worlds and stories that they continued to be willing to share rather than reverting to earlier years and clinging to past memories.

Our relationships were easily and comfortably picked up again in these new encounters. The right groundwork had been laid in the way we interacted at Vision because we were seeking relationship in the right ways - giving and receiving love, seeking humor but not at the expense of seriousness, finding Christ in our community. The best relationships are the ones that, even without maintenance when life gets too much in the way, can be picked up again because of the strength of the bond.

And such relationship can happen, in part, because of my attitude, because of what I am seeking and how I go about finding it. The way I engage and interact honestly, friendly, personably, with these students is my contribution to what God will work in and through us. So by building upon my positive experiences with these students, I can and have and will continue to find such live-giving spiritual friendships, relationships in which I can be a positive influence on the person's faith, bring them closer to God, and give and receive love as I learn to be a better builder of the Kingdom.

The Gospel on Sunday morning crystallized this whole thing for me. As the disciples worry about how to feed the multitudes who have come to hear Christ, Jesus calms them down and asks for what food they have gathered. With a glance toward God and the invocation of a blessing, these bits of food feed the thousands with lots leftover. God fills the hungry with good things, even when it looks like there may not be food there for us to munch on. God uses me in his terms of love rather than human terms of limitation and frailty. God takes the few loaves and fishes that I see myself as and shows me that love is not a finite sum to be measured out and allocated.

I don't have to worry about where I'll find my "next meal." I must simply remain close to God, as I have so far on this path, and He will continue to match me up with people and communities that need what I can offer and will feed me in turn. I will miss the little brothers and sisters that I have to leave behind, and we will hold a piece of each other's hearts dearly. However, as I keep in touch with some while others fade into memory, there are some waiting who can use my help and form me as well.

I take delight in the universality of our Church, in the presence of goodness and grace and faith in so many disparate locales of our world - how the love of Christ manifests itself in beautiful and different ways in His family all over. And within this global glory are places where I can teach and learn, where I can lead and serve, where I can give love and receive it.

I once described faith in the mystery of God as a bridge that leads out into a fog. You can't see clearly across the bridge to what lies beyond, but you know that bridges are solid connectors of one area to another. So you walk out onto the bridge, into the uncertainty of the fog, knowing - without seeing for certain - that there is something on the other side. Our faith tells us that Heaven, that the eternal love of God, waits there, the destination towards which we constantly move.

The emotions of these next steps surely merit this reflection, but they should not and do not arouse paralysis or hesitancy. They fuel me to try, as Teresa of Avila says, to continue to be the hands and feet of Christ for others.

When Words Fail, and Love Overwhelms Us

As I wade into the trenches of perhaps the most intense parting of my life - rivaled only by leaving Notre Dame and beginning the long distance chapter of my relationship with my girlfriend - I find emotion and insight swirling about me. I remain grounded in my contextualized perspective that leaving  must involve carrying what you've found and who've you become with you as you move on. However, the emotions power through that truism to demand a deeper perspective.

Allow me to muddle through it all with you.

The relationships I have formed with these students are of a flavor I have yet to experience. I focus so intently on these students that I often neglect to build relationships with colleagues. I leave behind a few dear friends who happen to also be co-workers, but on a larger scale, my impact was quite minimal in the landscape of the staff. This is an added wrinkle I must develop as I mature because quality campus ministry depends so heavily on collegiality. I just freeloaded on the pre-existing teamwork in my current job whereas in future endeavors I will have to be more proactive about cultivating such a community to support the work I'll shepherd.

In terms of the students, the kind of presence I am for and with them is mostly new for me. It was hinted at by my experience as Mentor-in-Faith with Notre Dame Vision, when the age difference was similar. However, it takes that paradigm and blows it up to massive proportion, from a five-day intensive course to a year-long journey together.

The relationships are given fuller term to develop and grow, so they take on such nuance and particularity. I get to become the go-to for different people for different things. I can wander the grounds of our campus, encounter different students, and be excited for their various entreaties. I become the big brother to dozens upon dozens of beloved little brothers and sisters.

At first, the jokes about leaving were easy to deflect - "You're leaving me!?" or "How can you leave us?!", often emoted in artificially dramatic exclamations. However, as the reality of parting creeps nearer, the comments have taken deeper root and a profound personal character - congratulations for my new job and my scholarship, authentic excitement that my girlfriend and I get to live near each other finally, actual tears of disbelief that I won't be back, heartfelt affirmations that I'm one of their favorites, notes and unsolicited exclamations of joy about the connections we've forged or the way their faith has grown this year, and kids' even saying "I love you" straight up.

This is when is gets real. That's when I can't just smile and laugh and say someone else will come and make a new difference or that I'm not worth it. That's when I just want to hug my students and never let go. That's when words fail, and love overwhelms us. This is what Christ meant when He reassured that where two or three are gathered, there am I in the midst of them.

I had the thought that this must be how priests and celibate religious are sustained. I remember asking a priest at my high school how he goes on without a wife or kids, and he told me and my fellow students that he looks at us as his children. Now I really understand what he meant. We didn't just fill in a gap for him; we really were his kids. The love that can be shared when a priest or nun or even a Dan invests his/herself completely into a community abounds and overflows one's cup through the quality and depth of relationships that can form.

These relationships aren't just the means to fulfilling one's vocation or paying the bills; they are the fuel that keep the heart pumping to give and receive the love of God constantly. For me, I need the sustenance of an exclusive human relationship, of someone who gets me better than anyone else, who prioritizes me highly in her life, and gives me the love of God first so I may return it and pass it on. But in the midst of this sea of love, I see how the priest or sister, who embraces this different challenge, can navigate the celibate life and carry on in joy.

This reality recontextualizes my emotional state beautifully. As I sign yearbooks, pose for and take pictures, and share my email address with my dear teenage friends, I can't help but feel like I would at the end of a retreat. The retreat high carries you through the final day, the partings, and the shock of reentry to life, but it is sure to fade. Currently, I'm riding the high.

I'm delighting in the pictures. I'm laughing at the texts. I'm basking in the love of emails and notes. And I, a self-proclaimed retreat junkie, know better than most that it will most certainly fade.

Yet I also know better than most that just because the high fades doesn't mean that the faith and love within me have to fade, too.

The greatest way to sustain the good feelings of happiness is through the relationships that created those good feelings. Happiness is fleeting and surface-level; joy is deep-seated in the heart and lasting. These young men and women are the smile on my face, the love in my heart, the confirmation that my gifts and passions are serving the needs of God's world. I cannot force them to text, call, email, Facebook message, or even to remember me, but I can invite them to maintain our connection with deep gratitude for what has been.

And that is just what I will do. True, beneath the too-often flimsy promises lies the reality that we all won't keep in touch perfectly. However, I find solace in the fact that a few will.

Every community and job and person that touches our hearts forever owns a piece of it. Thank God, love is not supplied finitely, and that these pieces of our heart are not limited edition. Those few who stay connected with me will remind me of the whole and keep alive the part of my heart that is forever theirs.

And as life and love carry me and you and all of us on the sea of life, our sacramental lives are the ebb and flow of the waves that carry us toward love and good and God. The Eucharist brings us the nourishment and renewal of the God who became man and remains close to us always. The reach of Jesus Christ transcends time and space to reinforce and sustain those relationships, in that Something and Someone who is bigger than any one of us, so that no matter how far and wide we may spread, or how many years elapse between our meetings, we remain ever intimately connected.

Right and Righter

Time and time again, then time and time again... then a few more times, students in theology classes at the school where I teach wonder and ask about non-Catholics - do they have to adhere to Church teaching? Why? What if they don't agree with what the Church teaches?

Then we, as faithful, well-catechized, thoroughly formed Catholics trying to teach theology, become readily tempted to launch into argument.

I want to cite the Gospels and Acts, when Jesus vests authority in the apostles. I want to tell the story of Pentecost, the emboldening of these people to go and preach in Jesus' name. I want to tell the story of Peter, the rock on whom Christ builds His Church. I want to explore ecclesiology and unpack the realities of the Church. I want to throw down about the necessity of absolute truth. I want to invalidate relativism for the contradictory and shaky viewpoint that it is.

And there's the catch - our courses do all that. We hash out those pieces of the puzzle that validate the authority of our Church, that connect us to Christ, that explain our claims to authority and ability to teach in Jesus' name, that identify God as the source of Truth, revealed to us by Scripture and Tradition. We address those objections as part of the catechesis.

Yet this repeated objection becomes a road-block, a push back in the direction of revisiting that stuff. It drags us back toward arguments that we offered and discussed but ultimately must not sink in. In an infinitely long school year, they could be rehashed, but time is of the essence. We futily hope that our discussions will address their beefs.

This generation of youngens cannot wrap their heads around the idea that John Paul II is speaking truth to all people in The Gospel of Life. They can't believe that this man (the pope) and his advisers (the bishops) are composing advice that is based upon the absolute truth of God and directed toward - and useful and relevant to! - all people of good will.

In part, I think it's generational and teenage skepticism of authority. In part, a lot of my interaction with them suggests that they simply discount institutionalized religion on a count of the attraction of the "spiritual but not religious" fad. In part, I think many of them are disillusioned because the only religion they see is people practicing religion poorly - judgmentally, radically, intolerantly.

For whatever reason, they often will only get on board with the Church and her unpacking of absolute truth unless it happens to jive with their personal opinions.

When it comes to addressing these students concerns without rehashing previous days' worth of discussions, the issue has to be framed well.

I recently observed a colleague teacher emphasize dialogue to his students. Right on the money.

Many students have an image of the Church as "my way or the highway." True, our Church is one of all-or-nothing subscription. It's not a buffet; we're called to conscientious dialogue with truth. However, it's not meant to be so cold and militaristic. It's meant to be conversation, a what and why that unpacks the teaching to the heart and the mind. It's judgment of evil actions, affirmation of the goodness of people but condemnation of the stain of sin, whether social or personal.

When he asked me to chime in, I reframed the tension/conflict - it's not always a matter of you're wrong and we're right; it's often a matter of you and us are both right but we're righter.

Pro-choice advocates are right to value privacy and mothers'/women's rights. It's just righter to do so through a whole sexuality that embraces the completeness of marriage and a full understanding of sex rather than to encourage free sex, contraceptives, and abortion.

Death penalty supporters are right to advocate justice, law enforcement, and social peace. It's just righter to further those causes through life imprisonment and the opportunity for repentance.

Assisted suicide advocates are right to value the dignity of life, individual autonomy, and practicality. It's just righter to value life by understanding the fullness of suffering, the value of surrender, and the distinctions between passive and active means.

The tensions between the sides are full of friction, especially on these issues, but therein lies the challenge and the call: Christians are blessed with a beautifully cohesive and coherent faith, manifested beautifully in the consistent ethic of life - valuing life and its dignity and value in all forms from conception until natural death.

Our task is to manifest, in our actions and words, a faith that upholds the dignity of life. We must demonstrate the light and joy and the culture of life, amid the battle against a culture of death.

Ultimately, most people aspire to be part of a culture of life. Our dialogue, grounded in our understanding of Truth as delivered to us by Christ through Scripture and Tradition, must help everyone discover how we can help and hurt that force of good. And while we must discourage and condemn evil when we find it, we shouldn't assume evil in all our interactions.

We must find the good.

We can have dialogue in which both sides are right and seek the mutual illumination of conversation. Viewpoints of right and wrong can lead us to be dumb and dumber. Let's discover a context of right and righter, and let the One Who is Right shine.

Limiting the Unlimited

On Friday, I grabbed the keys to a school van and loaded it up with baseball equipment and a handful of my players. Our last game of the season was against our in-town public school, a hated rival from just 10 minutes down the same road our school is on.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, the van was pretty quiet. Sure, it was Friday, and the school week leaves teenagers drained and dragging (until Friday night rolls around, at least). But this silence resulted from something else.

I picked up on it when I heard noises coming from the lap of my shotgun passenger. He was playing a game on his iPhone. And a quick survey of my rearview mirror revealed that his teammates were all doing the same thing. Nary a word was spoken. Every set of eyeballs - except the driver's - were glued to a tiny touch-screen.

The next morning, we played a just-for-fun scrimmage, some players, some parents and siblings, and me ending our season with some light-hearted competition. A couple hours swinging the bats, throwing a tennis ball around, and trying to hit a jack over the tantalizingly close homerun fence on the softball field. After six innings of ball, the sprinklers going off, and a lot of laughs, we put a cap on the season with a 12-10 victory for the home team. I came out on the losing end but managed to take a ball yard.

After the game ended and we cleaned up after ourselves a bit, six players were left in the dugout, waiting for rides. Again, an almost unbroken silence reigned where laughter and jokes should have been. Six sets of eyes focused on smartphones. Game over. Time to text.

This is a tough issue.

I tried to resist and stood strongly on my soapbox for ages, but I, too, have a smartphone. At first, I turned the cellular data off to keep temptation at bay, but one can't even picture message without it. So now I had the internet in the palm of my hand. I made a rule that, just like when my iPod traveled with me in my pocket, I'd restrict my data usage to WiFi, with exceptions for times of legitimate need (like the maps to get directions or Safari to find an address or store hours). I've survived the first 3 months pretty strongly accordingly to those rules, but the compulsion becomes so strong when the boundaries evaporate and those little red numbers appear on my apps.

Ultimately, I don't necessarily think there's a great moral absolute at play here. Smartphones are not inherently evil. The internet is not inherently evil. It comes down to, as always, intention. But given the prevalence of internet access and the constant ability we have to shift our attention to a handheld device, I think intention has to include omission.

Even if shifting our gaze down to a phone isn't evil, might preoccupying ourselves from other things around us be a move in the wrong direction? My concern isn't so much that phones drag us down. It's that too much use of our phones keep us from realizing each other.

Facebook, other social media, and our phones should supplement our personal relationships, giving them new avenues in which to grow an exist, but those things should not become the primary means of communication and sustaining relationships.

Think of the waiting room at your doctor's or dentist's office. Typically, you'll be in for a long wait, so you grab a magazine to pass, or even "kill", time. Nothing wrong with that. Get lost in the political issues afoot, or catch up on Hollywood happenings. Too often we are starting to treat any "down" time as being like a waiting room - meeting up with friends at a theater or mall, waiting for a table at a restaurant, a lull in conversation - and that's scary.

I can't tell you how many times I see people standing around in a circle looking at their phones instead of chatting with each other. I have pulled my phone out just because everyone in my vicinity has gone there and I don't want to be left out. I have pulled my phone out because I sometimes forget that this potential for conversation used to be our default.

It's a dangerous trend for us to default to a smartphone, to a personal, customizable world rather than to community with others. Sometimes, we go to our phones to share an article, a video, a picture, to include others, start a conversation, have a laugh; sometimes it's pure compulsion. We are increasingly drifting to that set of square icons to check up on the social scene rather than partaking of the one in our midst.

The trend is present in ads, and it's kind of a chicken-and-egg scenario - do the ads reflect what we're already doing or do the ads goad us toward behaviors by their power of suggestion?



I showed a Droid commercial to my students. Some of them understood the implication of our phones' becoming literally one with us as seriously dangerous. Others dismissed the commercial, saying that we don't have to do something just because a commercial tells us to do it. My question remains...



Then I think of this Sprint commercial, which implies that everything we do should be captured on our phones and shared, without our devices or their data pools limiting our activity. I am all for the opening of information, for more and more to be readily available to be researched, discovered, learned.

I am grateful for Blogger and the chance I get to compose thoughts and disseminate them widely. However, I don't bare 100% of my soul on this blog. I share myself openly and genuinely, but there are things that are private to me and my family or friends. I tell stories and offer insights, but a fraction of my life remains my own, unpublished to any social platform. Again, I'm not saying Sprint will eradicate that boundary or that we ought to get rid of it because Sprint told us to do that. However, the trend is real, something for us to confront and reflect upon.

Do we feel the need to be plugged in 24-7-365? Why do we have to check for little red numbers every 5 minutes? Can we go without sharing things with others? Can we go without checking what others are sharing?

My point is not to poo-poo smartphones or apps. I just hope everyone can stop for a moment to reflect upon their habits or compulsions.

I need to recommit to my WiFi rule. I need to trust that emails about my potential new job or my plans for grad school will not go anywhere even if I don't check and see them right away. I can let myself play 7 Little Words and Crosswords while in the bathroom but not while sitting at a table amid conversation.

How can you create fair and just limits on your usage? Can self-denial lead you to realization? What moderation might you need?

The Things We Carry

I am currently looking for my next job. I'm moving back to Chicago to start graduate school part-time. I'm leaving my job and my current school community, and I need to find a new community in which I can do my ministry.

Leaving has never been really hard for me. I guess I have solid control on my emotions - sometimes good, sometimes bad. I love a good cry, but it takes something quite intense or a factor of surprise to bring out my tears. Leaving my high school, leaving London, leaving each summer of Notre Dame Vision, leaving my beloved Folk Choir, leaving Notre Dame, leaving Ireland...

I've had to do a lot of leaving. Not to be trite, but Semisonic was on to something when they said, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." I've always been aware of the finiteness of those experiences - of the four-year progression of school, of the development and subsequent sending forth, or fraction rite, of a community, of loving but leaving a certain place. The joy and love of each piece to that puzzle endures in pictures and videos. It lasts even more strongly in memories. Yet the greatest vestiges of those places, people, and communities live on in my life of faith.

Each chapter of my formation sowed seeds for the future while harvesting the seeds from my past. That reality doesn't eliminate emotion, but it places it in right proportion. I could leave each place, each community with an enormous grin, fueled by deep-seeded joy because I knew I would carry those people and experiences in my heart. I didn't have to cling to things lost, or grasp after fleeting reality. The specific times and places may pass, but the impact they had in developing me lasts.

I felt this most acutely when I got the chance to direct my first retreat. In October, I directed a two-night, 36-hourish Junior Retreat. It'd be up to me to keep us on track, catalyze the creation of the proper atmosphere, and kind of "emcee" the thing. As I moved through the pieces of the retreat, re-gathering the group for talks, finding ways to transition between things, and wanting to let my true self to show through, I realized, in a beautiful way, that I am a conglomerate of those people who I had seen in leadership along my way: the unabashed catechesis of Tim O, the utilization of viral videos for spiritual renewal of Lenny, the reflective use of guitar of Steve, the comfortable awkwardness of John, the attention to detail of Jess, the friendly relatability of Betsy, the meditative guidance of Jimmy...

As a minister, as a teacher, as a person, I am the product of those people who have impacted me, from my parents and brothers to those who have ministered to me. The benevolent love and grace of God follows me everywhere. It didn't restrict itself to St. Viator or Notre Dame or Clonard or Xavier.

The temptation we have at Notre Dame, or in any community which nourishes us in faith, is to cling to it. We want to have more and more of the good things. We want to stay at Notre Dame. The sustenance is so great; why leave it behind? We wrestle with the allure of ACE, of Notre Dame Law, of AR posts, of internships and staff positions, of finding a job in South Bend, of infinite dorm masses and basilica and grotto trips. Sometimes staying on is a welcome stepping stone toward post-grad dreams or a fitting gap year before diving headlong into career aspirations; other times, it's the fear of the unknown, of the beyond, or a reach for the metaphorical snooze button.

Whether you clung to Notre Dame or cut the cord (or, like me, did a little of both), the important thing is that the Church we found in a most colorful way at Our Lady's University is a truly global church. The very word which describes our faith means universal. The reach of the Body of Christ is not limited by time or space. The faithfulness and zeal that we find at Notre Dame exists elsewhere in the world.

It may be less vibrantly visible; it may take some looking; it may not be as readily available. But you betcha it's out there.

Each time you leave a place, a job, a community, you risk not being able to get it as good as you had it. But we are an Easter people. Jesus defeated death. His victory permeates everything. It makes us the people of faith, hope, and love, which necessitates optimism, even if realistic optimism. You can doubt the prospects of gainful employment, the ability to pull in a certain salary, the likelihood of finding new friends, but you cannot the doubt the strength of our Church, the community of Christ that is found everywhere and anywhere.

I got to Ireland after leaving Notre Dame and found a priest with firy opinions of what our Church needs to do better, a family of fervent prayer and faith in a culture readily forsaking it, and a community of humble Vincent de Paul volunteers bringing help to those in need. I came to California and found a high school preaching a counter-cultural message of care for the whole person, of spiritual formation alongside college preparations, of community and fellowship beyond the classroom. Now I return to Chicago, to family, to a school that desires to form people theologically and ministerially, and to a yet unknown job...

Maybe most important of all, I have found potential employers who spoke the language. I found a retreat director in Wisconsin who valued community and frank, open conversation. I found a principal and a campus minister in SoCal who actively encourage tensions, constant discernment, and the agitation of shallow comforts and complacency. I found a principal in Illinois who seeks to give his kids intellectual, spiritual, and professional formation, all in one school. I found another principal in Indiana who wants a campus minister with a real vision that will further invigorate the faith family at her school.

Notre Dame and Holy Cross certainly provide a unique flavor and intensity of faith formation. But we are silly and narrow-sighted to focus too much on that, just like Jesuit alumni are missing out when they fixate of Ignatian spirituality. The best way to develop any stance is to expose it to new, different environments. Our Catholic faith deepens and broadens when we take it from where we're at to where we're going, from our home parish, from our alma mater, from the place we live or work now, to the place we may end up going.

We don't need to all be missionaries, jumping from one thing to another in search of the next big thing. We don't all need to suddenly forsake our routines or comfort zones or the status quo. However, we do need to readily embrace the unknown, the step ahead, the new thing. We need to consider going to that Taize Prayer service that happens every week down the road. We need to consider working in a Jesuit school, even if we've never experienced it before. We need to try Adoration, even if it's intimidating. We need to go to daily Mass once in a while. We need to give our local parish a chance, and consider how we can help, even if that church in the next town over seems more appealing.

For my current job, our students go on retreat at a mountain ranch. The high altitude, the fogs and mists, the clear, clean air, the starry skies, the woodsy wilderness - it all creates a special world. Their temptation is to want to stay forever, to sustain this community they've created by never leaving that place. I remind them that the goodness they've shared and received from one another isn't confined to that place. It's something quite sustainable and realistic. It doesn't require the establishment of a mountainous utopia. It requires the courage and trust to carry the changes you experience with you as you go on.

The universality of the Church, the infinite reach of Christ, gathers us together in this way. Don't be afraid of leaving what you know. You always carry with you those things that have shaped your heart. The power of formation comes when we share our formation with others and receive theirs in turn.

I Writes the Applications

For those of you who I haven't been able to catch up with, I am moving back to Chicago this summer. My girlfriend, Katherine, is starting graduate school at DePaul's School of Nursing. I will be starting a part-time MA at Catholic Theological Union. As part of this transition, I have leave my wonderful job as a campus minister/theology teacher/coach out here in California and look for my next wonderful job in Chicagoland. As I assemble materials to submit to high schools, universities, and parishes, I have had to do some serious reflecting to articulate who I am, what I believe, what I love and am passionate about, etc.

Below I share with you my responses to some questions I've answered for job applications. Hopefully, some of my amateur insights resonate with you in some way...

Identify two to three skills or tools you view as essential to being an effective educator. Provide reasons to support your response.

Compassionate patience: As a theology teacher at a Catholic school, I find students to be skeptical and critical of me by default. They seem to have a generational inclination toward doubting the benevolence of organized religion. They cling stubbornly to the fallacy of relativism. They see people misusing, abusing, and otherwise poorly practicing their religions. I have to work with/against this. Deep down, I hope they will find resonance with the teachings of the Church and feel inclined toward Catholic faith. Realistically, I am just aiming to communicate Catholic values to them in a way they can understand; I frequently tell them, "I don't need you to agree with this, but I need you to understand it." Hoping for faith and working for faith/religious literacy in the midst of skepticism requires a lot of patience and great compassion. It does not mean I should let them think whatever they want. It means I must move gently, challenge their faulty understandings, their flimsy opinions, and their ungrounded objections with grace.

Relatability: I have to be credible. If students view me as being out of touch, as not understanding what they are going through as teenagers, as people living in this time and place, then I am discredited. If I dismiss them too readily or hastily, I am intolerant and heartless. I have to remain human, real; I cannot in any way become a cardboard cutout, a stuffed shirt just looking to execute a lesson and evaluate their academic performance in exchange for compensation. I have to show feeling, show my doubts, show my humor. I have to be in on the viral videos, the pop songs, and the trending hashtags - and not in a token way, because teenagers can detect phony-ness with incredible sensitivity. Ultimately, I must remain an adult while relating intimately to their status as teenagers. I love the challenge, and I am deeply consoled when students tell me I am like a loving big brother.

Given today's culture, what values are critical to teach our young men and women? Extrapolate on why these values are critical to teaching at a Catholic, Jesuit and college preparatory school and why they are important to you.


Faith: In an increasingly secular culture, we are told that it is ok to be spiritual-but-not-religious. This is a fallacy. People who lack religion lack community. Humans are inherently social creatures; we function better when we work together around meaningful causes that we share in common. Atheists, nontheists, and "nones" sometimes band together but do so loosely and often solely on social media. Religion is the social, communal force that enfleshes our beliefs and values, the things we think are so important, that fuel us to prioritize family and love in our lives. We need to encourage teens to retain faith, to take ownership of what they believe, to challenge and doubt and discern the faith of their parents and family and make it their own rather than disavow it. Teens can be incredible role models of faithfulness, spirituality, and religiosity. If we can show them its value, they can teach it to each other and help stem the tide of secularism and SBNR's.

Communication: As social media proliferate and we become more interconnected, the temptation increasingly becomes to downplay face-to-face interactions and keep our eyes glued to backlit electronic screens. The solution to this trend is not to liquidate social media; it is to teach ourselves and our young people how to use them well. Social media ought to be a supplemental means of communication. We should use Twitter and Facebook to increase our connectedness to each other so that we can have more to our relationships than ever before. The problem comes when social media become the primary means of communication and relegate phone calls and in-person contact to the sidelines. We need to reinforce the value and superiority of in-person conversation and highlight the reductiveness of communicating solely by texts, tweets, instagrams, and Facebook posts.