Great Expectations

If I were a Shakespeare character, my "fatal flaw" would be my high expectations. While this trait of mine motivates me to work hard and be profoundly diligent in most everything I do, it can certainly hamstring me at times.

I may overcommit or over invest in a task that doesn't need such time or attention. I can get so production- and efficiency- driven that I move too fast, leaving dishes dirty despite being "washed" and other tasks done less than excellently. I can get so into pushing myself that I overlook the value or point of what I'm doing.

A perfect example of this would be running. I love to run for both the fitness/exercise as well as the competition. The competitive part of me loves that which can be quantified, analyzed, and compared. Running is great because you can compete with others, compete with yourself, or both. Often workouts are more so about pushing your own pace and personal best times while races can become about beating your competition.

When I trained for a half-marathon, I decided I needed to ween myself off of fixating on the stopwatch. Tempting as it may be to time my runs and calculate my mile pace as relates to my runs' lengths and previous times, I decided to go for "odometer training." Not once in my ten weeks and 200km of training did I time myself. I just ran steady, hard, and consciously, trying to keep unflinchingly to the training program and make it to race day in best possible fitness by racking up the requisite distance.

It worked swimmingly as I was able to avoid obsessing over training times and just get my body in shape to max out on race day. I beat my goal time by 3 min, breaking away from the pace group I started the race with to get ahead of what I knew I could probably do and exceed my benchmark.

The key was not dropping my expectations or forsaking the pursuit of the best results. The key was restating them and tailoring them to focus on the point of running. I was able to be competitive and driven without overlooking the exercise, the character building, and the personal challenge of this half-marathon to myself.

In ministry, this same temptation looms. In year one at my job, the most obvious poverty of campus ministry was retreats. No one at the school had ever gone on an overnight retreat. In this first year of mine, Kairos was coming in brand new; I also decided to add a senior overnight retreat and to empower my student team to create a new sophomore overnight retreat for the following year.

As these things got started, as we trained leaders and as I undertook our first retreats, I had to grapple with realities - namely, that these kids had little to no "retreat literacy." They didn't know what a good small group discussion looked and felt like. They didn't know what a strong witness talk sounded like. They had no clue what a strong prayer service could do for their hearts. They lacked basic stamina for listening and sharing, feeling tired and restless even when they actually weren't.

Though the school had a good sense of liturgy, a strong family vibe, and a Catholic heritage, the students' individual spirituality was only as strong as their home life made it, win decent theology classes helping but retreats adding little more. Now it was time for a renewed campus ministry at our school to take them next level, but it was going to happen in - my favorite phrase of the year - "baby steps." Everything in baby steps.

Our first retreat leaders had little to no basis for what they were pursuing in their groups and their talks. Our first retreatants had to be a bit bold and brave in setting the curve. And their Campus Minister had to be patient with them as they felt out these new experiences.

On the one hand, there were times when I had to stand my ground on what vision was trying to be actualized on these retreats. I had the training, the work experience, and the empowerment behind me - all of which they lacked! - so they had to trust the structure I was putting in place, and I had to be a bit brazen at times.

Since they didn't know what a retreat entailed, I had to stick to my guns in emphasizing strong witness talks from students and teachers, diligent small-group discussions, and time for prayer and personal journaling/reflection. When they complained about being tired or uninterested, I had to know that what we were doing was respectful of their time and attention, leaving enough time for breaks and sleep, that it was worthwhile and valuable, and that God would be working through the retreat, even if they struggled to see it in the moment.

At the same time, I had to be patient and attentive. Some of them asked for more small-group discussion time. Others wanted the non-talk activities to last longer. Some preferred prayer services and Mass to the large-group talks.

All the while, I had moments where I could tell that this new experience was breaking through to their untapped spiritual potential - tears were shed; emotionally vulnerable admissions were made; friendships were formed and strengthened; some talked about finding God anew, or for the first time. At other times, people's indifference and disrespect haunted my optimism. Others' shallowness toward the potential of retreat focused on their small group's bonding and their leadership at the expense of the bigger picture of the retreat and of everyone's growing faith.

I had to take the triumphs and the shortfalls with equal grace and look ahead to being ever more diligent and committed to preparing and executing excellent retreats for these young people. My high expectations draw me to consider what impact these retreats and my Campus Ministry is having on the school at large, and I often feel as if the mediocrities I perceive at our school are not budging - kids are still tardy, out of uniform, rude and vulgar, and often disrespectful; teachers' interest and participation in retreats is often sporadic or lukewarm.

I'm tempted to think that great as some of this first year's ministries have been, the school is largely unchanged and unaffected by these endeavors. And then I remember my fatal flaw, and I have to challenge myself to retain that drive and passion while not discouraging myself with excessive desire for measurable or palpable "success."

So in year two, these ten retreats and four immersions will remain centrally important to me and continue to be the things I most prize and feel most vocationally fulfilled and enflamed in. However, the message I heard while attending a conference recently challenged me to now build a culture of service and faith that does justice. How can I weave more theological reflection into our service? What local sites can easily become partners to the school and places for our students to serve? How can I inculcate service values as pervasively and sturdily as I have furthered personal faith and spirituality via these retreats?

The new challenges await in August alongside the challenges that return. I will again be tempted, as I try to jump start this piece, to wonder what impact it will make, or if the school will really seem better because of it. And again I will have to find a way to let God ground me in the realities of ministry. I'll have to loosen my grip on observable "success." I'll have to sow seeds that I may not be able to harvest. I'll have to work diligently to empower students and serve others while not necessarily being recognized or given rest.

I'll have to remember that making a difference for any one person means that expectations have been met.