Bigger than Ourselves Ch. 8: Multi-Potentiality and God's Ongoing Invitations

by Dan Masterton

When I was in college at the University of Notre Dame, I always liked finding folks who had unusual combinations of majors, supplemental majors, and minors. Why pre-health and economics? Why accounting and theology? Why piano performance and engineering?

The conversation usually unfurled a fascinating combination of gifts, talents, and skills alongside intriguing passions and desires. Sometimes, it was more of a lark — a way to explore an intellectual curiosity at a high level and expand one’s mind; more often, it reflected a healthy inner tension that wondered what crossovers and professional potentials could be unlocked at an unusual point of overlap.

As an adult professional working in Catholic schools, this kind of person was all around me. While some colleagues were came into teaching from a classic education/subject area course of study, many others were this kind of hodgepodge I describe — the math teacher who could also teach classical guitar, the football coach and assistant AD with a divinity degree, or the theology and social justice warrior finishing a counseling degree.

And in a situation where you’re constantly underfunded, understaffed, and underrested, having a faculty/staff with diverse backgrounds, a wide range of skills, and ready passions goes a long way. There are plenty of times where a school can abuse or exploit this depth in their human capital, but, when this is well managed and done with grace, it becomes a major blessing — and an often necessary way — that a Catholic school can evolve and endure and sustain.

In a perfect world, the faculty, staff, and admins would have clear, concise job descriptions without amendments and add-ons and loosely worded “other duties as assigned” clauses to go with healthy salaries that help you stomach the time commitment. In reality, Catholic education usually has to be a bit more Mad-Max-Fury-Road. And survival and the chance to thrive are usually tied to the nimble ways that school leadership can identify its employees’ gifts, utilize them effectively, and try to juggle titles, responsibilities, and expectations flexibly to fit.

The strongest schools I’ve seen have sought to retain dedicated, talented people and use them and their skills in the best way possible. Usually, this meant clinging less tightly to cardboard-cutout titles and rigid job descriptions and leaning into more unconventional combinations. When you trust your people and manage the relationships faithfully, this can and does work.

Part of this is leaving space for people to grow and develop, and for people to admit and nurture secondary or subtler gifts they have deeper within them that can be brought to bear on the community. In my time in Catholic education and ministry, I’ve variously leaned into writing, graphic design, social media management, and community organizing in ways I didn’t know I had in me — and ways I didn’t know I’d want to. I’ve seen others go back to school for new and different training, seek out new roles in coaching or student life/activities, or pursue faith formation anew. 

All this is to say that we have a multi-potentiality within us that often only comes out by necessity in our professional lives, but often is rooted in wider, richer curiosities or even sometimes in impulses from younger days that may thrive when given new air to breathe. Sometimes, this can tax or stretch us in partly unwelcome ways; at other moments, it can unpack a long-wondered-about potential that enables us to grow and serve in badly needed ways.

Part of the mystery at play is God’s ongoing invitations. I used to think of vocation largely as “God’s call,” but I’ve found that language and understanding to be too reductive. Some religious brothers, priests, and sisters I know — many of whom work in vocation ministry — prefer to use the phrasing of “God’s invitation and our response.”

And my dear friend Br. John likes to add that “God’s invitations are ongoing.” It is neither a one-sided interaction nor a once-and-for-all prompting. God called us by name in birth and baptism; God calls us in our states of life, beginning as singles and then considering continuing in that or turning to marriage or religious/ordained life; God calls us to a vocational path of work or service; God calls us to particular lanes of that path; God calls us also to personal and specific vocational expressions. And all through these invitations, what we hear — and the response we discern — can evolve, both in expected and unexpected ways.

 

For Jill, she has always been a teacher. For decades, it has been expressed through patient education and peer mentorship and training. Now, that expression may be evolving, and just as her heart evolves in its understanding and desire to express itself, so, too, do the invitations come from God, especially through those faithful people around her.

God doesn’t waste any of our faithful presence to God, others, and ourselves. It is all part of our vocational path of striving to be part of Someone (Christ) and Something (the Church) bigger than ourselves.

* * *

In returning to blogging, my first project is to finish up the audiobook/podcast of my fiction stories. My three stories — “What There Is to Be Done”, “Abundance, not Scarcity”, and “Bigger than Ourselves” — are collected into “Go Your Way: Stories from Our Lives of Faith,” which is available on Amazon. (I basically use Amazon as an on-demand printer; the price is set to yield a $0.00 royalty.) My third story was in progress when I stepped away last summer, and here I’m getting back to it. Each episode is one chapter from the book plus a brief reflection.

Bigger than Ourselves is itself a series of short stories, about various people at a Catholic parish, and the book as a whole ties them together through their community life.

For more on my writing, visit my LinkTree portfolio or book information website.

Bigger than Ourselves Ch. 7: Fastidious Diligent as well as Understated and Subtle

by Dan Masterton

In returning to blogging, my first project is to finish up the audiobook/podcast of my fiction stories. My three stories — “What There Is to Be Done”, “Abundance, not Scarcity”, and “Bigger than Ourselves” — are collected into “Go Your Way: Stories from Our Lives of Faith,” which is available on Amazon. (I basically use Amazon as an on-demand printer; the price is set to yield a $0.00 royalty.) My third story was in progress when I stepped away last summer, and here I’m getting back to it. Each episode is one chapter from the book plus a brief reflection.

Bigger than Ourselves is itself a series of short stories, about various people at a Catholic parish, and the book as a whole ties them together through their community life. Below is the fresh reflection to go with Chapter 7, and I’ll continue one chapter at a time through the end of this third and final story. For more on my writing, visit my LinkTree portfolio or book information website.

* * *

In college, I sang in a really great choir. Our main mission was to foster full and active congregational participation in the Mass, and I believe we did an outstanding job at this. We were intentional about choosing music that had singable melodies, thoughtful lyrics, and relevance to the lectionary selections, liturgical seasons, and meaning of the Mass. As a result, the congregations at the Masses, prayer services, and concerts at which we sang were typically singing loudly and proudly.

The behind-the-scenes layer of this that sometimes ruffled my feathers was the rigidity with which we needed to do this ministry in order to be effective. Sometimes the quantity and intensity of our rehearsal could be a lot, especially for me as an amateur/novice singer, but the result was hard to argue with. It made the hard work and long hours preparing the music deeply valuable and impactful.

The part of this I couldn’t so easily stomach was the intense attention to detail in ways I found to be a bit over the top and sometimes downright unnecessary. One example of this was the obsession with moving people and equipment around well in advance of when it was necessary. Soloists who needed to move forward in the risers were beckoned and shuffled forward several minutes beforehand, and multiple coaches and people would adjust the mic level, binder position, and orientation of the person’s body as they prepared, and psalmists who needed to head down to the ambo were shot out of a cannon down the steps before the resonance had even subsided on the Gloria, standing in the aisle of the nave while the lector proclaimed the First Reading.

These were the backstage movements that helped the ministerial action unfold so smoothly and effectively. But to me, an idealistic purist who wanted to be fully present as a congregant while ministering the choir, it felt exorbitant and undue. It seemed like stress that needed and manufactured an outlet. And I’d have to shake it off after paying witness. All that said – it never stopped us from serving well, and arguably sustained our efficacy.

Fast forward to parish life as an adult and now as a parent, and I feel like I see the same thread sometimes unspooling again and again. There are times when it seems volunteers, ministry leaders, and Catholics in general are more dedicated to the process and structure than to the service of others itself.

The most unsettling example to me was the parish picnic at the parish where we no longer belong. It was advertised as an all-ages and family affair, from 1 to 4pm on a Sunday afternoon – the usual promises of games, prizes, treats, food, music, and more. With two young kids and finite fuses to manage, I suggested we go around 3 just to enjoy the last hour.

When we arrived, we found the volunteers already taking half the things down with nearly an hour to go in the event. The ice cream stand had one person left who was tidying up; the games stations were closing down; the tables and chairs were being stacked up and put away.

I shepherded us through the skeleton crew of remaining items, grabbing the last few ice cream sandwiches available and playing one spinning wheel game before tucking my tail between my legs and heading off. God bless Church volunteers, literally doing God’s work and often thanklessly so, but what is the point of a parish picnic going until 4pm if it’s mostly cleaned up and stored away at 3:30? It was an example of process and structure being king, at the expense of hospitality, self-awareness, and any social sense at all. (It would have been easier to write off as an outlier if I hadn’t already found little to no response for starting a family-and-children group as well as having no offerings for young kids across the parish; it was sort of a third strike.)

As usual, the proper Catholic response is a good old-fashioned both-and. It is possible we can be both fastidiously diligent as well understated and subtle, that we can be dutifully helpful as well as thoughtfully hospitable, that we can bring our best sense of order, decorum, and structure but not lose sight of the people being served and engaged. There need not be any horse-trading that shortchanges welcome and community.

In Chapter 7, Nick is your classic reliable volunteer. Telling Nick’s story was a way for me to practice empathy, to remember to give others the benefit of the doubt and not jump to shallow (and thus often misinformed or un-informed) conclusions. And a more deliberate reception of Nick, and who he is and what he offers, helps unlock another layer of his gifts, skills, and passions, in a way that renews his sense of self and sense of service while also serving this parish community.

The Call of the Stay-at-Home Parent

by Dan Masterton

Each birthday of my oldest daughter, Lucy, of course marks her getting another year older, but it tallies another year of something else, too. Her seventh birthday last month was also quietly the start of my eighth year as mostly a stay-at-home parent.

It’s not a big milestone or an even, round number. Yet as Lucy, our 4-year-old Cecilia, and our 4-month-old Brigid settle into life with my wife and our mom, Katherine, being fully back to work after maternity leave, and my enjoying a short paid leave from my part-time job, it’s a good time for me to take stock of the call – my call – of the stay-at-home parent.

Why did we decide that I’d stay home?

It starts with my paid paternity leave. Thanks to my job in an Archdiocese of Chicago school, I had twelve weeks off at full pay to spend with my newborn, and Katherine and I decided to take our leaves together. During that time, we got to cut our teeth as new parents before Lucy even began to cut her own. And we had ample time to talk more expansively and relaxedly about what we’d do after those twelve weeks were up.

Practically, our parents (Lucy’s grandparents) were all working at the time and not closeby enough to provide regular childcare. The cost of childcare wouldn’t be hugely different than the reduction in Catholic school salary I’d take going down to part-time. And Katherine was working three twelve-hour shifts each week and beginning part-time doctoral studies, so she had four days that were open and flexible as her shifts were requested and assigned. After some poking around at full-time opportunities, I could tell my heart wasn’t in going back to work fully.

As we discussed it more and more, we both felt strongly that we’d like to avoid daycare and instead care for our daughter ourselves as much as we could. I’d liken our mindset on staying home versus daycare to the breastmilk-versus-formula debate: while some prefer one or the other, there isn’t a clear and definite answer as to which might be better or worse; ultimately, a parent’s job is to feed and nourish their child, on whichever of the routes they choose. We don’t deride or discount daycare; we just didn’t think it was for us. We wanted our daughter home with us, going out from home with us, and spending most of her baby time with us.

My role in a Catholic school could flexibly scale down, and to keep Katherine on a good track to grater professional scope and earning power, we needed to keep her progressing through school. In retrospect, it’s clear that I underestimated the existential and fundamental sacrifice she was making, and I took for granted the ease with which I could make the shift and that, for the life we wanted, she could not.

I went down to 50% time and 50% salary, and I started focusing on life at home, with just two days a week spent at work. My thoughts shifted more heavily to grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, and cleaning; to morning playtime, afternoon walks, and regular social outings; to retaining some ministerial outlet while serving in intentionally narrowed, constrained ways.

Reallocating my focus and energy felt right to the husband, father, and minister God made me to be. I could serve a small group of students in service, prayer, and retreat ministries. I also could dedicate a greater proportion of my time and energy to my wife and daughter to make our household hum and accompany my daughter through her little life’s milestones and daily ho-hums.

Why have I continued to stay home?

I’ve known since that initial decision that I couldn’t be 100% stay-at-home, and I knew I couldn’t do it forever. Approaching it as a 10-to-12-year idea, and keeping a toe dipped into ministry life, I knew and know I can continue doing this with and for my family.

In 2019, as I spent my second year part-time in a Catholic high school and its campus ministry, I was losing my foothold and wondered how I could continue this work. I felt like a weak link on a strong staff, trying to give bits to my students in two days a week while clearly not treating them, the school, or the community as my priority. I was awed by my colleagues’ dedication and service, and I knew I wouldn’t give what they were giving because I wouldn’t overextend myself and dilute my presence at home.

As I weighed nonetheless trying another year at this, a dear friend in a religious community invited me to consider joining their staff. He was proposing one day a week at the headquarters and flexible additional time to add up to a part-time role. That arrangement coupled with the chance to shift more so to back-office support and less hands-on ministry was ideal. I made the tough choice to move on from high schools and settle into this different role for my work.

Katherine completed her doctorate and then moved to a standard workweek as an outpatient nurse practitioner. Now I needed coverage for my day away from the house since she was done with shift-work. Thankfully, we were blessed by familial support. Katherine’s mom had retired from teaching, and my dad had retired from banking since Lucy was born. They were both more than ready to step in while I stepped out, taking turns each week on one weekday with our kiddos.

This sustained balance, where I could take a day away for meetings, independent work, site visits, and some programmatic stuff was perfect to keep me engaged in meaningful work and provide a change of pace (and a break) from home life. Once again, it’s easier to see in retrospect than in the exact moment how my wife simply soldiered on with a full load while I had the benefit of greater flexibility in being the secondary income and moving things around in these ways.

This role in support of vocation ministry, youth and young adult ministry, and social media and communications with my brothers and priests has been a great way to continue developing and honing skills, supporting those in more active, full-time ministry, and staying engaged in Church life. And it’s left me six days a week of flexible time to focus on our family life and household and weasel bits of work into the nooks and crannies where it more easily fits.

I can’t guarantee a comparable arrangement could fall into place for everyone, but I can say that open marital conversations, humble asks to beloved family members, honest conversations with professional contacts and supervisors, and a good sense of humor along the way are all needed ingredients to attempt to assemble such a puzzle.

I’m grateful God made me to be both husband/father and minister, and I’m grateful to be connected to people and communities that embrace these multiple vocations. But part of this is that I have greater peace knowing that this need not be the forever arrangement.

When will it end?

Theoretically, I’ll look to transition back to full-time work when Brigid starts kindergarten in fall of 2029, which would mark about 12½ years of home life. All the girls would be in full-day schools, and our coverage needs would trim down to before and after school time.

However, unlike when Lucy and Ceci were babies and I was fresher into this, I’d say I’m now more open to flipping the switch before then. On the one hand, I more frequently worry that I’m more burnt out than I realize or know, that my creativity and vigor isn’t what it once was for daily home life, or that maybe the kids would be better off with a fresh situation. But on the whole, I still relish assembling the week’s calendar and dropping in park district activities, library visits, zoo and arboretum outings, and playdates with friends and family.

Additionally, I wonder if, after another several years of professional ministry and networking and experience, if a certain opportunity may arise that is too good to pass up. Is there a role or set of ministries that draw me in? Is there a new configuration to family life or new compensation opportunity that can shift our parental and familial roles? Is there someone I know who comes to me with a major invitation?

Who knows.

I’d just say that when Lucy was a baby, I couldn’t even imagine shifting. Now, seven years and three kids into this, I have a little more curiosity as I consider the futures that may be ahead.

For now, my part-time role is perfect for flexibility and a professional outlet, and I’m calmly going bit by bit.

* * *

On the whole, I think of this call to stay-at-home parenting as a strong reflection of the free choice we hope every person and parent would be free to make. In social justice, we long for an economy in which each person can make a stable living and support themselves and their family, making holistic choices in freedom and love rather than totally by financial necessity. We still have a ways to go to universalize paid parental leave, make childcare more affordable and subsidize stay-at-home parents, and restructure the child tax credit to be direct payments to working-class and middle-class families. Because of my parents, my wife’s parents, our families, the education and development opportunities we’ve received all lifelong, Katherine and I now as spouses and parents can approach this with freedom where we can make this set of choices.

In my privilege, I can take my upbringing, my financial stability, and my education and choose to step away from the workforce and the economy and productivity and instead contribute by more directly raising my kids and serving my family. In my privilege, I can depend on my wife’s intelligence, competence, and excellence to earn an outstanding living for our family and work less for a salary and work more for my family.

I want parents to be able to make this choice with the primary motivation being their love of their families, and I’m grateful that we were free to choose this path in this freedom.