5 years ago, I interviewed with members of the campus ministry department at a Catholic university. I had been accepted for graduate school, and I had applied for graduate assistantships in ministry to fund my degree.
During one of my interviews, the staff member asked me if I had any experience working with gay people; this particular school had a sizable LGBT population that was also active in campus ministry. I paused a bit to gather my thoughts and continued with my usual honesty - I wasn't sure.
I had a few gay or queer friends, but I had never been close with anyone who was openly gay. And in my novice ministry experiences, I hadn't knowingly ministered with/for anyone who was LGBT. So, trying to synthesize the scattered thoughts of a brain in mid-job-interview, I tried to elaborate.
I admitted that I didn't have any experience but that I was open to that being a part of campus ministry. I also added that at first the new encounters might "spook" me a little bit but that I'd enjoy and welcome the new experience.
I didn't think much of it at the time, but as I thought about how the interview went in retrospect, I realized that my interviewer asked me several follow-up questions after that answer and had definitely fixated on my response. I also found out that this interviewer was gay.
I didn't get offered any of those assistantships, and aside from what were otherwise really positive, engaging interview conversations, that was the only moment that I didn't feel good about. Something about my reaction obviously didn't sit well with him. Even though I had no ill will or hatred toward LGBT people, something about me came across poorly.
As I've grown up, I've encountered and befriended more diverse people, including LGBT people. I've conversed with teenage students over their sexual and gender identity searches. I've worked alongside people who try to live out their religion faithfully while being openly gay. I hope I've been hospitable, friendly, loving, and supportive. But I don't know for sure. And I know that wearing my Catholicism on my sleeve can be intimidating.
For whatever reason, Catholics as individuals - me included - and as a church have a poor reputation when it comes to treatment of LGBT people. This has never sat well with me. I feel like it largely stems from the fact that we try to toe a difficult line - we believe that homosexual activity is sinful, but we believe homosexual orientation is simply the way some people are made, not right or wrong, but cross to bear; we believe gay marriage is definitionally impossible, but we are called to treat gay people with respect, compassion, and sensitivity. We can live true this to these principles while not being rude or exclusionary.
When I teach my students about marriage and family life, I like to ask two questions as we discuss Church teaching on homosexuality: does the Church hate gays? does the Church exclude gays? The answer to both questions in "no," in principle, but sometimes "yes," in practice. I can't say exactly how this impacts individual people when they consider their affiliation and activity with the Church, but I know that I can do my best to be inviting when I encounter trepidation or hesitation.
I know that I can issue the same welcome and embrace to anyone who comes in good will to seek God in the Church. I know I can challenge all my friends and family all brothers and sisters with strong standards for love, penitence, and reconciliation. And I know that I can offer compassion and support to everyone as they weather that journey.
My hope is that our Church will continue to grow in holding all its faithful to the same standard. I believe we can continue building community on the basis of the Eucharist and our Sacraments, lived out in the communities of our parishes, and carried on into daily in our relationships.
For those of us that serve as Eucharistic Ministers, we are typically instructed to withhold Eucharist from communicants who we know are not Catholic or actively oppose Catholicism or the Eucharist as well as from those who we know are not in a state of grace. I wonder how often married people who use birth control are subject to this exclusion? I wonder how often are single people who live with a romantic partner are subject to this condition? I wonder how often are divorce, un-annuled, remarried Catholics subject to this withholding? And I wonder how often are openly LGBTQ people subject to this exclusion?
I don't know the big picture here, but I feel like our hospitality needs demonstrate authentic welcome equally to all sinners seeking to become saints, regardless of the crosses and temptations that weigh on each of our lives. We can welcome all people, single or married, gay or queer or straight, to seek Christ in the forgiveness of Reconciliation and the renewal of the Eucharist. Let's subject all the faithful to equal scrutiny in inviting their participation and challenging them to growth.
I can confidently say that I am not and will not be spooked by relationships with others who are LGBTQ. I hope my humility can grow in understanding others and that we can mutually be nourished by the love of friendship.
I hope our communion can be prophetic in enfleshing the unity that Christ calls us to build as we glimpse the Kingdom today in our efforts. Let's pray for the victims of groundless, irrational hate, and build our communion in faith in such a way that we outshine that hate's darkness with the Light of Christ that shines in right relationship.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Oh, Schteve
The time that many of us thought about in far-off hypotheticals has finally come in full reality: Steve Warner has relinquished the reins of the Folk Choir and answered his next call for his storied and grace-filled ministry.
My four years in the 35-year history of the Folk Choir coincide with some of the milestone moments that led up to this particular breaking of the baton. After auditioning for Folk Choir and being accepted at the start of freshmen year in 2007, I then in 2008 enjoyed my first tour with the choir - an international jaunt around Scotland and Ireland, during which, with complete aloofness and naïveté, I enjoyed our ministry and memories as Steve began to hatch one of his most "evil plans" behind closed doors. And this plan would go on to ruin Steve's life just as it would ruin mine.
In 2009, I enjoyed my second major tour with the choir, the euphemistically named Spring Touring Ensemble went and Amtrak'd all the way to Boston for a week of music ministry and fun times, sans our illustrious director. With Carolyn Pirtle at the helm and Nicholas Shaneyfelt at the keys, us folkheads would get a first formal taste of how our joy and ministry could be done at significant scale even with Steve hundreds of miles away.
Meanwhile, in 2008-09, Steve, Carolyn, and several co-conspirators officially birthed the House of Brigid, a post-graduate service community founded by the choir and centered in Wexford and the Diocese of Ferns, where Steve's strongest and deepest relationship connected post-grad volunteer folkheads to the one and only Fr. Denis Lennon.
In March 2010, my friend Dan Crupi and I popped over from London to visit the first volunteer community, sharing music ministry with Teach Bhride I and toasting to their trailblazing. 7 months later, my friend Katie Klee and I utilized some Nanovic monies (thanks, Mr. Nanovic!) to visit Teach Bhride II, to minister in the schools with them and get a fuller sense of the community and their life during a longer stay. As I pulled away in our cab to the airport bus, I looked at Clonard Parish from its quirky double-roundabout and knew it had made a claim on me. I knew I'd be back. Sure enough, about a year later, Steve and I were walking the harbor-front of Wexford town, he as the then-director of the Folk Choir and me as a volunteer in Teach Bhride III.
And here, in June 2016, almost 30 years after Steve first took his choir to Ireland, the land that made its claim on him has finally got him.
Trying to resist hyperbole, especially when it's so tempting to exaggerate, I'm gonna try to capture some of the essence of Steven "Cookie" Warner instead in three anecdotes that will make you feel wise, will warm your heart, and will make you laugh.
"Don't become the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir"
No, this isn't the story of how a group of hansom men with maturely higher-pitched singing voices once created shirts whose fronts said "University of Notre Dame Folk Choir Established 1980" and whose backs celebrated the supremacy of said hansom men - though Steve did tell me after the unveiling that Thursday night that we should be sued by the university for not properly marking the school's title.
This is the story of Folk Choir love. In my time in the choir, I remember there being as many as 7 couples within the choir. The close-knit community, quantity and quality time, and weekly back rubs are prime conditions for romance, and even if many fizzle, the possibilities abound. Many folkheads at least dip their toes in the pond and try their luck at folkhead love.
In February of senior year, my friend and fellow folkhead Katherine and I started dating. It snuck up on me a little, but I was excited. We didn't hide it, and others in the choir surely knew fairly quickly.
So did Steve.
As is custom for the sitting president, Steve and I met for about half an hour every week to set the agenda for that week's officers' meeting (or "Secrets Club," as we called it - that's a whole 'nother blog post). Occasionally, Steve would check in on my well-being or challenge me to be a good leader for the choir, so the week that Steve found out that Katherine and I were dating, he made sure to bring it up.
After gently alluding to it to make sure he had good intel, I confirmed it to him. Without hesitation, he looked me deep in the soul and told me, "Don't become the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir."
I knew exactly what he meant.
Folkheads often gossip about one another, that kind of gossip that borders just on the safe side of malicious behind-the-back-talk and teeters a bit too close to it at times. I knew it went on. Steve knew it happened. He wanted to make sure that I didn't let it happen to us. Michele and Steve had an eye out for Katherine, who as a sophomore was already showing her dedication, her ability, and her leadership potential. And Michele and Steve wanted the best for me and potentially for us.
A few years later as Katherine and I planned our wedding, it was a no-brainer that we needed Steve to lead our choir, with Michele cantoring and Karen blowing the roof off with the organ. The choir was the context for our friendship and for the lifelong connection we have found in each other. Steve brought us each in, and Steve looked out for us as we grew individually and in relationship. In a palpable, eternal way, I will always be the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir.
My mom's favorite song
One of the reasons I chose Notre Dame was that I was 2 1/2 hours away from home, which meant that I had a decent buffer zone from home and family but also reasonable accessibility for occasional visits. My mom and dad were awesome at giving me space to be independent but remaining present and supportive with everything from buying dorm room groceries (whether themselves or by consent in absentia via credit card) to major-switching (what are you gonna do with a theology major?).
My parents' soft spot, especially my mom, was the Folk Choir, Basilica, and grotto. With my brother having been in the choir from 2003-2007, I had come with my parents to see the choir on campus and in the city when they traveled. Steve's music and personality had charmed my mom's heart, and my dad was similarly proud of the activities and community that his sons had chosen.
One favorite Folk Choir anecdote about my mother has to do with good ol' MassCast. As Fr. Rocca reminds us weekly, "This Mass will be Taped to be broadcasT on the inTerneT." Well, one week when my mom and dad were there, as the congregation joined hands to sing the Our Father with the support of the Folk Choir, mom began her habitual tears. Something about the melody paired with the words of this time-tested prayer just melted my mom like a microwave melts butter for popcorn. As she reached for a tissue with her free hand and began to wipe tears from her face, the MassCast cameras snagged her and featured her emotional reaction for a solid few seconds. It was just one moment in a long history of mom's many tears for that sung prayer.
In March 2013, my mom passed away following a stroke and other complications from ovarian cancer. She had been diagnosed two months prior, but the final challenges came and took their toll in a swift three days. Never ones to mope, we spent the week laughing, toasting, and telling stories. We sorted through boxes and photo albums and enjoyed friends' and family members' tributes. Additionally, my older brother and I worked with our parish to plan mom's memorial Mass.
As we chose the music with the parish staff, we wanted some of the favorites that mom had found through the Folk Choir included in this liturgy, and the sung Lord's Prayer by Steve was paramount. We finalized our selections, and our dear friend Michele Warner laid out the program in our familiar tri-fold style. Not to be outdone by his wife's contributions, Steve offered to come up and play for mom's Mass. We were humbled by his offer.
My family and I rolled in just before Mass started on that Saturday afternoon and took our seats up front. The readings and the music brought the love of God to my heart in just the ways I needed. When we reached The Lord's Prayer, any restraint I had been able to impose on my tears melted away, just like it used to for my mom, as we and hundreds others sang along with Steve's guitar to the familiar melody.
I don't even remember talking to Steve that day. I don't remember saying hi or hugging him or greeting him. I just remember seeing him with the choir, taking a backseat to our home parish's musicians as they took the lead, and contributing his ministerial gifts the way that he so naturally and generously can.
That day, in the humungous crowds, in the procession forward to receive Communion that was chock full of people whom mom formed for that Sacrament, in the beautiful prayer and music, I glimpsed heaven heartily. And the way Steve entered into it so simply to give mom and us this gift was the lynchpin to the ideal memorialization of my mother.
When do you want your Prozac?!
In April 2015, my then-fiancee Katherine and I had the great privilege of being overnight guests at the home of the Warners. Folkheads get to come over for a BBQ; seniors get to come over for drinks; friends get to come over and stay. We were so elated that we had grown up to the point that Steve and Michele were legitimately our friends now. So when it came time to choose music for our Wedding Mass, they invited us to come have dinner, stay the night, and catch up as we picked our music.
Ever the cheeky bastard, I couldn't help but have snarky ideas for this consultation. Following the tradition of many a great Thursday Night Survey, or "TNS" (remember "What's the worst song to sing at a wedding?" and the eternal answer of What Child is This?), Katherine and I gradually brainstormed the worst set list we could possibly compose for our wedding.
We rolled into Granger, Indiana, and reached the Warner homestead. We set up shop on the patio where Steve and Michele had - wait for it - set up a self-turning rotisserie chicken apparatus in their grill. Chicken, wine, Warners - Yes.
When the time came for music discussion, Katherine and I put on our best poker faces and slid Steve and Michele a notebook full of (terrible) song choices. This may shock you, but it appeared that Michele caught on a little bit quicker to the gag. As Steve's eyes went through the list, we could see his diplomacy slowly fading to disbelief and confusion. Finally, Steve blurted, "What the hell is this? This is freakin' depressing!"
Katherine and I lost our resolve and began to laugh with them as they caught on to the joke. We had a chuckle and explained that we had spent a lot of time on real selections but had relished the opportunity to assemble the anti-list. Delighting briefly in the monsters we were, monsters that Steve had created, we transitioned to real music choices, and Steve and Michele were their always-insightful selves as we sculpted the perfect set list for our Mass. As we refilled our wine glasses and enjoyed post-dessert banter, Steve added in retrospect, "I'm going down the list thinking, 'when do you want your Prozac!?'"
No Prozac needed. The wedding Mass was the complete and total joyous Sacrament we hoped for. I was utterly delighted when, throughout the rest of that day and in the days and weeks following, we received immense praise for the beauty of that wedding liturgy. It meant the world to me that Steve, Michele, Karen, and our renegade alumni choir had brought such a beautiful liturgy to our Sacrament and to our friends and family.
One of the running jokes among folkheads is that none of us understand how we made it into the choir. We all feel somehow unqualified or unfit to be part of such a beautiful community. And when we'd tell our "how I joined the Folk Choir" stories, it always seems like no one really felt like they had a great audition to earn their place in the choir.
One time, we finally got Steve to comment on this phenomenon. With his usual story-telling timing, Steve told us, you know how I ask for your name? your address? your other contact info and such? I can get that all from the computer systems. Smirking, he went on, I'm just watching you, listening to you, getting a read on you.
Sure, Steve eventually has everyone do scales, and sing, and whatever. But Steve leans on his impeccable ability to read people and identify those qualities of ministry and community that make the Folk Choir so distinctive. We all smirked, realizing Steve had hustled generations of auditioners as he elegantly constructed an army of Kingdom-builders to do this important ministry.
I can only imagine what the full story of Steve's transition to Ireland really is. However, I know Steve navigated it with thorough, intentional discernment. And I know he shared nuggets of it gradually, with earnest, dramatic, and likely excessive suspense.
I'm grateful for the ways that I've walked with Steve, and I know he will continue to walk with us and pray earnestly for all of us, even as the road rises to meet him in Ireland. He ruined our lives, and we ruined his.
My four years in the 35-year history of the Folk Choir coincide with some of the milestone moments that led up to this particular breaking of the baton. After auditioning for Folk Choir and being accepted at the start of freshmen year in 2007, I then in 2008 enjoyed my first tour with the choir - an international jaunt around Scotland and Ireland, during which, with complete aloofness and naïveté, I enjoyed our ministry and memories as Steve began to hatch one of his most "evil plans" behind closed doors. And this plan would go on to ruin Steve's life just as it would ruin mine.
 |
| Folk Choir in Edinburgh, Scotland on Scotland-Ireland Tour, May-June 2008. |
In 2009, I enjoyed my second major tour with the choir, the euphemistically named Spring Touring Ensemble went and Amtrak'd all the way to Boston for a week of music ministry and fun times, sans our illustrious director. With Carolyn Pirtle at the helm and Nicholas Shaneyfelt at the keys, us folkheads would get a first formal taste of how our joy and ministry could be done at significant scale even with Steve hundreds of miles away.
 |
| Brief snapshot of hijinx from Boston Tour ("Lawd, Heah, Ah Prayah"), March 2009. |
 |
| The eternal hospitality of Fr. Denis, here with my brothers, dad, and I as we dined with Sr. Mary. |
In March 2010, my friend Dan Crupi and I popped over from London to visit the first volunteer community, sharing music ministry with Teach Bhride I and toasting to their trailblazing. 7 months later, my friend Katie Klee and I utilized some Nanovic monies (thanks, Mr. Nanovic!) to visit Teach Bhride II, to minister in the schools with them and get a fuller sense of the community and their life during a longer stay. As I pulled away in our cab to the airport bus, I looked at Clonard Parish from its quirky double-roundabout and knew it had made a claim on me. I knew I'd be back. Sure enough, about a year later, Steve and I were walking the harbor-front of Wexford town, he as the then-director of the Folk Choir and me as a volunteer in Teach Bhride III.
 |
| Dan and I visit Chris, Carolyn, and Martha, Teach Bhride I, February 2010. |
 |
| Katie, Flan, and I visit Jess, Clarisa, Carolyn, and Patrick, Teach Bhride II, October 2010. |
Trying to resist hyperbole, especially when it's so tempting to exaggerate, I'm gonna try to capture some of the essence of Steven "Cookie" Warner instead in three anecdotes that will make you feel wise, will warm your heart, and will make you laugh.
"Don't become the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir"
No, this isn't the story of how a group of hansom men with maturely higher-pitched singing voices once created shirts whose fronts said "University of Notre Dame Folk Choir Established 1980" and whose backs celebrated the supremacy of said hansom men - though Steve did tell me after the unveiling that Thursday night that we should be sued by the university for not properly marking the school's title.
This is the story of Folk Choir love. In my time in the choir, I remember there being as many as 7 couples within the choir. The close-knit community, quantity and quality time, and weekly back rubs are prime conditions for romance, and even if many fizzle, the possibilities abound. Many folkheads at least dip their toes in the pond and try their luck at folkhead love.
 |
| Steve directs a song for the Class of 2011 at our Senior Concert in Ryan Hall Chapel. |
So did Steve.
As is custom for the sitting president, Steve and I met for about half an hour every week to set the agenda for that week's officers' meeting (or "Secrets Club," as we called it - that's a whole 'nother blog post). Occasionally, Steve would check in on my well-being or challenge me to be a good leader for the choir, so the week that Steve found out that Katherine and I were dating, he made sure to bring it up.
After gently alluding to it to make sure he had good intel, I confirmed it to him. Without hesitation, he looked me deep in the soul and told me, "Don't become the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir."
I knew exactly what he meant.
Folkheads often gossip about one another, that kind of gossip that borders just on the safe side of malicious behind-the-back-talk and teeters a bit too close to it at times. I knew it went on. Steve knew it happened. He wanted to make sure that I didn't let it happen to us. Michele and Steve had an eye out for Katherine, who as a sophomore was already showing her dedication, her ability, and her leadership potential. And Michele and Steve wanted the best for me and potentially for us.
A few years later as Katherine and I planned our wedding, it was a no-brainer that we needed Steve to lead our choir, with Michele cantoring and Karen blowing the roof off with the organ. The choir was the context for our friendship and for the lifelong connection we have found in each other. Steve brought us each in, and Steve looked out for us as we grew individually and in relationship. In a palpable, eternal way, I will always be the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir.
My mom's favorite song
One of the reasons I chose Notre Dame was that I was 2 1/2 hours away from home, which meant that I had a decent buffer zone from home and family but also reasonable accessibility for occasional visits. My mom and dad were awesome at giving me space to be independent but remaining present and supportive with everything from buying dorm room groceries (whether themselves or by consent in absentia via credit card) to major-switching (what are you gonna do with a theology major?).
My parents' soft spot, especially my mom, was the Folk Choir, Basilica, and grotto. With my brother having been in the choir from 2003-2007, I had come with my parents to see the choir on campus and in the city when they traveled. Steve's music and personality had charmed my mom's heart, and my dad was similarly proud of the activities and community that his sons had chosen.
 |
| My mom in the JACC for graduation in 2011. |
In March 2013, my mom passed away following a stroke and other complications from ovarian cancer. She had been diagnosed two months prior, but the final challenges came and took their toll in a swift three days. Never ones to mope, we spent the week laughing, toasting, and telling stories. We sorted through boxes and photo albums and enjoyed friends' and family members' tributes. Additionally, my older brother and I worked with our parish to plan mom's memorial Mass.
As we chose the music with the parish staff, we wanted some of the favorites that mom had found through the Folk Choir included in this liturgy, and the sung Lord's Prayer by Steve was paramount. We finalized our selections, and our dear friend Michele Warner laid out the program in our familiar tri-fold style. Not to be outdone by his wife's contributions, Steve offered to come up and play for mom's Mass. We were humbled by his offer.
My family and I rolled in just before Mass started on that Saturday afternoon and took our seats up front. The readings and the music brought the love of God to my heart in just the ways I needed. When we reached The Lord's Prayer, any restraint I had been able to impose on my tears melted away, just like it used to for my mom, as we and hundreds others sang along with Steve's guitar to the familiar melody.
 |
| My mom with Katie Klee, at the Teach Bhride III send-off in August 2011 - I think this was mom's last trip to Notre Dame. |
That day, in the humungous crowds, in the procession forward to receive Communion that was chock full of people whom mom formed for that Sacrament, in the beautiful prayer and music, I glimpsed heaven heartily. And the way Steve entered into it so simply to give mom and us this gift was the lynchpin to the ideal memorialization of my mother.
When do you want your Prozac?!
In April 2015, my then-fiancee Katherine and I had the great privilege of being overnight guests at the home of the Warners. Folkheads get to come over for a BBQ; seniors get to come over for drinks; friends get to come over and stay. We were so elated that we had grown up to the point that Steve and Michele were legitimately our friends now. So when it came time to choose music for our Wedding Mass, they invited us to come have dinner, stay the night, and catch up as we picked our music.
 |
The quintessential cantor, Michele, leading the music at our wedding in July 2015. |
We rolled into Granger, Indiana, and reached the Warner homestead. We set up shop on the patio where Steve and Michele had - wait for it - set up a self-turning rotisserie chicken apparatus in their grill. Chicken, wine, Warners - Yes.
When the time came for music discussion, Katherine and I put on our best poker faces and slid Steve and Michele a notebook full of (terrible) song choices. This may shock you, but it appeared that Michele caught on a little bit quicker to the gag. As Steve's eyes went through the list, we could see his diplomacy slowly fading to disbelief and confusion. Finally, Steve blurted, "What the hell is this? This is freakin' depressing!"
 |
| The fake set list we proposed to the Warners. |
Katherine and I lost our resolve and began to laugh with them as they caught on to the joke. We had a chuckle and explained that we had spent a lot of time on real selections but had relished the opportunity to assemble the anti-list. Delighting briefly in the monsters we were, monsters that Steve had created, we transitioned to real music choices, and Steve and Michele were their always-insightful selves as we sculpted the perfect set list for our Mass. As we refilled our wine glasses and enjoyed post-dessert banter, Steve added in retrospect, "I'm going down the list thinking, 'when do you want your Prozac!?'"
No Prozac needed. The wedding Mass was the complete and total joyous Sacrament we hoped for. I was utterly delighted when, throughout the rest of that day and in the days and weeks following, we received immense praise for the beauty of that wedding liturgy. It meant the world to me that Steve, Michele, Karen, and our renegade alumni choir had brought such a beautiful liturgy to our Sacrament and to our friends and family.
 |
| The choir of our dreams, led by Steve, at our dream-come-true wedding Mass, July 2015. |
* * *
One of the running jokes among folkheads is that none of us understand how we made it into the choir. We all feel somehow unqualified or unfit to be part of such a beautiful community. And when we'd tell our "how I joined the Folk Choir" stories, it always seems like no one really felt like they had a great audition to earn their place in the choir.
One time, we finally got Steve to comment on this phenomenon. With his usual story-telling timing, Steve told us, you know how I ask for your name? your address? your other contact info and such? I can get that all from the computer systems. Smirking, he went on, I'm just watching you, listening to you, getting a read on you.
Sure, Steve eventually has everyone do scales, and sing, and whatever. But Steve leans on his impeccable ability to read people and identify those qualities of ministry and community that make the Folk Choir so distinctive. We all smirked, realizing Steve had hustled generations of auditioners as he elegantly constructed an army of Kingdom-builders to do this important ministry.
I can only imagine what the full story of Steve's transition to Ireland really is. However, I know Steve navigated it with thorough, intentional discernment. And I know he shared nuggets of it gradually, with earnest, dramatic, and likely excessive suspense.
I'm grateful for the ways that I've walked with Steve, and I know he will continue to walk with us and pray earnestly for all of us, even as the road rises to meet him in Ireland. He ruined our lives, and we ruined his.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
The Fish and Loaves and Buffet and Pop
Just when you think we're easing into the summer lull of Ordinary Time, the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus Christ brings us right back to the big stuff. It's not every Sunday that we have a Solemnity, though Pentecost isn't far in our rearview mirrors, and just in case you didn't know, boom - Thomas Aquinas wrote a sequence to sing for this.
This Sunday's lectionary packed a great punch. Batting lead-off, Melchizedek the desert priest blesses Abram as he offers bread and wine to the one God, an early glimpse of monotheism and a bready sacrifice. Then, Paul - prompted by the boisterous and surly Corinthians - gives us the earliest account of the early Church's celebration of the Eucharist in his letter that predates even the earliest Gospel by several years. Finally, we get the epic story of Jesus multiplying the fish and loaves for the crowds who gathered to hear the good news.
Our priest did a fabulous job of hitting on some key points and brought it all home to the solemnity at hand. At he considered Jesus' action in this passage, he contrasted Jesus' response with kicking the can down the road - rather than avoid the problem or pass it on to someone else, Jesus confronts the need of the throngs who gathered and enlists the disciples to ensure the need of the people will be met right then and there.
I like to use this passage with teenagers to learn how to understand Scripture - to examine the natural explanations, the supernatural explanations, and the potential overlaps or both-and's that arise. Maybe people really had more food than they initially offered? Maybe people declined food or only took small portions to help it last longer? Maybe the disciples and other people in the crowd did some leg-work to convince people to be more generous? Moreover, maybe Jesus' blessing moved the hearts of the people? Maybe some miraculous change occurred with the collected food? Maybe some larger unexplainable miracle multiplied the food? Either way, the natural and supernatural aren't mutually exclusive. Our prayer, our love, and our hope can and do spur action. The potentially increased charity and selflessness of the crowd and the miraculous, prayerful blessing imparted by Jesus could be one in the same.
Our priest this morning expounded on this by shifting the focus. Our faith and love cannot be about counting and hoarding. We cannot go about life trying to simply find what is there for ourselves. Rather, this passage shows how our faith must be lived out as gratitude and sharing. The need of this crowd isn't met by selfishness, but it is met when Jesus leads the crowd in a blessing and sharing.
When I teach teenagers about the Catholic Social Teaching of the Call to Family, Community, and Participation, I teach them about the tragedy of the commons. This is an unfortunate human tendency by which humans tend to not conserve or equally share common or public goods. Humans tend to consider only what will affect them in the current moment, not considering its impact on others or on the future situation.
I use a few everyday examples to prove the point.
Think of a college common room, or even a teachers' lounge, think of the coffee table or counter in the middle of the room. People will inevitably leave behind cupcakes, pizza boxes, and other communal snacks. Over time, pieces will get eaten while also crumbs will accumulate, bits and leftovers will get stale and decay, and the area will become generally gross. Person after person will walk by, consider having some, and then take some or not take some, and move on. Meanwhile, the area will grow in disgusting-ness until someone finally snaps and decides to clean it up. For everyone before them, it was a convenience to snack and move on, allowing the common area to get gross. For this last person, they have to deal with the fallout of all their predecessors' ignoring it.
One more - think about a busy intersection with a traffic light and a left turn lane. Inevitably, cars will inch forward anticipating their left turn by sitting in the intersection, so that when the straight-through traffic finishes with the yellow light, they can make their turn, something most of us can roll with since these cars turn during the time between green lights. Fairly often, an extra car or two will cozy up to the cars that inched out into the intersection and push the timing to get through the intersection on that turn of the light. These cars will make their turn well after the light has turned to red, and they will inevitably cause the people in the perpendicular directions to wait on them while they squeeze their turn in, not to mention as well everyone who will push to beat the red light while trying to go straight. These folks gain a convenience for themselves while delaying everyone else in the intersection, excepting themselves from the common rule to give themselves this advantage at others' expense.
If we all stuck to conserving and sharing common goods - from lounge tables to traffic lights and beyond - we could have a better sense of community and a fairer experience of participation. However, we can't help but deviate from these standards when it is convenient for us in the moment. This is the tragedy of the commons.
On Thursday, I had the pleasure of chaperoning Super Secret Senior Surprise Day at the high school where I work. Seniors were treated to bowling, laser tag, whirlyball, a Navy Pier cruise, and a casino night. As someone who loved high school and is not ashamed to indulge in competition, I, of course, participated full-throttle when there was room for me, with the highlight being an hour of neon-lighted, techno-music-rocking, sweat-inducing laser tag.
After a solid hour of consecutive 6-minute military battles, I retreated with the students back to the lounge area, where snacks and drinks were waiting outside the whirlyball court. A bit of food remained, but those who played laser tag would have little to choose from. Turning to the drinks table, where a few pitchers and some towers of cups were stationed, the surface was covered in spills, and everything was quite messy.
As I surveyed the carnage, I could not help but think of how all of these students had learned earlier this year about the tragedy of the commons, including having it as a test question multiple times. Glancing from the scant leftovers of food to the be-puddled drink table to the general messiness of the area, I couldn't help but be struck by the selfish carelessness of everyone who had passed through here so far.
Ever the catechist and minister, with tongue in cheek, I announced what laid before me - the tragedy of the commons. I made my accusation quite vociferously and with a large smirk on my face. Gradually, a few kids couldn't sustain their attempts to ignore me. As their minds recollected the concept of the tragedy of the commons, they saw what I saw and started to get a bit bashful.
One senior, a young man who is bright and charismatic but a poor student, had a light bulb moment and got visibly embarrassed. He immediately grabbed a chunk of napkins and hastily began to corral the puddled liquids of the drinks table. Sopping up the spills, he admitted to what we all saw and wanted to try to fix it a little, even as this late stage in the game.
Sharing and caring are hackneyed preschool cliches, but they're also time-tested adult values and ideals that we must still strive for. Jesus' blessing and sharing fueled the feeding of thousands with food that could barely feed a few, and his example of sharing and caring shows its importance and impact.
When we can be humble and selfless, scarcity can become more scarce. When we look out for those who are around us and those who will come after us, we make the world a better place to be shared by all. When we are grounded in blessing and sharing, we build community and belong better.
So take your time as you pour your drink! Only grab a little bit on your first pass through the buffet! And if you spill, clean it up! We as disciples shouldn't have to worry about slipping in a puddle of Sprite as we gather fish and loaves in our baskets and seek to feed one another.
This Sunday's lectionary packed a great punch. Batting lead-off, Melchizedek the desert priest blesses Abram as he offers bread and wine to the one God, an early glimpse of monotheism and a bready sacrifice. Then, Paul - prompted by the boisterous and surly Corinthians - gives us the earliest account of the early Church's celebration of the Eucharist in his letter that predates even the earliest Gospel by several years. Finally, we get the epic story of Jesus multiplying the fish and loaves for the crowds who gathered to hear the good news.
Our priest did a fabulous job of hitting on some key points and brought it all home to the solemnity at hand. At he considered Jesus' action in this passage, he contrasted Jesus' response with kicking the can down the road - rather than avoid the problem or pass it on to someone else, Jesus confronts the need of the throngs who gathered and enlists the disciples to ensure the need of the people will be met right then and there.
I like to use this passage with teenagers to learn how to understand Scripture - to examine the natural explanations, the supernatural explanations, and the potential overlaps or both-and's that arise. Maybe people really had more food than they initially offered? Maybe people declined food or only took small portions to help it last longer? Maybe the disciples and other people in the crowd did some leg-work to convince people to be more generous? Moreover, maybe Jesus' blessing moved the hearts of the people? Maybe some miraculous change occurred with the collected food? Maybe some larger unexplainable miracle multiplied the food? Either way, the natural and supernatural aren't mutually exclusive. Our prayer, our love, and our hope can and do spur action. The potentially increased charity and selflessness of the crowd and the miraculous, prayerful blessing imparted by Jesus could be one in the same.
Our priest this morning expounded on this by shifting the focus. Our faith and love cannot be about counting and hoarding. We cannot go about life trying to simply find what is there for ourselves. Rather, this passage shows how our faith must be lived out as gratitude and sharing. The need of this crowd isn't met by selfishness, but it is met when Jesus leads the crowd in a blessing and sharing.
When I teach teenagers about the Catholic Social Teaching of the Call to Family, Community, and Participation, I teach them about the tragedy of the commons. This is an unfortunate human tendency by which humans tend to not conserve or equally share common or public goods. Humans tend to consider only what will affect them in the current moment, not considering its impact on others or on the future situation.
I use a few everyday examples to prove the point.
Think of a college common room, or even a teachers' lounge, think of the coffee table or counter in the middle of the room. People will inevitably leave behind cupcakes, pizza boxes, and other communal snacks. Over time, pieces will get eaten while also crumbs will accumulate, bits and leftovers will get stale and decay, and the area will become generally gross. Person after person will walk by, consider having some, and then take some or not take some, and move on. Meanwhile, the area will grow in disgusting-ness until someone finally snaps and decides to clean it up. For everyone before them, it was a convenience to snack and move on, allowing the common area to get gross. For this last person, they have to deal with the fallout of all their predecessors' ignoring it.
One more - think about a busy intersection with a traffic light and a left turn lane. Inevitably, cars will inch forward anticipating their left turn by sitting in the intersection, so that when the straight-through traffic finishes with the yellow light, they can make their turn, something most of us can roll with since these cars turn during the time between green lights. Fairly often, an extra car or two will cozy up to the cars that inched out into the intersection and push the timing to get through the intersection on that turn of the light. These cars will make their turn well after the light has turned to red, and they will inevitably cause the people in the perpendicular directions to wait on them while they squeeze their turn in, not to mention as well everyone who will push to beat the red light while trying to go straight. These folks gain a convenience for themselves while delaying everyone else in the intersection, excepting themselves from the common rule to give themselves this advantage at others' expense.
If we all stuck to conserving and sharing common goods - from lounge tables to traffic lights and beyond - we could have a better sense of community and a fairer experience of participation. However, we can't help but deviate from these standards when it is convenient for us in the moment. This is the tragedy of the commons.
On Thursday, I had the pleasure of chaperoning Super Secret Senior Surprise Day at the high school where I work. Seniors were treated to bowling, laser tag, whirlyball, a Navy Pier cruise, and a casino night. As someone who loved high school and is not ashamed to indulge in competition, I, of course, participated full-throttle when there was room for me, with the highlight being an hour of neon-lighted, techno-music-rocking, sweat-inducing laser tag.
After a solid hour of consecutive 6-minute military battles, I retreated with the students back to the lounge area, where snacks and drinks were waiting outside the whirlyball court. A bit of food remained, but those who played laser tag would have little to choose from. Turning to the drinks table, where a few pitchers and some towers of cups were stationed, the surface was covered in spills, and everything was quite messy.
As I surveyed the carnage, I could not help but think of how all of these students had learned earlier this year about the tragedy of the commons, including having it as a test question multiple times. Glancing from the scant leftovers of food to the be-puddled drink table to the general messiness of the area, I couldn't help but be struck by the selfish carelessness of everyone who had passed through here so far.
Ever the catechist and minister, with tongue in cheek, I announced what laid before me - the tragedy of the commons. I made my accusation quite vociferously and with a large smirk on my face. Gradually, a few kids couldn't sustain their attempts to ignore me. As their minds recollected the concept of the tragedy of the commons, they saw what I saw and started to get a bit bashful.
One senior, a young man who is bright and charismatic but a poor student, had a light bulb moment and got visibly embarrassed. He immediately grabbed a chunk of napkins and hastily began to corral the puddled liquids of the drinks table. Sopping up the spills, he admitted to what we all saw and wanted to try to fix it a little, even as this late stage in the game.
Sharing and caring are hackneyed preschool cliches, but they're also time-tested adult values and ideals that we must still strive for. Jesus' blessing and sharing fueled the feeding of thousands with food that could barely feed a few, and his example of sharing and caring shows its importance and impact.
When we can be humble and selfless, scarcity can become more scarce. When we look out for those who are around us and those who will come after us, we make the world a better place to be shared by all. When we are grounded in blessing and sharing, we build community and belong better.
So take your time as you pour your drink! Only grab a little bit on your first pass through the buffet! And if you spill, clean it up! We as disciples shouldn't have to worry about slipping in a puddle of Sprite as we gather fish and loaves in our baskets and seek to feed one another.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN
I am reaching a high point of disillusion.
Not even thinking too specifically right now about sexual ethics, healthy relationships, and broader American social trends, smartphones and social media are driving me to my wit's end right now.
Working with teenagers on a service week this week, I have been at ground zero of the issue. Our students are tied to their phones, and my fellow chaperone and I are dealing with the fallout. Before the week started, we talked about what our policy would be and settled on requiring that phones stay put away during service site activities but can otherwise be used, during car rides, waiting periods, etc.
Wow, do I regret this.
On retreats that I direct, I insist on students turning in their phones or turning in a letter from their parents that states that they do not have their phones. No alternatives. Period. This has been a hugely effective practice. I wish I had done that on this trip, collecting phones at the starts of the days and returning them only at days' ends.
Yesterday, after working four hours straight in setup, distribution, and cleanup at a parish food pantry, we settled down for some group discussion, prayer, and reflection. We had a fairly decent conversation in the context of some prayer, and then we wrapped and waited for lunch to get delivered. At some point during that brief waiting period, every student was on their phone, and at one point, at least 13 of 19 were on them simultaneously. At no point were there any larger conversations between several people in the group; they were in their own little individual worlds or talking only with the person next to them.
When we got in the van to drive home for the night, rather than continuing with our pattern of pre-decided meal plans, I tried to offer my 9 students free choice of somewhere where we could eat together for about $8/person. Over the course of a 50-minute car ride, no attempt was made at group thinking. Great effort was invested in smartphone usage. A few brief suggestions were made, but no consensus was built at all. We finally ended up at Potbelly, simply because two people had suggested it at different times.
Today, taking an hour or so break between activities, I offered the laptop/projector to put on a TV show or movie that they wanted to watch to unwind a little bit. Most students ignored me entirely; one student suggested something; all of them were on their phones. Finally, one student took charge and worked with me to pull up a favorite movie. While it was loading, four of them gathered around another person's phone and watched a funny video at full volume, a few feet away from the projector and entirely oblivious and uninterested in the movie that was starting, never offering to turn down their volume. At no point did any of them try to work together to gather suggestions or work toward a consensus. Just a few moments in a week full of them.
When my fellow chaperone and I see our students turn to their phones, our theory on their motivation is strong - security. We observe that individuals feel more comfortable when they can take out their phone and take charge of the world in that moment - decide what apps, decide which notifications to check and review, decide who to respond to or reach out to, and eliminate the risks of social indefiniteness.
I sympathize with this. When I am waiting for the train, when I am sitting in the doctor's office, when I am early for a meeting or appointment, I do a quick email check or pull up traffic to see what my route home might entail. I get that our phones are the instinctive thing to turn to in order to fill a spare moment.
However, I was very stubborn when I got my smartphone that I would not become a human compulsion, and I have managed to be pretty good with this. I have all notifications turned off except for phone calls/voicemails and texts. I have no "little red numbers" on any of my apps, except the app store for updates. I share a 3GB data pool with my brothers and dad and rarely exceed 1GB in data use, which even feels like too much to me. I know this is a bit stuffy and arrogant, but it's important to me that my phone is an occasional complement to socializing and not a replacement or deterrent.
These students have no intention to set any kinds of safeguards or limits, and I don't feel like their parents know how to do that or have any interest in trying. These students uncontrollably lean on their phones for everything in every moment to the point where I legitimately am unsure if they take in any experience completely when separated from their phones.
Every moment must be filtered through Snapchat et al (Snapchat is the clear favorite among my teens) in order to take on any sort of significance. All messages must be relayed via innocuous videos and selfies, many of which are rudimentary repeats of the same things over and over with little variance. It is 90-100% about volume, immediacy, and responsiveness, with almost no concern for substance or relevance. Students send and consume so quickly that the content is not really relevant; it's the action of sending and receiving that keeps the pipeline flowing at lightning speed to feed the need for constant gratification.
I think the most frustrating part is not that these apps are so pervasive, because they are fun and entertaining. The most frustrating part is that they have become a necessary medium for social interaction. Even when teens are physically together in the same place, they still are more comfortable and more likely to communicate via snapchats than regular conversation.
They'd rather take a video of their group of friends, add filters and text overlays, and replay it to each other rather than simply have a conversation. They'd rather rifle through others snaps and stories, react to them aloud in pithy conversations, and criticize others than live out their stories in real life. They'd rather borough deep into some part of their phone's world than risk being unentertained or made uncomfortable by the naturally unfolding world around them which they'd have to take in and react to without the ability to manipulate it.
I wish they could see how quickly they rifle through their activity on their phones. I wish I could record the screen output on their phones, isolate it, and display it on a projector in front of others to show how rapid and superficial so much of it is.
Education and ministry leaders frequently emphasize the need to meet teenagers where they are and to try to use their natural behaviors and tendencies to help engage and learn. I am convinced - at least for this current group - that this is simply not going to happen. They are so used to be in complete control on their social media and their interactions that they are uninterested in using these social media for means besides that which they decide is important.
I have never ministered to a group that is more difficult to engage, who more thoroughly resists interaction, and who more stubbornly refuses to take charge of themselves in practical ways (knowing our daily schedule, knowing where we're going next, following protocols and rules) yet will doggedly keep track of their phones and chargers even if they can't do the same with permission slips.
I co-manage a Twitter and Instagram for these ministries. I take pictures and post frequently, live-blogging our activities with specific hashtags that are announced and reannounced to students. The account handles and hashtags are on our booklets and all over the websites of our school. I want to be present in those spaces and provide live content that they can consume and respond to with us.
They won't follow our accounts (very few at least), interact with us, or contribute.
I write this largely out of frustration, but even as that feeling abates, my larger point is my sadness over the social destitution this entails. I am witnessing students who are incapable of organic interaction, who don't know how to engage each other face-to-face with words aloud, who cannot work together to attempt a group decision. It makes for shallow community, underdeveloped spirits, and serious concerns for their futures.
How do we engage young people spiritually and in faith, and how do we do this in the context of, or in spite of, their smartphones and social media? I have never really been at such a loss for how to respond to youth in ministry. This is the biggest unanswered question I've come to so far.
Not even thinking too specifically right now about sexual ethics, healthy relationships, and broader American social trends, smartphones and social media are driving me to my wit's end right now.
Working with teenagers on a service week this week, I have been at ground zero of the issue. Our students are tied to their phones, and my fellow chaperone and I are dealing with the fallout. Before the week started, we talked about what our policy would be and settled on requiring that phones stay put away during service site activities but can otherwise be used, during car rides, waiting periods, etc.
Wow, do I regret this.
On retreats that I direct, I insist on students turning in their phones or turning in a letter from their parents that states that they do not have their phones. No alternatives. Period. This has been a hugely effective practice. I wish I had done that on this trip, collecting phones at the starts of the days and returning them only at days' ends.
Yesterday, after working four hours straight in setup, distribution, and cleanup at a parish food pantry, we settled down for some group discussion, prayer, and reflection. We had a fairly decent conversation in the context of some prayer, and then we wrapped and waited for lunch to get delivered. At some point during that brief waiting period, every student was on their phone, and at one point, at least 13 of 19 were on them simultaneously. At no point were there any larger conversations between several people in the group; they were in their own little individual worlds or talking only with the person next to them.
When we got in the van to drive home for the night, rather than continuing with our pattern of pre-decided meal plans, I tried to offer my 9 students free choice of somewhere where we could eat together for about $8/person. Over the course of a 50-minute car ride, no attempt was made at group thinking. Great effort was invested in smartphone usage. A few brief suggestions were made, but no consensus was built at all. We finally ended up at Potbelly, simply because two people had suggested it at different times.
Today, taking an hour or so break between activities, I offered the laptop/projector to put on a TV show or movie that they wanted to watch to unwind a little bit. Most students ignored me entirely; one student suggested something; all of them were on their phones. Finally, one student took charge and worked with me to pull up a favorite movie. While it was loading, four of them gathered around another person's phone and watched a funny video at full volume, a few feet away from the projector and entirely oblivious and uninterested in the movie that was starting, never offering to turn down their volume. At no point did any of them try to work together to gather suggestions or work toward a consensus. Just a few moments in a week full of them.
When my fellow chaperone and I see our students turn to their phones, our theory on their motivation is strong - security. We observe that individuals feel more comfortable when they can take out their phone and take charge of the world in that moment - decide what apps, decide which notifications to check and review, decide who to respond to or reach out to, and eliminate the risks of social indefiniteness.
I sympathize with this. When I am waiting for the train, when I am sitting in the doctor's office, when I am early for a meeting or appointment, I do a quick email check or pull up traffic to see what my route home might entail. I get that our phones are the instinctive thing to turn to in order to fill a spare moment.
However, I was very stubborn when I got my smartphone that I would not become a human compulsion, and I have managed to be pretty good with this. I have all notifications turned off except for phone calls/voicemails and texts. I have no "little red numbers" on any of my apps, except the app store for updates. I share a 3GB data pool with my brothers and dad and rarely exceed 1GB in data use, which even feels like too much to me. I know this is a bit stuffy and arrogant, but it's important to me that my phone is an occasional complement to socializing and not a replacement or deterrent.
These students have no intention to set any kinds of safeguards or limits, and I don't feel like their parents know how to do that or have any interest in trying. These students uncontrollably lean on their phones for everything in every moment to the point where I legitimately am unsure if they take in any experience completely when separated from their phones.
Every moment must be filtered through Snapchat et al (Snapchat is the clear favorite among my teens) in order to take on any sort of significance. All messages must be relayed via innocuous videos and selfies, many of which are rudimentary repeats of the same things over and over with little variance. It is 90-100% about volume, immediacy, and responsiveness, with almost no concern for substance or relevance. Students send and consume so quickly that the content is not really relevant; it's the action of sending and receiving that keeps the pipeline flowing at lightning speed to feed the need for constant gratification.
I think the most frustrating part is not that these apps are so pervasive, because they are fun and entertaining. The most frustrating part is that they have become a necessary medium for social interaction. Even when teens are physically together in the same place, they still are more comfortable and more likely to communicate via snapchats than regular conversation.
They'd rather take a video of their group of friends, add filters and text overlays, and replay it to each other rather than simply have a conversation. They'd rather rifle through others snaps and stories, react to them aloud in pithy conversations, and criticize others than live out their stories in real life. They'd rather borough deep into some part of their phone's world than risk being unentertained or made uncomfortable by the naturally unfolding world around them which they'd have to take in and react to without the ability to manipulate it.
I wish they could see how quickly they rifle through their activity on their phones. I wish I could record the screen output on their phones, isolate it, and display it on a projector in front of others to show how rapid and superficial so much of it is.
Education and ministry leaders frequently emphasize the need to meet teenagers where they are and to try to use their natural behaviors and tendencies to help engage and learn. I am convinced - at least for this current group - that this is simply not going to happen. They are so used to be in complete control on their social media and their interactions that they are uninterested in using these social media for means besides that which they decide is important.
I have never ministered to a group that is more difficult to engage, who more thoroughly resists interaction, and who more stubbornly refuses to take charge of themselves in practical ways (knowing our daily schedule, knowing where we're going next, following protocols and rules) yet will doggedly keep track of their phones and chargers even if they can't do the same with permission slips.
I co-manage a Twitter and Instagram for these ministries. I take pictures and post frequently, live-blogging our activities with specific hashtags that are announced and reannounced to students. The account handles and hashtags are on our booklets and all over the websites of our school. I want to be present in those spaces and provide live content that they can consume and respond to with us.
They won't follow our accounts (very few at least), interact with us, or contribute.
I write this largely out of frustration, but even as that feeling abates, my larger point is my sadness over the social destitution this entails. I am witnessing students who are incapable of organic interaction, who don't know how to engage each other face-to-face with words aloud, who cannot work together to attempt a group decision. It makes for shallow community, underdeveloped spirits, and serious concerns for their futures.
How do we engage young people spiritually and in faith, and how do we do this in the context of, or in spite of, their smartphones and social media? I have never really been at such a loss for how to respond to youth in ministry. This is the biggest unanswered question I've come to so far.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Attention Tension
The lector goes up to the ambo this morning and starts to announce the First Reading. It's Easter, so we're in the meat of the book of Acts of Apostles. I know my Gospels and the greatest hits of the Old Testament lectionary selections fairly well, but I'm not as strong with Acts and Paul. So I'm trying to key in a bit more.
Then the baby behind lets loose. Without turning my head, my attention immediately shifts. I hear the baby rustling through the worship aid, turning and tearing. I hear a parent reach to extract the rustling paper, and then the baby decides that's it. The screams and tears come next, and the parents live in that indecision for the first moments, trying to discern if this outbreak will merit the take-a-walk reaction.
Meanwhile, I have whiffed on the whole first reading. The tumult behind me had abated, but the reading was basically over. I got none of it.
Initially, I was kind of miffed. C'mon, man, I'm just trying to be good, get my fill of Word and Sacrament, get some renewal before an action-packed week ahead. And then the first foray into Scripture gets detoured by the calamity behind me.
Then I switched gears - stop making excuses, I thought. I got an excellent night's sleep, got to bed early, and slept in late. I had breakfast, made my shopping list, and got a parking spot in the lot. I was here on time in a good spot in the pews. I even kind of hoped for a quicker Mass - so I could get on with my lazy Sunday sentiment - and there was our dear Polish priest ready to get us in and out in under an hour (actually, 50 minutes today).
Plus, I deeply value our parish for the vitality our families bring to it. I appreciate that every week brings a healthy mix of young people, young couples, and families with young children. I hope that if and when my wife and I have kids that we can bring them to a parish with such quality family life. And frankly, I'd rather that a family be present with crying kids than have them stay home and not make the effort. At my heart, I'm patient and frankly enjoy the kids' screaming at Mass. So shut up, me!, I thought.
At my heart, I miss some of the ignorance I had toward Mass. I treasure my education and formation in theology and ministry, but all my classes, my years, in choir, and my professional life that has made into a liturgist have made it hard to simply be present at Mass. I kind of wish I could bracket off parts of my liturgical awareness that make me think about logistics and planning rather than staying more grounded in the spiritual practices of Mass.
Anywho, there's something funny about my instincts in sharing with others following Mass. Maybe some of you are similar. I find myself more likely to comment on the music selections, on some mistake or misstep by someone ministering at Mass, on someone we saw or something they did, or on the length of the Mass. Why not on the message of the homily? Why not on something I thought about or prayed about? Why not on something I noticed or felt during Mass?
I tried doing our parish's "Mass journal" idea to compile take-aways from Mass, but it didn't get me any momentum. There's some disconnect here that I have to reassemble. I think I can be more proactive in asking others about their Mass experience and trying to have even simple conversations about our take-aways.
Growing up, my brothers, dad, and I would often be waiting in our van in the church parking lot while my mom would be talking to people after Mass. Then she'd finally get in the car so that we could head to breakfast, and she'd be humming the tune to the closing song from Mass. Maybe those two habits would be a good place to start.
Then the baby behind lets loose. Without turning my head, my attention immediately shifts. I hear the baby rustling through the worship aid, turning and tearing. I hear a parent reach to extract the rustling paper, and then the baby decides that's it. The screams and tears come next, and the parents live in that indecision for the first moments, trying to discern if this outbreak will merit the take-a-walk reaction.
Meanwhile, I have whiffed on the whole first reading. The tumult behind me had abated, but the reading was basically over. I got none of it.
Initially, I was kind of miffed. C'mon, man, I'm just trying to be good, get my fill of Word and Sacrament, get some renewal before an action-packed week ahead. And then the first foray into Scripture gets detoured by the calamity behind me.
Then I switched gears - stop making excuses, I thought. I got an excellent night's sleep, got to bed early, and slept in late. I had breakfast, made my shopping list, and got a parking spot in the lot. I was here on time in a good spot in the pews. I even kind of hoped for a quicker Mass - so I could get on with my lazy Sunday sentiment - and there was our dear Polish priest ready to get us in and out in under an hour (actually, 50 minutes today).
Plus, I deeply value our parish for the vitality our families bring to it. I appreciate that every week brings a healthy mix of young people, young couples, and families with young children. I hope that if and when my wife and I have kids that we can bring them to a parish with such quality family life. And frankly, I'd rather that a family be present with crying kids than have them stay home and not make the effort. At my heart, I'm patient and frankly enjoy the kids' screaming at Mass. So shut up, me!, I thought.
At my heart, I miss some of the ignorance I had toward Mass. I treasure my education and formation in theology and ministry, but all my classes, my years, in choir, and my professional life that has made into a liturgist have made it hard to simply be present at Mass. I kind of wish I could bracket off parts of my liturgical awareness that make me think about logistics and planning rather than staying more grounded in the spiritual practices of Mass.
Anywho, there's something funny about my instincts in sharing with others following Mass. Maybe some of you are similar. I find myself more likely to comment on the music selections, on some mistake or misstep by someone ministering at Mass, on someone we saw or something they did, or on the length of the Mass. Why not on the message of the homily? Why not on something I thought about or prayed about? Why not on something I noticed or felt during Mass?
I tried doing our parish's "Mass journal" idea to compile take-aways from Mass, but it didn't get me any momentum. There's some disconnect here that I have to reassemble. I think I can be more proactive in asking others about their Mass experience and trying to have even simple conversations about our take-aways.
Growing up, my brothers, dad, and I would often be waiting in our van in the church parking lot while my mom would be talking to people after Mass. Then she'd finally get in the car so that we could head to breakfast, and she'd be humming the tune to the closing song from Mass. Maybe those two habits would be a good place to start.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Bogarting the Condiments
One of my favorite parts of campus ministry is gradually establishing connections to students. I've learned more and more than I cannot and should not be their friend, but I can be an advocate, a supporter, a listening ear, and a positive presence.
I always like campus ministry to be a place, in terms of its physical location, that is explicitly different from classrooms. Maybe we have a board, but it's not for note-taking or assignments; it's for prayers. Maybe we chairs and tables, but they're not for test-taking; they're cushioned and comfortable couches and coffee tables. Maybe we have books and binders, but they're not for studies; they're for retreats and activities. It should feel differently comfortable and inviting than a classroom, and I cherish when students' behavior and actions maintain respect toward boundaries but embrace the different context of ministry versus academics.
I was spoiled in my first job, coming in to a place where such an environment was more widespread across campus, especially in our big, open, welcoming school commons, where all kinds of groups of students and teachers constantly gathered at all different times for all different kinds of reasons. In my last job and my current job, we lack such a natural gathering space. Additionally, our locations and community populations both prompted us to try to get students on to their after-school activities and rides home quickly and expeditiously for safety reasons. It makes forming these connections all the more difficult.
Added on to that, the first year in a new community is its own gradual curve. Starting a new job this year, I have to get used to the places around school where students are, the schedules of each day and week, the personality of the community and its individual members, etc. Needless to say, it can be frustrating to try to build these connections from scratch over extended periods of time. It doesn't happen quickly, and patience can be hard to come by!
So eight months in, I am still not sure that I have such a connection with any students. I have most everyone's names down, and I feel comfortable having easy interactions with many of them. However, I still am looking for that core group of kids - the ones who will come hang on the couches after school, who will go out of their way to share news with us, who will bang down the doors when sign-up's go out for retreat leadership or service outings.
Well, the mixed blessing of a Catholic school is that everyone has to pitch in with the random tasks that it takes to make a school go. One of these lovely roles is cafeteria supervision. I have always enjoyed milling around during lunch to check in on students, hand out forms and flyers, and sort of goof around for a few minutes while students are away from classes. Well, for 25-30 minutes a day, I am in lunch with the freshmen and sophomores.
We had a rash of issues with table cleanliness (hard to believe, I know!), many of which centered on taking the condiments away from the table - where they dwell beneath a sign that says "Do not remove the condiments from this table" - and proceeding to make a mess with them and leave them there when they left the cafeteria.
I decided to become the enforcer of this ignored rule, the protector of the condiments. I took my position beside the condiment table and restricted condiment use to that spot right there. No taking the bottles to your table. No borrowing them and bringing them back. You ketchup your tots right here and put the bottle back.
Initially, I got reactions of confusion, disbelief, and frustration. Students couldn't believe I wouldn't let them take the bottle. Well, sorry, folks, you blew the privilege of ignoring the rule. Gradually, they understood it wasn't gonna happen and began to bring their food to the station to pour some ketchup into their tray or little containers. Over time, they began to get it and follow the rule.
Some students had no issue with my request. They were very pleasant in simply sticking to the rule and helping us keep the cafeteria clean. One young lady in particular was very specific in executing her ketchup acquisition. Having asked for a little paper cup to squeeze ketchup into, she approached the table, grabbed a bottle, and quite artfully deposited her ketchup into its new receptacle.
Squeezing the bottle to make a strong, continuous spray, she filled the bottom of the cup. Then, building the blob upward, she began to spray the ketchup in a circular motion. The ketchup made a swirling shape as it piled toward the rim. At that point, she was narrowing the circle to make a cone-shaped top. This was about as much ketchup as could safely fit in a little paper cup, and she had executed it to perfection.
I was quite impressed. After seeing her in action a few times, one day, I celebrated her feat and affirmed her skills. A few weeks later, when I grabbed a carton of fries for a snack, I brought a bottle of ketchup to her and asked her to share her expertise in dispensing some ketchup for me. She happily obliged.
Pretty stupid, right? Did I just right several paragraphs about ketchup? Did I take a stand in bogarting condiments? Did I get excited over a student's dispensing skills?
This is the stuff ministry was made of. I learned her name. I connected a skill, a quirk, a daily task to her. We talked. We had some laughs.
A few weeks later, she volunteered to serve in our Holy Thursday Prayer Service. When we got back from Easter break, she told me about a foot injury she had suffered. She says hello to me in the hallways, pretty much every time now. She's one of a handful who may be the early nucleus of a campus ministry core.
Sometimes, retreats create connections. Sometimes, classroom teaching makes the connection. Sometimes, a service trip, an after-school club, or a chance conversation creates the connection. This time, it was ketchup.
Ministry is a diverse beast. There is opportunity for encounter and interaction so often in daily life, and I'm grateful that my unusual stand for responsible condiment stewardship helped connect me to a student I did not yet know.
Hope someone fills your ketchup cup today.
I always like campus ministry to be a place, in terms of its physical location, that is explicitly different from classrooms. Maybe we have a board, but it's not for note-taking or assignments; it's for prayers. Maybe we chairs and tables, but they're not for test-taking; they're cushioned and comfortable couches and coffee tables. Maybe we have books and binders, but they're not for studies; they're for retreats and activities. It should feel differently comfortable and inviting than a classroom, and I cherish when students' behavior and actions maintain respect toward boundaries but embrace the different context of ministry versus academics.
I was spoiled in my first job, coming in to a place where such an environment was more widespread across campus, especially in our big, open, welcoming school commons, where all kinds of groups of students and teachers constantly gathered at all different times for all different kinds of reasons. In my last job and my current job, we lack such a natural gathering space. Additionally, our locations and community populations both prompted us to try to get students on to their after-school activities and rides home quickly and expeditiously for safety reasons. It makes forming these connections all the more difficult.
Added on to that, the first year in a new community is its own gradual curve. Starting a new job this year, I have to get used to the places around school where students are, the schedules of each day and week, the personality of the community and its individual members, etc. Needless to say, it can be frustrating to try to build these connections from scratch over extended periods of time. It doesn't happen quickly, and patience can be hard to come by!
So eight months in, I am still not sure that I have such a connection with any students. I have most everyone's names down, and I feel comfortable having easy interactions with many of them. However, I still am looking for that core group of kids - the ones who will come hang on the couches after school, who will go out of their way to share news with us, who will bang down the doors when sign-up's go out for retreat leadership or service outings.
Well, the mixed blessing of a Catholic school is that everyone has to pitch in with the random tasks that it takes to make a school go. One of these lovely roles is cafeteria supervision. I have always enjoyed milling around during lunch to check in on students, hand out forms and flyers, and sort of goof around for a few minutes while students are away from classes. Well, for 25-30 minutes a day, I am in lunch with the freshmen and sophomores.
We had a rash of issues with table cleanliness (hard to believe, I know!), many of which centered on taking the condiments away from the table - where they dwell beneath a sign that says "Do not remove the condiments from this table" - and proceeding to make a mess with them and leave them there when they left the cafeteria.
I decided to become the enforcer of this ignored rule, the protector of the condiments. I took my position beside the condiment table and restricted condiment use to that spot right there. No taking the bottles to your table. No borrowing them and bringing them back. You ketchup your tots right here and put the bottle back.
Initially, I got reactions of confusion, disbelief, and frustration. Students couldn't believe I wouldn't let them take the bottle. Well, sorry, folks, you blew the privilege of ignoring the rule. Gradually, they understood it wasn't gonna happen and began to bring their food to the station to pour some ketchup into their tray or little containers. Over time, they began to get it and follow the rule.
Some students had no issue with my request. They were very pleasant in simply sticking to the rule and helping us keep the cafeteria clean. One young lady in particular was very specific in executing her ketchup acquisition. Having asked for a little paper cup to squeeze ketchup into, she approached the table, grabbed a bottle, and quite artfully deposited her ketchup into its new receptacle.
Squeezing the bottle to make a strong, continuous spray, she filled the bottom of the cup. Then, building the blob upward, she began to spray the ketchup in a circular motion. The ketchup made a swirling shape as it piled toward the rim. At that point, she was narrowing the circle to make a cone-shaped top. This was about as much ketchup as could safely fit in a little paper cup, and she had executed it to perfection.
I was quite impressed. After seeing her in action a few times, one day, I celebrated her feat and affirmed her skills. A few weeks later, when I grabbed a carton of fries for a snack, I brought a bottle of ketchup to her and asked her to share her expertise in dispensing some ketchup for me. She happily obliged.
Pretty stupid, right? Did I just right several paragraphs about ketchup? Did I take a stand in bogarting condiments? Did I get excited over a student's dispensing skills?
This is the stuff ministry was made of. I learned her name. I connected a skill, a quirk, a daily task to her. We talked. We had some laughs.
A few weeks later, she volunteered to serve in our Holy Thursday Prayer Service. When we got back from Easter break, she told me about a foot injury she had suffered. She says hello to me in the hallways, pretty much every time now. She's one of a handful who may be the early nucleus of a campus ministry core.
Sometimes, retreats create connections. Sometimes, classroom teaching makes the connection. Sometimes, a service trip, an after-school club, or a chance conversation creates the connection. This time, it was ketchup.
Ministry is a diverse beast. There is opportunity for encounter and interaction so often in daily life, and I'm grateful that my unusual stand for responsible condiment stewardship helped connect me to a student I did not yet know.
Hope someone fills your ketchup cup today.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Moral Optimism v. Moral Pessimism
From my perspective as both a millennial and a high school Campus Minister and theology teacher, I witness a lot of relativism. I see a lot of sentiment toward admitting some vague semblance of absolutism that is quickly qualified with "but I would never expect that of someone else" or "but I would never tell someone they have to do that or believe that."
This is nothing new. I've written before about how humanity invents new ways to enable our misbehaviors rather than change, how sometimes morality and decisions aren't so much right v. wrong as much as it is right v. righter, and how the coherency of Church teaching can help Catholics be good dialoguers from a middle ground.
More recently, my thoughts have gravitated toward morality as it relates to one's outlook. I am a pretty stubborn idealist, both motivated and flawed by my constantly high expectations of just about everything and everyone. So when it comes to morality, I am no different.
I believe in absolute truth. I believe that there is moral black and white, which though sometimes greyed by circumstance in its execution, is real and applicable to everyone in every place. So when it comes to living out morality, I think there's a way that we can all rise to moral goodness, doing the right things and making the right decisions. Sure, it must proceed from humility and repentance, but I think it's possible to be constantly moving in the right direction, toward good and God.
However, this isn't the reality for everyone. And I don't think it's even the reality for all moral absolutists or all Catholics. I think lurking within morality, both absolutism and otherwise, there is another difference. I want to call it moral optimism v. moral pessimism.
I think there are moral pessimists who believe that there are certain things that are out-and-out wrong yet at the same time will admit these things' certainty and accept their inevitability. These folks might prefer to be called something like pragmatists or realists, but either way, the sentiment is clear - some wrongful behaviors, even if absolutely immoral, just happen and there's nothing to do about it.
On the other hand, I think of myself as a moral optimist. In addition to believing that there is an absolute right and wrong, moral and immoral, I also think that behavior can change. I think individuals can have conversations, interactions, and experiences that impact their choices and actions. I think society can undergo transformation that peels back immoral behaviors.
An obvious example would be sexual morality. I have found that an inarguable premise in discussion is "people are going to do have sex anyway." As a result, the availability and affordability of condoms, contraceptives, and abortifacients as well as abortion medications and procedures is a no-brainer - this behavior is irreversible and endemic in society, so there needs to be ready access to these things to counteract the consequences of sex.
Honoring both pragmatism and idealism, I'd say that yes, today, most people are going to have sex whenever they want, regardless of their knowledge of their partner's history, their awareness of their own medical status, etc. However, I think on a larger scale and over a longer term, this social inevitability can be impacted such that over a longer arc perhaps fewer people will be sexually promiscuous and more people will reserve sexual intercourse for marriage. It has to do with taking a stand to change one's own behaviors and paying witness to the actions and words one shares in one's community and relationships.
On another front, inequality and basic human rights and needs present another opportunity. Most people would agree that humans should not be going hungry, thirsty, naked, or shelterless. However, some people accept that a certain amount of the population will just suffer these things while others commit more earnestly toward fighting it.
A moral pessimist may say there will always be homeless people, lines at the food pantry, and needs for clothing drives. These people may give charitably but accept the inevitable presence of the needy. However, as a moral optimist, I will instead indefinitely seek to partner with the marginalized needy people to connect them to people and things that will provide for their needs. I want to help those who go wanting, work to get them more stable, and continue that work such that my colleagues and me and those who get themselves stabilized can keep partnering with those in need. I want to educate and form young people to discover and identify the root causes of marginalization and inspire society to work toward reforming those things that lead us throw people away.
Do you think you're a moral optimist? A moral pessimist or pragmatist? Something in between?
I think there is danger is moral pessimism/pragmatism/realism. While we must acknowledge present realities in order to respond to them earnestly, I think it must involve a degree of optimism to be true to what God calls us to be as sacraments of His love in the world.
I think we must say Yes, this evil exists, but it doesn't have to be like this or stay like this. I think we must ask How does Christ call me as a Christian and my community as the Church to be His hands and feet for one another?
The love of God must originate in a person's heart and then be conveyed toward others in actions and words, so the desire to pursue and actualize what is good has to start with one person being the hands and feet of Christ for good and then letting that ripple outward as the goodness spreads.
Our faith is founded on a beautiful coherence of truth from the revelation of God, and we do not need to dismissively accept moral evils as certainties in the world. The love of God is the most radical thing this world has ever experienced, and we can live it out by insistently being a force for good in our prayers, thoughts, words, and actions.
This is nothing new. I've written before about how humanity invents new ways to enable our misbehaviors rather than change, how sometimes morality and decisions aren't so much right v. wrong as much as it is right v. righter, and how the coherency of Church teaching can help Catholics be good dialoguers from a middle ground.
More recently, my thoughts have gravitated toward morality as it relates to one's outlook. I am a pretty stubborn idealist, both motivated and flawed by my constantly high expectations of just about everything and everyone. So when it comes to morality, I am no different.
I believe in absolute truth. I believe that there is moral black and white, which though sometimes greyed by circumstance in its execution, is real and applicable to everyone in every place. So when it comes to living out morality, I think there's a way that we can all rise to moral goodness, doing the right things and making the right decisions. Sure, it must proceed from humility and repentance, but I think it's possible to be constantly moving in the right direction, toward good and God.
However, this isn't the reality for everyone. And I don't think it's even the reality for all moral absolutists or all Catholics. I think lurking within morality, both absolutism and otherwise, there is another difference. I want to call it moral optimism v. moral pessimism.
I think there are moral pessimists who believe that there are certain things that are out-and-out wrong yet at the same time will admit these things' certainty and accept their inevitability. These folks might prefer to be called something like pragmatists or realists, but either way, the sentiment is clear - some wrongful behaviors, even if absolutely immoral, just happen and there's nothing to do about it.
On the other hand, I think of myself as a moral optimist. In addition to believing that there is an absolute right and wrong, moral and immoral, I also think that behavior can change. I think individuals can have conversations, interactions, and experiences that impact their choices and actions. I think society can undergo transformation that peels back immoral behaviors.
An obvious example would be sexual morality. I have found that an inarguable premise in discussion is "people are going to do have sex anyway." As a result, the availability and affordability of condoms, contraceptives, and abortifacients as well as abortion medications and procedures is a no-brainer - this behavior is irreversible and endemic in society, so there needs to be ready access to these things to counteract the consequences of sex.
Honoring both pragmatism and idealism, I'd say that yes, today, most people are going to have sex whenever they want, regardless of their knowledge of their partner's history, their awareness of their own medical status, etc. However, I think on a larger scale and over a longer term, this social inevitability can be impacted such that over a longer arc perhaps fewer people will be sexually promiscuous and more people will reserve sexual intercourse for marriage. It has to do with taking a stand to change one's own behaviors and paying witness to the actions and words one shares in one's community and relationships.
On another front, inequality and basic human rights and needs present another opportunity. Most people would agree that humans should not be going hungry, thirsty, naked, or shelterless. However, some people accept that a certain amount of the population will just suffer these things while others commit more earnestly toward fighting it.
A moral pessimist may say there will always be homeless people, lines at the food pantry, and needs for clothing drives. These people may give charitably but accept the inevitable presence of the needy. However, as a moral optimist, I will instead indefinitely seek to partner with the marginalized needy people to connect them to people and things that will provide for their needs. I want to help those who go wanting, work to get them more stable, and continue that work such that my colleagues and me and those who get themselves stabilized can keep partnering with those in need. I want to educate and form young people to discover and identify the root causes of marginalization and inspire society to work toward reforming those things that lead us throw people away.
Do you think you're a moral optimist? A moral pessimist or pragmatist? Something in between?
I think there is danger is moral pessimism/pragmatism/realism. While we must acknowledge present realities in order to respond to them earnestly, I think it must involve a degree of optimism to be true to what God calls us to be as sacraments of His love in the world.
I think we must say Yes, this evil exists, but it doesn't have to be like this or stay like this. I think we must ask How does Christ call me as a Christian and my community as the Church to be His hands and feet for one another?
The love of God must originate in a person's heart and then be conveyed toward others in actions and words, so the desire to pursue and actualize what is good has to start with one person being the hands and feet of Christ for good and then letting that ripple outward as the goodness spreads.
Our faith is founded on a beautiful coherence of truth from the revelation of God, and we do not need to dismissively accept moral evils as certainties in the world. The love of God is the most radical thing this world has ever experienced, and we can live it out by insistently being a force for good in our prayers, thoughts, words, and actions.
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