Breaking the Ice

As I began my first endeavors into living my dream - doing campus ministry at a Catholic high school - I was struck by the immense power and cultural capital of social media among the teenagers to whom I ministered. Over the year, conversations among the adults in the building often gravitated toward the negative and harmful behaviors displayed on these media.

Kids would rip each other and get into massive "Twitter wars," tweeting back and forth at each other, to a point far deeper than flesh wounds. Kids would post Instagrams and Facebook photos of them doing stupid, illegal things that tainted their own reputation and that of the school, in addition to the harm they did to themselves physically/mentally/emotionally and legally. And social media activity, or a lack thereof, only stood to reinforce actual social feuds and rough patches in teenage relationships with passive-aggressive "unfollows" and "unfriends" and postings that were clearly though implicitly directed at particular targets.

During our summit week, in which kids were tasked with engaging various forms of poverty in new ways, I challenged them - through my sub while I recovered from my appendectomy - to engage with typical occurrences from teenage social life and decide how they would respond - post to Twitter? send a text to a friend? talk to an adult? hand-write a note? The point I tried to make was that social media carry different complementary purposes that can help support and uphold our relationships and the regular ways we interact sans technology.

I ended that first year full of musings about how to tackle my next task - moving to another school and building a Campus Ministry basically from the ground up. I decided when I took the job that social media would be a cornerstone of my outreach. I figured that, in order to connect maximally with my teenagers, I had to speak all of their languages.

As the kids rifled through orientation, our loving dean cautioned them against social media activity by citing the dangers its poor usage posed to their job and college prospects. Unfortunately, he went so far as to label social media "evil." I found that to be too far. In my opinion, social media itself isn't evil; the way it's used can certainly be. Similarly, a knife isn't evil when it's spreading butter or cutting a steak, but when one uses it to threaten or hurt another person, it becomes evil. My approach to social media was to infiltrate it with hearty, wholesome, good content. I wanted my postings intermingled with all the rest of the stuff in their news-feeds and timelines so as to put a good voice into the forum.

A few weeks later, I officially launched Twitter and Facebook accounts for Campus Ministry. Slowly but surely, the followers and likes piled up.

When news needed to spread of the need for ministers at Mass, the time and place for the next Student Ministry Team meeting, or the deadline for leadership applications, I would put in an announcement to go out over the PA; I'd post signs around school and outside my office; I'd tell students who I thought would be interested and have a conversation with them; I'd write up letters or notes and share them with students. Now, I also posted the news and information on Twitter and Facebook.

And I can't tell you how much more effective this made the overall grapevine.

A year later, my Campus Ministry is now on Instagram, too. #Selfiesforjesus was a smash hit  during Orientation days as students waited in grueling lines for ID pictures and counseling's schedule help; we used it to recruit altar servers, EM's, lectors, and gift-bearers, and we have twice as many now as we did at this point last year. When I assembled my Student Ministry Team to launch a new retreat-planning team, I asked them for a way to publicize joining the group that would create the El Camino retreat; they invented the hashtag #HazElCamino (make the Camino), and we had over 30 people at the first meeting (which is a lot, I swear).

We rightly identify social media as the source of a lot of evil and ills. Last spring, I visited several classes to facilitate a discussion on a shooting homicide in Chicago - a 13-year-old girl killed another 13-year-old after a disagreement on social media about a boy, even posting a picture of herself flipping the bird with a disparaging tagline indicating her intent to kill her rival. Though my teens were split on whether or not social media does more harm than good, they communicated their awareness of the value of face-to-face confrontation and the importance of knowing which things on social media are important and which are stupid.

Social media functions best when it's a complement to the love we already share in relationship. When we're able to communicate in different ways, different expressions, and different specificity than before, we can gain something. As long as we maintain a perspective that our tweets, statues, and Instagrams are not the be-all-end-all, then we're gonna be ok. We need to tell our phones what we want or need them to do - not the other way around.

This is all relevant to our loving but annoying new friend, the ice bucket challenge. Initially, I was confused - what the hell is this? Then, I was frustrated - how the hell does pouring an ice bucket over your head for social media attention help fight disease? Then, I was delighted - oh, you donate $10 if you do it, or $100 to escape the challenge, so you donate either way. Then, I was conflicted - if I get challenged, will I do it? Am I just trying to join the fray or doing something personal?

So, I started to think and read. I found that this was raising huge money for research into a terrible disease, on top of the fact that tons of videos were going mega-viral. I learned that the whole thing started with a man who suffers from ALS. And I knew that I'm the most anti-trend person I know, so if I still felt like I could do it, then I thought there's likely something legit to this.

It all comes back to the Catholic cliché of contemplation and action. Faith calls us to deep reflection and prayer, meditating over the powerful truths of Word and Sacrament, all the amazing things present in our Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Yet, along with that depth of interiorism, we must be people of action, enfleshing that truth and mystery which we find in contemplation.

The #icebucketchallenge is the perfect opportunity to combine these things. We need to look deeply at what we're doing in response to the challenges and suffering in our world - in this case, a terrible, degenerative disease with no cure and great chronic discomfort and pain. With this challenge, we're dumping icy buckets of water on our heads and donating money.

Neither of these actions cures ALS. (read an "con" opinion)

However, these are actions that come with concreteness both for ourselves and for others. Personally, I learned from pieces on ESPN about the origins of the challenge and about a former football player who suffers from ALS, yet continues his work with his old team, not just as a cliched inspiration but as an actual contributing worker. I learned that even since the time of the Iron Horse, we haven't made much progress medically toward fighting this disease.

And I learned that much of the current research to fight ALS leans on embryonic stem cell research. Though the potential breakthroughs are tantalizing, the ends cannot justify the means; embryos cannot be destroyed for scientific research. So my $10 from the challenge when to the John Paul II Medical Research Institute, which is looking to further their work in preparing adult stem cell research in order to pursue a breakthrough in an ethically sound manner.

Still, none of this has cured ALS. Raising awareness doesn't extend or improve the lives of brothers and sisters with ALS. Ideally, it'd be great if we all took an afternoon to visit with an ALS sufferer and spend time with them.

At least, however, through this challenge, I have experienced resolute reflection and multiple actions in a way that I had not before the ice bucket challenge. And the people who are smart enough to figure out cures and remedies now have more resources to pursue the breakthrough that these people need. Sometimes, it takes a social stunt or hashtag or a viral video to grab our attention, whether it should have taken that or not.

Ultimately, my Catholic conscience draws me to filter all of this activity through a different lens - not awareness but rather solidarity. Solidarity is a deeper, faithful sympathy and empathy that binds us to one another. When one member of our world hurts, we should all hurt, for no one is more or less valuable than anyone else. In our Eucharistic lives, we become what we receive - Jesus, the one who perfected solidarity and freedom through perfect obedience to the Father.

Tucked away somewhere in all these icy experiences for all these people - young and old, everyman and celebrity, vain and humble - in a deeper solidarity, at least just within the challenge's grasp or maybe already in their hearts. Pope Francis believes we should answer Jesus' call to solidarity by fostering a "culture of encounter."

As he returned from his recent trip to Korea, he was asked why he visited with families of the ferry disaster that killed hundreds of Korean teenagers - how did it feel? was he worried about people viewing as a political maneuver? His answer reflects the deep holiness in his heart, as a man who really gets what kind of solidarity we all need to embody, in this challenge and in every challenge:

When you find yourself in front of human suffering, you have to do what your heart brings you to do... when you think of these men, these women, fathers and mothers who have lost their children, brothers and sisters who have lost brothers and sisters, and the very great pain of such a catastrophe... I feel that I have to come close to them, I feel that way. That’s first. I know that the consolation that I can give, my words, are not a remedy. I cannot give new life to those that are dead. But human closeness in these moments gives us strength, solidarity.

Unstandard Deviation

The Catholic Mass often catches a lot of heat from a lot directions. Some complain about out-of-touch priests, uninteresting homilies, unengaging music, or the rote ritual of the liturgy, to name a few.

My main frustration with Mass is a bit more uncommon. As a Campus Minister, I become somewhat of a de facto liturgist, and whether I like it or not, I'm the point person to plan and execute many liturgies. I would much prefer to simply go to Mass, rather than keep an eye out for the nervous lector who can't remember when to get up for the First Reading, play traffic cop to my altar servers as we set the altar table, or eyeball the EM's to make sure no one runs out of hosts.

I just want to be there, praying with everyone, unaware of the plans and their timely execution, simply celebrating the Word and Sacrament. It's a worthwhile ministry to facilitate liturgy for my community. And I'm incapable of reclaiming my past ignorances about liturgy. So I might as well do as well as I can for as long as I'm doing it.

So when it comes to Sundays at the parish, you won't find me doing much more than sitting in the pews, being a faithful parishioner. Maybe someday I'll get back into EM-ing or lectoring, but I really try to simply be present at Mass, to find what God has for me and grow in communion with Christ and with others.

It's much like my recent trips to friends' weddings with my fiancee; we intentionally and deliberately spend the wedding day in prayer and celebration for the couple. We try hard to minimize the times when we talk about our own future wedding and instead keep our focus on that couple. When I'm at Mass, I just want to be present in prayer and spirit to what's happening in that liturgy rather than fall prey to liturgical criticisms (or even snobbery).

Recently, I've been at a few Masses where my heightened liturgical awareness perks up at the same time as my deep love of good liturgy. The Sunday morning after our friends' wedding, they invited guests to a Mass in a board room at the hotel. The liturgist that dwells deep within me was a bit worried because the "altar" was just one end of a board table, over which a corporal was laid for the Liturgy of the Eucharist. As concerning as it was that the Eucharist wouldn't be celebrated on a table set aside solely for that purpose, the overwhelming beauty of the Mass was undeniable.

Packed into a board room - hilariously marked with a maximum occupancy of 10 - was somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 or 75 people, pressed against the walls and a few people deep in each corner, including a choir corner, filled with a crowd of singers. With everyone a bit worn out from the day before and so many people staying at or near the hotel, it was a logical gathering point to bring together a group of family and friends who were together to uphold a couple starting a new family.

Even though we weren't in a church, before a tabernacle, or around a dedicated altar, the wall of joyful noise in the songs we sang and the enthusiastic attention of everyone at this cozy Mass manifested the truth of what Mass and liturgy are meant to be. For if liturgy really is the work of the people, this was a group of people gathered and invited by a bride and groom putting a liturgical cherry on top of a weekend of prayer and celebration.

Later in summer, the chaplain with whom I work held a reunion for the rising seniors at our high school who had all been on Kairos the previous school year. After an hour or two of informal social time at his parish, we moved to the Church for an evening Mass. Given the enormity of the beautiful parish church, we decided to just bring everyone into the sanctuary around the altar. About 40 of us sat around the tabernacle to hear the Word and homily. Then we circled the altar for the Eucharistic Prayer and reception of Communion, all leading to a big Sign of Peace at the end of Mass.

In this case, we were in a church, around a dedicated altar, in the shadow of a tabernacle. A stricter liturgist than I might have been uncomfortable with such a crowd in the sanctuary for the duration of Mass, especially since none of us, save a couple of readers, were altar serving or doing Mass ministries. However, in the dim twilight of a summer evening, with a family of 40 gathered to pray together, the intimacy of the candle-lit sanctuary and the tightly packed congregation manifested sacramentally what this liturgy meant to do: namely, as our chaplain put it to these teens spending a summer night in a church, "You're here because this is important."

The physical closeness of everyone to one another and to Christ, in the Eucharist and His Church gathered there, reflected the spiritual truth of what we were doing together. So at 9pm on a Thursday summer night, a candle-lit Mass with its worshippers sitting and standing in the sanctuary did the trick.

These two Masses had a gritty, raw, basicness that fit their moments. I talk about these Masses because the ways in which they were unusual were pretty circumstantially justifiable (at least, so it seemed to me) and actually highlighted the core values of the liturgy, even if deviating from some of its norms.

Here's the tough apart though: we still need to embrace the norm. It's powerful to gather a small congregation up around an altar; it's intimate to pack a wedding guest list into a tiny board room. However, these are not the norms of our liturgy: the congregation should be stationed together and facing the ambo and altar in a way that unifies its worship and recognizes the special space of the sanctuary and the altar for the Word and the Sacrament; we need to be in pews with kneelers, so that we can bend down and embrace the humble reverence that is becoming of the truth of our Eucharist.

And as frustrating as these formal rituals can feel at times, it's only in the strength of their stability that these occasional deviations can be so powerful. Encircling the altar is something that works better with a small congregation in an intimate setting, especially in the midst of a particularly specific bond or context, like a retreat. Gathering in a non-church location for a Mass is something appropriate to those who are traveling or gathered from a distance to a particular occasion.

We need to reflect on these "unusual" liturgical experiences that we have and realize those parts of the Mass that speak most strongly to us and why. For me, I love the small moments that carry potent symbolism.

For example, when the priest mixes a bit of holy water into the wine, there's tons of symbolism. On top of all the water imagery in our Tradition, you have the image of blood and water pouring forth for us from the Body of Christ in the Passion of John's Gospel now made present in the liturgy. You have the metaphor present in the prayer that accompanies the ritual - praying that the water (humanity) may go well with the wine (divinity), as Jesus embodied both humanity and divinity in Himself. Oh, and in the early Church, this was a mainly practical thing because wine was thick/chunky and needed to be diluted before being served to a large group - how awesome that we've reinforced it with this beautiful symbolism!

A great priest and liturgist who came to speak at Notre Dame told us a great story. In his deep, intimidating voice that had a bit of both James Earl Jones and Morgan Freeman in it, he said, "People sometimes come up to me and say, 'Father, I think Mass is boring.' And I say, 'Mass isn't boring; you're boring!'"

Though I don't want to accuse anyone of such a crime, I will remind everyone that Mass only gives us what we put into it. Or more accurately, we only become aware of the fruits of the Sacraments and God's grace when we're living a prayerful, faithful, reflective life. So when you next go to Mass, don't be boring!

Why We Love Sports This Week

So I'm a big sports fan. As much as I think and write about theology and matters of faith, I do spend a lot of time ensconced in sports. My homepage is ESPN.com; when you turn on my TV, it's already on ESPN; and though my DVR is set to record new episodes of Parks and Rec and Girl Meets World, my only real appointment viewing is Chicago sports.

I often stick up for sports when they get slammed in our increasingly populist-enraged society, in which social media loves to fuel widespread anger at sports, sometimes deservedly, other times in a quite shallow manner.

For example, professional athletes are paid exorbitantly - like in Major League Baseball, where the average salary in well into the multi-millions, and the richest player averages a $30M+ salary. As easy as it is to blackball these people for greed or trivialize their being handsomely compensated simply for physical ability, the reality is that they are in the top 1% (even 0.1%) of their field, one with huge revenues fueled largely by average Americans. I know not every elite professional in every industry makes eight figures, but the reality of being the best of the best of the best is a higher paycheck. The conversation on professional athletes and modern society should instead be about extreme pay disparities or the commoditization of athletes.

I like to celebrate what some in social media spheres call "why we love sports today" moments. These are the times when the reality of people dedicating themselves all out to a competitive cause with droves of fans behind them celebrates humanity and what we're capable of when we're working together. These are the things that help balance out the news of athletes' being guilty of domestic abuse, drug use, and other less-than-exemplary behaviors.

Take first, Thursday afternoon - the annual July 31st rite of the Trading Deadline in Major League Baseball. Teams in contention for the playoffs jockey for position, when one win or loss could be the difference between a berth into the postseason and an early plane ticket home for winter. The tough reality of this is that players, whether they've been the topic of rumors and rumblings in the preceding weeks or not, are sometimes pulled from the bullpen, the bench, or even from the field mid-game, as members of their front office alert the coaching staff of an impending trade. As challenging as it is to see a player pulled from their teammates and told to pick up and go to a new team, there's a moment of poignancy among these large, intimidating males.

This year's deadline was being nicknamed "Hug Watch," as the day's game broadcasts included shots of these players moving through their dugouts to hug their now former teammates. My older brother and I were keeping an eye on Twitter as we sat at Wrigley Field during the Cubs game, watching the clock approach the 3pm deadline. Just before the clock struck three, we saw the long hair and beard of a familiar relief pitcher stirring down the left-field line, and we knew James Russell had been traded. As he took his last walk up and down the home team's third-base line, he hugged his bullpen mates good bye, high-fived a line of front-row fans, and made his way through the dugout for good-byes.

Russell: "I have so much stuff running through my head. What am I going to do with all my clothes and everything?"
— Jesse Rogers (@ESPNChiCubs) July 31, 2014

Tough as it is to see players (humans) treated as tradeable commodities, the difficult moment of changing teams comes with a moment of camaraderie and appreciation while these friends say good bye, for now. And on the other side, excited new teammates are usually eager to welcome new additions, guys who will hopefully help their quest for a championship, often giving warm welcomes to these new trench-mates.

Move on to Friday night - the USA Basketball showcase. After a week of training camp, the national team's coaching staff held one last scrimmage to try to decide a 12-man roster from the group of camp invitees for the Basketball World Cup, but things took a dark turn early in the fourth quarter. Paul George was chasing down his probable Team USA teammate James Harden on a breakaway and fouled Harden as he tried to score. George's momentum took him toward the base of the basket, where his leg buckled as it collided with the base of the basket. George suffered a gruesome double, compound leg fracture. I haven't seen the video but am told one should avoid watching it - so no link provided.

As the coaches, medical personnel, and George's family rushed to his side, the players were utterly despondent. Harden was doubled over in disbelief and disappointment at what had happened as he drove to the hoop. Other Team USA players stood with their heads in their hands, bearing expressions of concern as well as confoundment. Meanwhile, the leadership of USA Basketball realized this was just a basketball game and ended the exhibition early. Given George's injury, there was no need to finish the game.

The leadership was also due to announce their final roster decisions on Saturday, but they postponed such announcements indefinitely, as news of George's injury and probable prognosis started to trickle in. Athletes flooded Twitter with prayers and thoughts for George, and the basketball world stopped worrying about cuts and competition for a minute.

Hurt my stomach the moment I heard the news! I didn't want to believe it. Man I need u out there bro!… http://t.co/2ueciPRgtN
— LeBron James (@KingJames) August 2, 2014

While good ol' Mark Cuban exercised his right to free speech to suggest that the NBA needs to rethink a new model for their pros playing internationally, the Indiana Pacers (George's team) and the NBA Commissioner reiterated that this was an unfortunate accident and supported athletes' decisions to play for their countries in these competitions. It was neat to see such rallies of support for a player from all over, despite any rivalries on the court or competition for roster spots on a World Cup squad, alongside a nod to a player's desire to represent his country.

Finally, as the NFL inducted its newest Hall of Fame members this weekend, Buffalo Bills Wide Receiver Andre Reed treated the world to a beautiful moment. Reed gained great fame as half of a great dynamic duo with fellow Hall of Famer, Quarterback Jim Kelly. Kelly and Reed gave defenses fits with their precise short passing game, as Kelly zipped passes to Reed all over the field.

Kelly has reentered the news in recent years, despite being long retired, as he fights cancer. After receiving his diagnosis and having his cancer surgically removed, it recurred. Kelly underwent the usual intense treatments and is hopefully near a clean cancer-free scan again. Reed had Kelly up on stage during his HoF acceptance speech. He reminded listeners of the damage they did together on the football field : 12 + 83 (their jersey numbers) = 6 (points for a touchdown). And to commemorate the many times he had connected with Kelly in the passing game, he got Jim up from his seat and handed him a football.

Reed moved up the stage in a short pattern, and Jim threw him one more pass, a perfect strike. In a moment when Andre Reed stood next to a bronze bust of his head, a symbol of his football-earned immortality, he resisted the opportunity to give a lengthy, self-serving speech that gratified himself and honored few others. Instead, he recognized the teammate who helped him become great, and did so at a time when his friend was struggling. Far from a patronizing moment, Andre and Jim shared a genuine moment of friendship in a deep embrace on the Hall of Fame stage.

. @JimKellyInc to @Andre_Reed83 at the Hall of Fame had to have been one of the most pure moments in sports in awhile
— Patrick Kane (@88PKane) August 4, 2014

This hug - like the ones in baseball dugouts on Thursday - won't be their last. Sports bring people together in a way that few other things can. A group of people rallying around a common cause in support of another group of people can do amazing things. In sports, we love victory, loathe defeat, and rally behind people and stories that captivate us and uniquely unite us.

Our Church is the same way. There are times when the Church struggles, as we fail to live up to the calls of the Kingdom, whether in some of our priests' sexual abuse actions or in our own failures to live out our faith through regular prayer, worship, and service. But when we come together to pray and serve, when our leaders set the right example, we become capable of amazing things.

In these three moments, sports show us how moments of weakness and trial can become opportunities for us to be fully human and unite more closely with one another.

Great Expectations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Encourage the Storm 2.0

I last wrote about a parable and its bearing on the end of another year in ministry, and now I'm back to continue unpacking this next bit of the adventure.

Before I get to in depth into figuring out where this first full year of campus ministry has left me, God walked me down a different road. My faith formation director at graduate school suggested that I needed some personal renewal beyond the busy parameters of daily life in work, school, and social stuff. Though I told her I wasn't sure about the spiritual intensity of it, I was headed to Notre Dame Vision for Campus and Youth Ministers, in parallel with the 10 students I was bringing along to the high school conference.

The week was a solid combination of outstanding presenters, capable facilitators, and communal interactions. However, it was definitely not a retreat. People came and went as they pleased, many having been through the conference several times before. And the openness of the schedule left much to each participant's imagination.

I took a bunch of notes, gleaning wisdom from our speakers and discussions. I mixed and matched a bit at different tables during our sessions and meals, chatting with new friends and old. I went for a few morning runs. I even got surprised with an invite down to the stage to show an auditorium-full of teens and college students some old dance moves (bet my students did not see that coming).

One of the bonuses of heading the conference this particular summer is that a former student of mine, now a freshman at St. Mary's College, was serving as a mentor to the high school students. And she was giving her witness talk as part of one of the sessions. To get to see her in action, organizing games on the quad, shepherding her small group, and finally telling her story was pretty sweet. I shared with her how proud I was of her and kept some tabs on her while staying way out of her way. Oh and PS - she got in as a transfer to Notre Dame for next year! :)

What I didn't expect, beyond that, was seeing two of my former mentees from when I was a Vision mentor in 2010 and 2011, now serving as mentors themselves! I knew they were amazing people, and I was super excited and impressed when they got into Notre Dame. Now they were before me with name tags and polos, doing the job - the ministry - I had once gotten to do for them. As much as I loved and admired these kiddos already, it was pretty wild and beautiful to see them now in my shoes.

As I left campus, I left them my phone number to stay in touch. As I conquered the last few miles of my drive back into the city, one of them called with some fun news - the two of them would be partners in leading a small-group for the next week of Vision. Craycray awesome.

Even though the week didn't pack the punch of a silent retreat in a wilderness monastery, the alchemy of presentations (Mike Patin told us we need to make space for encounters with those we minister to), socializing (only with ministers would I end up at a bar 4 nights in a row!), and these surprises left me in a contented place.

I saw ten of my students from my school where campus ministry is but a budding niche take campus by storm and realize a fuller sense of what's possible in spiritual life. I saw a former student realize more of her amazing potential in leadership. I saw two of my former small-group members doing the same. And all the while thinking that some seeds fall on rocky soil and get scorched or eaten while others take root and grow.

In ministry, we have to find peace with doing the best we can to bring people to awareness of God's presence during the times we have with them. Then we have to trust the encounters to God and His other servants, spread all across parishes, schools, and communities throughout our Church. As a Vision mentor, I remember insisting to my often arrogant and always-having-high-expectations self to settle myself into a solid whole and let the members of my groups call out of me what they're needing. I had to convince myself to do my best for the five days God gave me with my kids and entrust the rest to the people who would come after me.

Now, as God is sometimes wont to do, He gave me a small moment of gratification with so many layers wrapped up together. Vision encourages participants to "encourage the storm," to bring all parts of their lives into the experience through activities, reflections, and discussions. My week at Vision happened in just that way. Those I've ministered to in my short time as a full-time minister came together in a beautiful gathering of Church, all to realize different things for themselves and to teach me different things:

• My student from last year showed me the amazing ways God's working through her gifts after my colleagues and I invested so much in forming her, and her forming us, at that high school.
• My mentees from when I mentored Vision showed me that the seeds I sowed in the more distant past were growing all along as others tilled the soil and harvested the emerging fruit.
• My current students stepped up to an opportunity that capped a first year of my effort's to put more invitations to bigger and better things in front of their spiritual noses. 

All the while, God kept His hands hard at work, not washing up and throwing a towel over His shoulder, but continuing to dwell among us to facilitate the ongoing encounters that keep building His Kingdom more and more. Surely, more grace in relationship is just around the corner, for grace never leaves us where she finds us. What a joy!

The Sower, The Seed, and a Garden

My first year as a full-time Campus Minister is over, and now I'm spending the mornings of my first week of summer by going to class for my part-time Masters in Theology. My class is on parables, and during our 5 days of in-person class, we are discussing and exegizing those stories of Jesus from the Gospels.

Sitting in class on the first morning, we dove straight into the Parable of the Sower. Our professor, a delightfully insightful Dominican sister, invited us to consider what we heard new. She wishes we could hear the parables for the first time and set aside the preconceptions we have since these parables are less than new to most of us, and she invites us to share our thoughts before simply feeding us her thoughts. Re-reading this parable, I gravitated to the seed that didn't take:

Other seed fell on rocky ground where it had little soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep. And when the sun rose, it was scorched and it withered for lack of roots.

Given that my program is a Masters in Biblical Ministry, I read the Bible and undertake this coursework looking for the real-life applications and connections to life, especially ministry. That line jumped out to me because it seemed to capture a lot about the situation I came into this year.

During college, when people would ask me about what I wanted to do and where I wanted to work, I would answer that I didn't think it was really for me to decide. Heading into a career of campus ministry, I felt like I had to go where there was a need for someone like me. In my first few years, I have been called to Ireland as a volunteer, to California for my first job as a teacher, coach, and minister, and now to Northwest Indiana as a full-time Campus Minister. After talking the talk, now I had to walk the walk of trying to minister when things were a bit tougher.

I came into a school with a new principal, new dean, and a new part-time chaplain (whereas they had barely had one before). I discovered a Region where budding, up-and-coming towns butt up against down-on-their-luck cities trying to sustain themselves, and the "east side" of Chicago that I didn't know existed. I came to a school where 1 in 5 students pay tuition with a government voucher. And I came to a school that didn't previously have a full-time Campus Minister, where teachers tended to campus ministries in spare time and students had never gone on overnight retreats.

With the help of a wonderfully capable chaplain and the support of an administration interested in developing a sturdy Catholic identity, Campus Ministry grew a lot in my first year at the school: the inauguration of Kairos, a new overnight Senior Retreat, a Student Ministry Team, pervasive student leadership opportunities, a new Chicago service-learning immersion, and lots of plans for Year Two.

It was largely about creating new opportunities, getting them rolling, and feeling out the student response in order to keep improving things. Along that road there were lots of realizations and obstacles.

Having never been on an overnight retreat, the seniors struggled mightily with attention span and vulnerability. Having never been asked to chaperone more than a day's field trip, teachers rarely volunteered to come on overnight retreats. Having not had a Student Ministry Team before, students weren't quite sure what to do. The atmosphere at our Masses was pretty strong, but the religious and spiritual literacy of the community was minimal.

My temptation sometimes was to be frustrated and disillusioned with the shallowness of response, in quantity or quality, to the things I tried. But repetition on retreat breeds comfort; personal invitations yield acceptances; and meeting after meeting developed a team with family camaraderie and real direction. And though I still don't get everything about the place, my patience and effort were helping me understand how to serve this community.

These are some of the things that led me to think of that soil in the parable. Soil isn't blamed for its character. Good soil becomes fertile because of its surroundings and the care given to it. Rocky soil results from a poor climate or neglect. If the soil has been rocky in my ministry here so far, it's not the fault of the people there. Teachers were stretched too thin to do full-scale campus ministries, and the students can't be expected to create it for themselves.

When I took World Christianity class as an undergrad, we studied Steve Bevan's models of contextual theology. I recalled these because Bevans used garden and gardener metaphors to explain them. I gravitated most to the "transcendental" model personally. In this model, one shares their faith by keeping their "garden" neat, tidy, and green; then when others see it, they'll want to emulate that and maybe even talk with the gardener about how to do it.

This is how I approach my personal faith, and it certainly bleeds into my ministry. I don't necessarily try to preach, convert, or persuade; I just go to Mass, maintain positive relationships, and try to be reflective and prayerful every day. In ministry, I try to do my best with what I can control; I try to plan and coordinate great retreats, recruit and train student leaders, write great prayers to share at gatherings and over the PA, etc.

Though I struggle with the overall impact that I may be having in students' spiritual lives, in the school on the whole, I feel that if I'm constantly trying to plant new seeds, care for the ones that are growing, and harvest the ones that have blossomed, then people will see and want to be involved.

I can't reach into the spirits of my students and community members to make the change I hope they'll realize. However, I can try to cultivate a lush, green garden in my corner of the community and have a blast doing it. Hopefully, I'm loving and serving well enough that people are attracted to the garden and want to help plant seeds, water flowers, and harvest fruit as well build the Kingdom!

In the coming weeks, I'm going to try to reflect further on some of the things that are popping up as I move from retrospect on Year One and into vision and ambitions for more Kingdom in Year Two... stay tuned!

Going Through A Phase

Yesterday at Mass, I really honed in on the Body and Blood of Christ, as our celebrant raised them up and called us to "behold." Often, a priest will break the main host into several wedge-shaped pieces and choose one to elevate; other times, the priest may break the main host just in half and overlap the pieces to make the classic/traditional mandorla shape. Yesterday, Fr. Peter just held up half of the big host, by itself.

I don't know if it's the fact that I'm generally a geek for astronomy and space, or that the day before my fiancee had treated me to an afternoon at the Adler Planetarium, but I immediately thought of my old friend, the lunar phases.

You see, when you look up at the sky and see the moon, most of the time, you rarely see the whole thing. You'll catch a sliver, maybe a half (actually called quarter moon), or maybe a bigger chunk. But when you see the moon, at whatever proportion, how do you know if it's getting bigger or smaller?

This moment for me was a reinforcement of the power of optimism and the importance of trying to see things from the right perspective. From my view, if the half-circle host was the moon, it'd be getting smaller, on its way to new moon, which is invisible to the naked eye; from his view, it'd be getting bigger, on its way to full moon, the brightest, most visible stage.

Sometimes we can get distracted from the good around us, in our lives, in our friends and family. We care less about what we have and what's going well; instead, we look for and focus on the things going wrong, the things we don't have, the things that could be going better.

One of the biggest changes in my life from this year to last is time. Last year, I worked a great job with plenty of after-hours demands - retreats, coaching (totally elective/optional), and general hangouts at work - but then I simply made the 8-minute drive to my apartment complex, complete with a nice apartment, pool/hottub a 1-minute walk away, and full weight room for my regular use. My "disposable" time was very much flexible toward exercise, reading, guitar-playing, Netflix-watching, and more.

This year, the work demands persist similarly, but now I make a 28-mile commute that piles up to over an hour's drive coming home. I'm a part-time graduate student, which requires going in for class about one night a week and keeping up with reading and papers. Now, I'm not long-distance with my fiancee, so we get to see each other most days rather than boxing Skype time into our days.

The only frustration I entertain is that for my commute, because its only saving grace to me is that it gets me to the job I think I'm called to work right now. I try to redeem it with phone calls to friends, but that only works on later drives home. Even as the commute drains my energy, even as homework looms when I'm tired and want to unwind, even as I decide I need to give up coaching for this part of my life, I fight back the temptations to be disappointed with my time.

Other than that, I regularly re-confront the reality that these are all good things. It's good to live 2 blocks from my fiancee rather than 2,000 miles. It's good to have a scholarship for graduate school to continue my formation and make me a better minister. It's good to have a job, period, let alone a job in which I have a relatively blank check to create Campus Ministry from the ground up. The commute can cramp my style, and the constraints of my current life my keep me away from coaching.

But things are pretty damn good! It's an invitation to be conscious and intentional about my time. It's a challenge to be patient and humble. And it's up to me to keep a steady rhythm of prayer and sacraments to keep that current flowing.

The moon in the sky is only visible to us in as much as it is reflecting the light of the sun based on its position relative to earth. When you look at the moon, if the light is on the left (shadow on the right), then it is waning, or shrinking; if the light is on the right (shadow on the left), then it is waxing, or growing. The moon has no light of its own but works to reflect the light of something greater.

From my priest's point of view, the host-as-the-moon was waxing. From where I sat, it was waning. From the side transepts, they may not have seen much at all. It's all a matter of perspective. God is present, but our viewpoints and the sight lines we create, or neglect to create, can help or hurt us in seeing His presence.

As my fiancee and I left Mass, I saw an old friend just outside the door who lived nearby but I failed to reconnect with in my year in Chicago so far. It was utterly delightful to see her again and trade numbers so we can catch up for real. And as we chatted, another friend from college tapped me on the shoulder to say hello and congratulate us on our engagement. A simple evening of Mass "waxed" the Body of Christ last night, not just in my heart through Word and Sacrament, but through loving encounters with old friends.

Is shadow growing more and more to overtake the Light in your life? Is the Light in your life waning or waxing? What phase is the brightness of Christ taking in your life right now?