Writing Must Be Gift: The Long and Oft-Learned Lesson

by Dan Masterton

Available April 2020!

My friend, Cari, and I have co-authored a book that is being published. With about 20 years’ campus ministry experience between us, we wrote Cultivating Faith: A Guide to Building Catholic High School Campus Ministry (available at NCEA.org). It's a basic, simple, practical resource on the structure and potential growth of Catholic high school campus ministry. Our hope is that it can be instructive for schools that are starting or re-starting their campus ministry and can also serve as a comparison point or recalibrator for schools with long-standing programs. The book is being published by the National Catholic Education Association (NCEA) and will be available at their website and at their conference and other major events.

* * *

Trying to become and be a writer has been a complex path. It sort of started with thinking, as a high schooler, that I wanted to study journalism in college. It evolved at college -- my work with the student newspaper and athletic department as well as my early classes in journalism helped me get experience with an activity I loved but a career and hustle I didn’t. It refiltered through a blossoming and sturdy love for theology and ministry and faith-sharing into a blog and an ill-fated first try at authoring a book. It's gone through fits and starts as I've tried to be more active in independent ministry and freelance writing, sometimes finding opportunities while also often coming up dry. There’s some interesting tensions and insights from walking this road.

For one, I’ve found a lot of tension with wondering how much energy to put into “getting myself out there.” People who become social media influencers, YouTube “stars,” and other well-known folks in the modern age, including in this sort of ministry, frequently only reach that level following a good deal of self-promotion. Even my favorite Chicago Cubs blogger, whose hustle is deeply admirable and whose work (and that of his writing team) is exemplary in quality and balance and tone, has only reached this level of reach through constant self-promotion -- plugging new posts, encouraging social media follows constantly, and even establishing cross-promotions as a partner brand/affiliate with others.

I’ve always struggled with this. Though naturally a fairly arrogant guy with a penchant for speaking with sharp conviction and coming off as a bit of a jackass, I have a tough time with being self-promotional. I believe what I’m writing is interesting and important and worth sharing, but I hesitate to amplify it. I certainly love when I get a new Twitter follow, when a post from the blog generates an above average level of engagement, or when people share my posts. But I’ve never found a comfort or proficiency with how, when, or even why to do it. My friend and former co-writer, Laura, taught me well when she signed on to the blog crew -- she explained that she was happy to write because she’d be sharing thoughts and reflections she was having anyway. That sort of indifference is the ideal mindset. Theological/spiritual/ministerial writing has to be gift, offered freely without expectation for whoever might come across it and how they might engage.

I’ve always had ideas about how to try to widen my reach in freelance ministry -- build this Facebook Page, cold-contact parishes about Theology on Tap engagements, suggest myself as a professional development speaker to my friends in Catholic education administration, etc. These are things that I have done and will do from time to time. However, the one real good, solid piece of advice that I got along the way was to find a platform.

The sought-after and desired writers, speakers, keynote-givers, formators, etc. are those people who are doing good work -- perhaps at a higher level and greater effectiveness than others though perhaps not -- and are doing so at a place or with an organization that is more widely known or has some sort of name-recognition. Their names and work are sort of organically “out there” by virtue of the community and/or position through which they minister, and the best arrangements proceed out of this kind of natural interconnectedness. These folks are getting the kind of ministerial engagement and dialogue I desired because they were serving the Church faithfully and connecting with others through the natural means of fellowship, community, and ministerial development within their fine work. How. Cool.

The problem for me with respect to this was that, just as I came to understand it clearly, my life focus was shifting into my new marriage and desire for children. As my wife, Katherine, and I were expecting our first child, we decided we wanted to avoid daycare, and I pursued a new arrangement that allowed me to be mostly a stay-at-home dad, working just enough to make a few bucks but not conflicting with my wife’s full-time schedule. It kept me active in ministry, but it left me less free time for writing. Instead, I had an exciting new, different, fuller plate with my daughter (and now, daughters). This invitation from God to being a faithful husband and father was not exclusive of writing and other ministry -- it instead invited me to put whatever aspirations I harbored for ministerial engagement on a smaller burner nearer the back of the stove.

I’ve found a real comfort, a definite peace, and an active joy in stay-at-home-dadding. As I’ve learned my girls’ ever-changing habits and created and revised routines, I’ve found where the nooks and crannies are for my self-care and self-sustenance. It means late-night stationary bike rides, early-morning (short) runs, and nap-time/quiet-time writing jags. In this constrained space, I’ve also found intentionality -- rather than trying to ramp up or widen my reach, I find my attention is on pursuing narrower, more specific opportunities that fit in these spaces and move me to focus well.

Through a friend’s referral, I was blessed to reconnect with Josh Noem, once the editor for FaithND and its daily Gospel reflections (of which I once wrote a few), and now the editor for Grotto Network -- a new online ministry geared toward Catholics and other spiritually curious folks who need some prevangelization before maybe digging deeper into their faith and/or religion. Learning to craft my ideas in dialogue with the needs of a defined audience and the known interests of those who are searching has pushed me to grow a lot as a writer. And Josh’s informed and compassionate editing has helped me understand how to present ideas more effectively. It has meant less original content on my blog but has also invited me into a platform where a diverse slate of writers and an intriguing pool of readers can engage with spirituality and thoughtful living anew.

And this brings me back to the matter of this book. The influence of my old bosses got this ball rolling. While working at St. Benedict Prep in Chicago, I came to appreciate and understand the importance of professional development. Rachel Gemo and Erika Mickelburgh were thoughtful about offering us regular opportunities to stay fresh and grow as professionals, both through on-site programs (that came through students’ days off or early dismissals rather than as tack-on’s to busy school days!) as well as funding for external opportunities -- for instance, my professional money one year funded my educational immersion in Uganda with Catholic Relief Services. During my last year there, Erika and Rachel encouraged us to consider attending the following year’s NCEA conference in Chicago and even to consider applying to present. I took that nudge: I repackaged a student program for designing, implementing, and directing a retreat into a presentation and applied for the conference. I was accepted and given a seminar slot.

I had no idea what to expect. Thousands attend this conference. The menu of seminars offered was vast, and I felt like an insignificant tiny speck in a loaded program. But I also knew that with so many attendees, there was bound to be specialized folks around and administrators looking to check into a lot of different areas. What I got was a room of about 25-30 people from different parts of the country and different levels of school staff and leadership. What did my heart well wasn’t just the attentive listening -- it was the thoughtful questions afterward and, even moreso, those who stayed to talk more.

One of those kind souls was Cari White, from St. Edward in Cleveland, who initiated a great conversation with me about her school and their campus ministry. Over her years of PD, she has tried to build a network of campus ministers and theology teachers (rather successfully, I’d say!), and there’s a Facebook group with 150+ people going strong that also meets up in person at conferences like this. Cari mentioned that she had engaged with NCEA on perhaps writing a book for campus ministers, sort of a survival guide to help them figure out how to operate or even get started. We traded email addresses, and I was pretty fired up walking back to the train ride home.

I pestered her over email during the following weeks. Pretty soon, we were outlining a table of contents, then chapters, and then a whole book, somehow becoming friends and collaborators despite having only met in person once. Cari had carefully laid great groundwork and graciously invited me into it. She even welcomed my imposing editing. What we ended up with is a nifty 100-page kit to seed new campus ministries, and now with cover art approved, inside design finished, and publication on the horizon, we’re excited to share the work coinciding with the NCEA (now-online) Conference this year.

* * *

If I ever had the gall to write a spiritual memoir, one motif I’d hopefully be able to highlight is God’s perennial invitation to me to surrender -- to surrender my desire for control and order to the spontaneous love of my goofball children; to surrender my longing to structure our family budget and finances to be in that perfect sweet spot and instead practice more relaxed diligence and trust; and in writing, to surrender the intermittent aspirations for wider exposure and greater opportunity in favor of those opportunities which come through simpler, faithful living.

My platforms in ministry have never been ones of wide reach or major name recognition. So much of campus ministry is a slow burn of constant invitation and opportunity for young people. And when you can do big things like border-trip immersions or international pilgrimage, the greatest impact lies in the future realizations that experience say seed, perhaps so many years down the line that you will never witness it in your former students.

In writing, God’s invitation for me is one of surrender -- not to worry about how a job opportunity or career path or twist or turn of life may hamper or improve my chance to continue writing. Instead, God invites me to faithfully live my multiple vocations as husband/father and pastoral minister/writer. In that faithful living, when I relax and follow my creativity and spirituality with honesty and authenticity, that is when I make the connections and find the opportunities to write, share, and engage. And the invitation continues to be to that more focused life of fidelity. It’s there that I’m advised to find a platform, to pursue professional development and share my expertise and experience, to collaborate with a like-minded and self-starting colleague, and to share a part of myself I didn’t think I’d get to share in a way I never imagined sharing that ends up carrying forward this part of my call. I pray our work in this book makes some impact for faithful ministers in our Catholic high schools, with whom I’d love to engage, and may the Holy Spirit continue to cultivate and build this part of me and continue forming me into who God made me to be.

Published at Grotto Network: 5 Tips for Using Trivia Night to Build Community

by Dan Masterton

Shout out to my old crew, the undeniably smart, clever, and boneheaded team of Andy Dick Tracy Morgan Freeman -- once all bound up in Chicago, now scattered across the country.

Trivia night at the bar is perhaps seen as something only for nerds, over-competitive gym class heroes, or people who are an intolerable mix of both. On the contrary, trivia night is surprisingly accessible, pretty low-pressure in most cases, and a heckuva fun way to have a snack and drink out on a weeknight.

A few years after I moved back home to Chicago, one of my best friends from college moved to Chicago, too. One night, he invited me out to a night of bar trivia. I was excited.

I love trivia. I used to play with my parents and their friends when I came home for visits and always wished I had a team of my own. Here was my invitation. But it was with a bunch of guys I didn’t know very well. Wanting to reconnect with my old friend and have an excuse to see him every week, I decided to jump in.

It was a great decision.

To continue reading, click through to the full article at Grotto Network, and journey onward through their website for tons of great reads on a wide range of intriguing topics.

Published at Grotto Network: 3 Differences Between Joy and Happiness

by Dan Masterton

Over these many years of learning to discern in great conversations with friends, others have taught me the distinction between joy and happiness. It's something you have to learn and relearn to continue understanding better and better. I have a little of a handle on it by now:

Happiness is good, but it’s not the end-all, be-all.

I can think of plenty of times when I feel happy. I’m happy when my favorite teams win, like a Chicago Cubs victory. I’m happy when I enjoy a favorite meal — like a fine Chipotle burrito. I’m happy when I get a restful, solid night’s sleep. There’s nothing wrong with feeling happy! 

The potential problem is if I stake my whole welfare on these types of things. What if the Cubs and my other favorite teams lose? What if I’m traveling or staying somewhere where my favorite foods are unavailable? What if I need to stay up late or get up early for some important reason? My happiness potentially decreases in these circumstances. If my life is too dependent on finding happiness from such externals, then things can get rocky. There’s some conventional wisdom that suggests the purpose of life is to be happy, but this is risky business.

Continue reading over at Grotto Network, and I definitely recommend tossing them into your social feeds on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

Ten Years of Blogging

by Dan Masterton

Just over ten years ago, I set up a Blogger profile and started my first post like this:

“So by the inspiration of the wonderful Michele Monk, I am going to periodically bare parts of my soul on a blog, offering honest restatements of the reflections I do in prayer -- both to more firmly grasp what God is leading me to and to share thoughts with others that may need to hear them for inspiration or fellowship.”

So first off, thanks, Michele, and my ol’ Folk Choir Emmaus faith-sharing group, for seeding what’s become ten years of fairly steady writing. Turns out theology and ministry are a pretty serious thing for me, and this all sort of started as we were all circled up in the family room of Jess’ Campus Ministry intern house. (Though, I don’t know that the idealistic way I introduced this blogging ministry would closely describe all that it became.)

I learned pretty early on that this kind of writing has to be for its own sake. As appealing and alluring as page-clicks and analytic stats can be, if something is going to be pastoral, it has to be actually pastoral. I started writing to externally process and offer thoughts openly to folks who are looking for something to chew on. Temptation to contrive something more widely appealing or even to trivially pursue “going viral” always lurk. Most of the time, I’ve been able to kick that aside.

The thing that always kept me going, even when the gaps between posts would grow longer, was the affirmations -- I didn’t write just to receive them, but it ignited my reflection to know there were partners in that spiritual dialogue. Likes and comments were one thing, but the random comments from friends I’d run into at mutual friends’ weddings, from family members who saw Facebook links and clicked to read, and more -- they always surprised me and nudged me to move forward. In ministry, I think that you strive for faithfulness, not success, to do earnest, quality work for whoever engages with it rather than needing to draw big numbers. These comments, even if occasional and sparse, were the fuel in my tank. Thank you to all of you who ever gave me a pat on the back or offered thoughtful feedback to something I wrote.

Building on all of your encouragement, I tried to find a voice, moving on from the Catholic Disney World of Notre Dame and the engagement of undergraduate theology studies into an adult lived faith and a professional ministry career. My intention was always to write in a way that acknowledged and embraced my academic background but never to write as an academic -- and I don’t think academics would mistake my posts for that! I always wanted to write like a friend sitting at the table with you, trying to have an earnest conversation about living a life of faith.

In this vein, I tried to invite people into the conversation. I dragged many of you into liking another Facebook Page. I invited many of you to write guest posts as part of “the72.” Approaching the 2016 election, I wanted to brighten the spotlight on Catholic Social Teaching and tried to form our voter-consciences with #MoreThanRedAndBlue. And, of course, some of the more foolish among us even joined the crew during the years that this blog became “The Restless Hearts.” To all of you who have contributed to the blog, you wrote and shared amazing things.

But along the way, the road isn’t always smooth. Back in 2010, I tried to build on my first six months of blogging by writing a short book, capturing the spiritual essence of my posts in a deeper dive into what a 21-year-old’s spirituality looked like. Then, when I opened my computer to write during a five-hour train ride from London to Edinburgh, I saw a blank grey screen with a flashing question-mark folder. My hard drive, which I hadn’t backed up in six weeks, crashed, and took my 50-page first draft with it. Many hours of writing that I had done up and down the UK disappeared, and I wondered if in trying to write a book I had attempted a fool’s errand. I decided to keep writing, and I’m glad I did. Further confirmation came at my college graduation party -- my best friend got all the posts I had written so far published in a one-off hard-cover book. And in response to my doubts about writing and losing my book, he told me, “You’ve already written one.” Thank you, Tim.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been strongly drawn to the opportunity to give talks and engage with an audience more deeply on a topic. Even beyond posting a piece, at a talk, you get to then do some Q&A and have live, immediate conversation on the topic with people. In 2016, I got to give four talks about #MoreThanRedAndBlue that were a lot of fun -- nice crowds of like 15-25 people who were great listeners, laughed at a few dumb jokes, and asked great questions and gave great input. Then a funny thing happened -- even as I tried to network, cold email people, or look around, I couldn’t get another talk booked anywhere. Zero in 2017. Zero in 2018. Again, I doubted whether I should pursue it at all. Then in 2019, I got two unsolicited invitations and gave two new talks to two new great little groups. It was a definite opportunity to become regrounded. Fidelity not success. Doing good work with the opportunities that present themselves. It reinforced that when I welcome the work that comes before me that I do my best work and have the best faithful engagements with people.

In a few waves, I decided to invite other writers on to a newly formed Restless Hearts team. I remained the lead for the blog and tried to guide our group in setting a schedule, reviewing posts with group feedback, and even trying our hand at writing in series. At some points, I think our work became wonderfully cohesive and more potent and polished for our collegiality. At other times, I think my reticence to push too much structure or excessive expectations on the team made us a bit lax. Luckily, the quality of the people led to great pieces, and the blog archives are home to a bevy of fine work by a group of six wonderfully talented writers and people of faith. To Jenny, Rob, Dave, Laura, Erin, and Tim, I know I was a thoroughly imperfect, spotty editor and team lead, but I have a lot of gratitude for your work, appreciation for your respect and teamwork, and admiration for your humility and wisdom.

Finally, the last two and a half years, including the birth of my second child this September, have challenged my time management more than any other part of my life. High school extracurriculars, undergrad studies and social life, full-time jobs, and part-time grad work never quite challenged my handle on my time the way marriage and family life have. Whereas in these other eras, I was just managing tasks and time outlays, marriage and family life are instead a life change, a complete reframing of the question and the answer. They can’t and don’t have finite time frames attached to them. Instead, building and sustaining a strong marriage and attentively and lovingly raising kids are 24/7/365 attitudes that invite and require constant communication and focus. The suffusive energy a good father and husband needs to have necessarily changes the whole equation of whatever “time management” may have previously involved. As such, I continue writing, but I can’t insist upon the sorts of steadiness and structure I might have previously sought. And that’s a blessing I’ve wrestled with and have come to appreciate.



So, ten years in, it altogether points me to stay grounded. And write when I have something to write.

First and foremost, my work in pastoral ministry, both in everyday life and at my computer, has taught me to sprinkle in a little initiative but to mostly take it as it comes. The various projects and new ideas I’ve pursued and tried have all been fun and instructive in their own ways. I’ll keep trying to be creative here and there, but I’m not going to press. I’m a writer and minister, not an entrepreneur; I’m an offer-er, not a self-promoter. Faithfulness comes in surrender, in humble acceptance of God’s will. That’s gotta be the operative attitude.

In different, small ways, I’ve been blessed to share my writing on wider scales, and to realize some hopes and desires in reaching and engaging wider audiences. I’m grateful to have written at a handful of places, most recently at Grotto Network, where I’ve matched with an impeccable editor and get the chance to contribute bits of pre-evangelization to a robust and prophetic online ministry. I was delighted to make a modest presentation at a national conference this past spring where I connected with some great campus ministers from across the country, and now I may yet have another chance to write a book that’s very much worth writing (stay tuned!). But the common element to each of these joys is that they came with little agitation or consternation on my part, but, rather, gentle outreach -- taking connections as they came and trying to do modest, humble work with the great people before me.

That’s where ten years of writing has brought me. I hope these are the ideals that fuel the next ten years of writing, and that years 11-20 have more, new lessons to bring as well.

Most importantly, thanks for catching on at some point during these past ten years. Please keep walking with me and sharing your thoughts when you can. Our dialogue is what carries me forward.

Published at Grotto Network: How I Made New Friends after College

by Dan Masterton

I continue to have the opportunity to write with Grotto Network, a great new site where folks can find a diverse slate of articles about a lot of lifestyle and spiritual matters, written from a thoughtful and faithful perspective. Their website is great; they offer an email newsletter via a form on their homepage; and their social media presence is charming and impeccably pleasant in the midst of mixed social feeds on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

This article is some little thoughts on how I (try to) make friends in a post-grad world:

I started my current job with the usual new employee orientation. That day, I talked briefly with another new hire, and I quickly learned we had a lot in common, even mutual friends. As the year unfolded, I knew I wanted to be friends with her but could sense myself being awkward about it.

To make plans outside of work, I need a way to contact her that isn’t a work email, I thought. But for some reason, I was hesitant to just offer to trade numbers and suggest plans for us and our significant others. Why was I treating this like asking a high school crush to prom?

Simple — because adult friendships are hard.

To continue reading, check out the full article at Grotto Network and surf around their site for more great reads.

Published at Jesuits.org: How Ignatian Indifference Helped Me Realize I Had to Leave a Dream Job

by Dan Masterton

Today, Jesuits.org published a piece I wrote about how some elements of Ignatian spirituality ironically helped me discern to leave a dream job at a Jesuit institution. This is a testament to the Jesuit charism and how it animates the institutions and communities where it flows.

For many years, I dreamed about working in a Cristo Rey Network school. Then, last summer, the right job came open at the right time. I applied, interviewed, and was invited to work in campus ministry at Cristo Rey Jesuit High School in Chicago. The job was a dream come true, with one caveat. I’m a (mostly) stay-at-home dad who works part-time to make a little extra money but I’m focused primarily on my daughters, Lucy and Cecilia, and our family home life. 

After Lucy was born, I returned to the same job with the same students, just in reduced hours; here, I’d be starting in a part-time role at a new school. This is a difference I underestimated.

This is a testament to the folks I worked with for my brief time at Cristo Rey and a hearken back to fine friends who first subsumed me into Jesuit spirituality, especially Jimmy, Steph, Dave, and Erin.

Read the full piece at Jesuits.org!

Decided Love Grows Naturally

by Dan Masterton

I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but I know that my outlook toward falling in love changed when I realized that love perfects as a decision. It's something you hear (hopefully) from friends or older family members. It's not something you quickly understand or immediately make much sense of. But when you get it, it transforms the superficial romance and movie-narrative conceptions you might have otherwise carried.

To put it simply, I'd say love perfects as a decision when you realize what unconditional love actually means and what it really is. You know it means loving someone without putting any criteria to that love. You need to learn and realize the meaning of that and how to do it. Generally speaking, love is deciding to care for and accompany someone all the time no matter what. It means that you don't depend on positive emotions and the times when you feel affectionate toward someone to treat them lovingly. Even if you don't have butterflies in your stomach about someone, and especially when you're feeling actively frustrated with them, real, full, true love cares for that person nonetheless. It doesn't mean that love is emotionless and cold -- just the opposite: it means that the power of the heart's feelings is coupled with the strength of its decision.

In order to enter into a serious romantic relationship that has the potential for marriage and family, you really have to dig into this distinction. You have to know and believe that this is true love and that you can and will decide to love your spouse in this manner for as long as you both will live.

One way my wife, Katherine, and I talked about it during the earlier days of our relationship -- and a way we know is true still now -- is that this level of love means that you will give and receive the greatest love either of you will ever experience as well as give and receive the greatest level of hurt you may ever experience. The reason this is possible and true is that this sort of complete love means a level of vulnerability with one another that is deeper and fuller and steadier than anywhere else in your life. By deciding to love each other in this way, you cultivate a relationship that becomes the exemplar for all other areas of relationship in your life, including your relationship with God.

Though it may seem dark, acknowledging the capacity to hurt as well as to love brings clarity to the marriage. And it actually strengthens our ability and desire to maximize love and minimize hurt. We mutually dedicate great attentiveness to one another, and strive to be as sensitive as possible to each other's needs and desires. That sort of reality and dedication gives our marriage and family life the backbone it needs. It doesn't mean we're perfect, but it does make us more steadily faithful to loving well.

8 years later, not much has changed.
Oh, well, kids. We have kids now.

I think it's this foundation that made our desire to have kids and grow our family simpler and sort of easier. Certainly, we both felt called to parenthood, and I discerned marriage to Katherine in part because I saw the God-given gifts of an extraordinary mother present in her. Even more, though, I think our approach toward love and relationship predisposed me to have space already made for kids in my heart and in my outlook.

My heart already learned to love -- largely from Katherine, from my mom, and from my dad and wider family -- in a way that acknowledges the capacity for (hopefully minimal) hurt as well as (hopefully great) love. I know that if I'm doing this right, my life will overflow with love. If I am vulnerable to God in my prayer and my living, if I am vulnerable to Katherine in our married life, then my relationships should all flow out in this same fashion of good and complete love.

So, when it came to taking the plunge into trying to start a family, it didn't feel like new space had to be made. It didn't feel like drastic change was necessary. It just felt like this capacity to love (and to hurt) would gain a new primary relationship. And since love is not a zero sum idea, it didn't mean any love was lost in my life, or that something extraordinary was required to restructure my heart. It meant that the way my relationship with God and Katherine continued would now envelop a new little one. It just felt like a simple and natural reshaping of this sturdy circle of love.

Waiting for a fourth holy handprint
to join our family canvas.

Surely, some people would read this and easily criticize the lack of practicality. What about diapers, cribs, clothes, bottles, health-care bills, room in your home, etc.!? All fair. But I believed before our first daughter, Lucy, was born, and I believe now as our second daughter is about to arrive, that this wide, deep, strong foundation of love disposes the heart, mind, and soul to attend to all of those logistics faithfully. You may not anticipate them all as well as you'd hope; you may not handle them all as smoothly as you'd like; you will triage and discern and act effectively if you keep focused on this foundation of love and fidelity.

A few weeks from now, I will hopefully be piss-ass exhausted from several consecutive nights of taking the middle-of-the-night feed with this little girl -- and God knows my wife will have traded full-time work for maternity leave at home yet be even more tired than when working -- and from the daily life of a family of four. And I will be happy. I will be tired and aching and bleary, and I will be loved and loving.