The Gentle Power of Easter

The life, passion, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ are both an historical reality and a profound mystery. Much about the details of his life are simply lost to history. They were not recorded and not remembered. Specific incidents and statements were recalled by his followers, certainly topped by the mere fact of his resurrection (which they clearly never expected to really occur). But the vast majority of his life experiences are not available to be covered by a biopic on the History Channel, and he is not available for a sit-down interview with the latest TV personality. Try as we might, details are lacking.

Some may wish to know, for example, how he spent his early youth and what he was doing during his twenties. Others might be interested in finding out what it was like to be part of the crowd that listened to him speak, whether in a synagogue, on a noisy hillside covered with people, or next to a lakeshore as he preached from a boat anchored a little way off. Did he shout, sing, laugh, or tease? What was it like to walk with him on the road. (He did a lot of walking.) Was he happy, morose, serious, relaxed, or driven? Could he “connect” to people easily or was he relatively distant, despite his really good stories?

It’s good to acknowledge these sorts of curiosities, because they are the ones that shape our contemporary mode of preferred knowledge about individuals. We would like to know personal details because personal details bring someone closer to us, apparently, than if they were “merely” an historical figure who is vaguely known and vaguely remembered. And this would probably be true almost all historical personalities outside of our immediate experience.

The difference in the case of Jesus, it seems to me, is the impossibly consistent unity of perspective and content regarding who he was and what he did. Except for easily debunked outliers who give a quaint but strange picture of what Jesus “must have been like” or “probably did and said”, the vast bulk of written works about his life (e.g., Scripture scholars), his thought (e.g., theologians of all stripes), and his impact (e.g., all serious Christians) are remarkable consistent and uniquely impressive. Here was someone who in three years, or perhaps longer, was able to launch a movement that changed the world, and it was a movement whose substance centered around himself. For anyone else, such a thing would be ultimately empty, practically unsustainable, and more than a bit suspect. Yet in the case of Jesus, his followers, his message, his remembered and recorded words and actions, his very real and living spirit evident in those who unite their words and actions with him, and his daily transformative effect on real people who look to him for guidance and sustenance; these are all things that remain as miraculous and transformative as the apostles standing on the rooftops at Pentecost proclaiming the Gospel to the multi-lingual multitudes below them. Each Christian’s story is unique. Each Christian’s story is a very real and alive thing. Each Christian’s story is profoundly personal (potentially), for whom a whole new world stands open to be encountered. Each Christian is to be another Christ.

Therefore, during this Holy Week it is good to “see the point” of what we celebrate, recall, and make present. It is good to enter into the depths of what we find ourselves called to do as followers of Jesus Christ. And it is good to make our own the resurrection that gives life itself its transformative potential.

Saint Joseph - Patron of the Institute

The church celebrates the Feast of Saint Joseph on March 19th. Among Lasallians, he is held in special esteem because of his position at Patron and Protector of the Institute. De La Salle writes about him: "The Gospel makes us admire in Saint Joseph the care he had for the holy Child Jesus…You must have a similar great attention and affection for preserving or procuring the innocence of the children entrusted to your guidance…For you have been made responsible for these children just as Saint Joseph was made responsible by God for the Savior of the world." The very first seal of the Institute bore witness to this statement, bearing an image of Saint Joseph holding hands with a young Jesus.

For many Christians, St. Joseph remains a minor character in the lineup of saints, largely because we know so little about him. It’s as if he is a fictional or mythical character, communicating a strong but relatively hazy impression. “Oh yes, Odysseus. Wasn’t he the guy who fought that one-eyed monster?” “Oh yes, St. Joseph. Wasn’t he the father – well, sort of – of Jesus?”

Schools and institutions bear his name, but I doubt that most people ever really think about him and his role in the life of Jesus. Indeed there are precious few references to St. Joseph in the bible. But those that we have are quite impressive.

Here is someone who cares for Mary enough to marry her, despite the fact that she was “with child.” In his place, most of us would have doubted Mary’s story. Yet Joseph knew Mary, respected her, loved her, and trusted that she spoke the truth. That takes real, grounded faith.

Here is someone who pays attention to all of the ways that God communicates to us, including through dreams. Because of his trust in God, he marries Mary and later takes his family into Egypt in order to safeguard the child and mother, eventually returning to Nazareth and carrying on as if nothing special had happened. That takes real, grounded faith, humility and hope.

Here is someone who raises Jesus as any father at that time might, taking him to synagogue, teaching him about life and relationships and carpentry, having both casual and formal conversations on a host of topics, and generally shaping the boy’s personality and moral character. That takes real, grounded faith, humility, hope and the special charity of parents.

We associate Saint Joseph with goodness, watchful care, faithful service to God, a loving presence, and quietly working in the background of the greater drama about to unfold. When I think of him, I think of someone who is significantly older than Mary (not uncommon in those days) and cares for her out of a growing love and respect. For some years, he walked a lot beside a donkey (to Bethlehem and then to Egypt and back to Nazareth) and made all of the practical arrangements of life (places to stay, means of income, etc.). During the formative years of Jesus, he was the model of what “father” came to mean for him. Joseph played a significant role in providing the foundational experiences that developed how Jesus came to understand who God was and how God meant for all of us to know and love him. “Father” became “Abba”.

Many years ago I asked a holy priest how Jesus came to know that he was God’s Son. The priest thought about it for a minute and then said: “I suppose that he came to know that he was God in the same way that you and I come to know that we are a person.” In other words, it is a growing awareness, fed by reflection, experience, and prayer, which brings someone to a deeper understanding of who they are, or who they are meant to be. This was the experience of Mary, of Joseph, of Jesus, and of each one of us.

This deepening process of awareness doesn’t stop but is fed daily by what we do, say, think, and pray; something worth keeping in mind as we enter Holy Week. If this was true of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it can certainly be true of us. (Emphasis on can be.)

The New Pope Francis I

(NOTE: I have not been adding posts here for some time because of a switch in responsibilities. However, those who wish to "catch up" may do so through the reflections that I have been including in my weekly contribution to the SJI International, Singapore, newsletters. They are at the very end of the newsletter, usually. Link is HERE.)

The occasion of the election of a new pope permits a more general reflection about the Church. This is a time when many people around the world, especially Catholics, are polishing their hope and refreshing their faith, all based on the choice of one 76-year-old Argentinian bishop (of Rome). It’s probably true to say that never has so much hope been placed upon so few – namely, one – by so many.

Perhaps it’s the drama of the whole thing. The lofty space of Saint Peter’s Basilica (in Rome, of all places), the music and processions, the Michelangelo frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, the technological scrutiny of preventing electronic eaves-dropping (not a tweet from inside), the one-man-one-vote system in place since the beginning, the quaint practice of burning the ballots and having white or black smoke as an early-warning system, the spectacle of 70,000 faithful gathered in the square to greet, en masse, a small, humble, be-speckled, and rather calm figure in white on a balcony, surrounded by red-draped cardinals happily smiling because they dodged a life-long bullet, and the millions watching on the internet or the television and wondering what this will mean for themselves, if anything.

The pope’s election has become a worldwide theatrical event, perhaps because it marks a rather simple and profound reality; i.e., that a little group of followers from Palestine who came to know God in Jesus have persisted and grown, undiminished and unperturbed – although frequently and justifiably as candidates for immediate dismissal and abandonment – for over 2000 years. Something interesting is going on here. I don’t know of any other group in history that marks such a direct line of succession within a continuous and unbroken organizational framework. The miracle is that it has survived at all.

The fact that this Pope Francis I is a Jesuit is another unexpected aspect of this selection. The Jesuits were founded to do as the pope wished for the good of the church. They eventually became so powerful that the head of the Jesuits was popularly called the “black pope” because of the black cassock that he wore, in contrast to the white cassock that the pope has worn ever since the time that there was a Dominican pope, and for the power that he wielded in all the corners of the earth. Now we have a “black pope” representative who has become the white pope (and notice how simple Pope Francis looked in white, without all the ornate garments available to him). The whole thing will probably bring a boost in Jesuit vocations, and St. Ignatius of Loyola must be thinking in heaven, “Well would you look at that?”

But back on the ground, it may be helpful to share a fine quotation from Ronald Rolheiser about the church that keeps us grounded. He writes in The Holy Longing: “To be connected with the church is to be associated with scoundrels, warmongers, fakes… and hypocrites of every description. It also, at the same time, identifies you with saints and the finest persons of heroic soul within every time, country, race, and gender. To be a member of the church is to carry the mantle of both the worst sin and the finest heroism of soul … because the church always looks exactly as it looked at the original crucifixion, God hung among thieves.” (Pg. 128)

That’s a good thought as we enter into the Easter Season and the start of a new papacy. Despite the difficulties and challenges that surround us, God remains in the middle.

Leaving Your Cell Phone Behind

Today I left my mobile phone in my room at the Brothers’ house. It was only towards the middle of the day that I became aware of the fact, probably because in the midst of an otherwise busy day there seemed to be something noticeable through its absence. It’s as if you walked into your home and vaguely thought that something was out of place or missing, although it was not until you started to look around that you found out just exactly what it was.

There are so many things that we take for granted on a regular basis that it pays to lose something for a while. Sometimes these are tangible things such as phones or vehicles or entertainment systems. These things are on a level of awareness that strikes us immediately and fairly head on. We miss them, but we adapt quickly because we know that they are or could be available again.

There are other things that we only know as having been taken for granted when they are irretrievably lost. These tend to be the more intangible things, many of which involve some sort of relationship. We lose our parents, or siblings, or favorite relatives and friends, or even pets. One phrase has it that when we lose a person, we lose a library. Indeed that is true, and more than a library. Our web of connections is altered and our personal universe has to readjust to rebalance its suns and moons and stars. Our faith may be quite strong and supportive, but the reality of loss remains, carried as part of our stage scenery, usually unnoticed but ever present.

Lastly, there are those things that we don’t know we would miss and therefore take most for granted. These are things that others might think of as silly things to take for granted such as gravity, trust, hope, a sense of humour, the ability to love, daily sun light, and language. These are foundation stones of our lives and our joys, the reasons behind our ability to live. It would be nice to occasionally try to spell them out and hold them up to the light for full appreciation.

It’s in looking back that much of this is often brought to mind. Years ago, I read something by Don Herold (1889-1966) that was originally published in a 1953 Reader’s Digest magazine. Part of it will suffice to provide a sample of the list that each of us might make for ourselves:

“If I had my life to live over, I would try to make more mistakes. I would relax. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I know of very few things that I would take seriously. I would be less hygienic. I would go more places. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less bran. I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary troubles. ... I never go anywhere without a thermometer, a gargle, a raincoat and a parachute. If I had it to do over, I would travel lighter…. I would seek out more teachers who inspire relaxation and fun. I had a few of them, fortunately, and I figure it was they who kept me from going entirely to the dogs. From them I learned how to gather what few scraggly daisies I have gathered along life's cindery pathway.”

Allow me to add that my personal list would probably include “I would leave my mobile phone behind more often.”

Knowing When and Doing So

When you read this, we will be without a pope. To some this will make little difference. To others it may be disconcerting, but there is the anticipated mystery of a new pope. To everyone, it should be amazing that one man’s decision changes the way we think about the Church. No longer can we assume that popes remain in that position until death, the odd abdication cases in the last couple of millennia non-withstanding. Not only is it possible, it’s happening.

Years ago, the pope was never sick until he was dead. The Vatican simply didn’t let people know if the pope was ill, because of the perceived impact that might have on the faithful. All of that changed with JP II, who was very publicly ill and for a very long time, with several hospital stays that were well covered by the press. The fact of human illness, suffering, and the debilitations of age were there for all to see. Many thought it was a foolish attempt to soldier on. He saw it as part of his role to remain faithful and be a model for all those who suffer similarly. And those close to him insisted that his mind remained very sharp even as his body declined, which I’m sure made the suffering all the more acute. At the end of his papacy, the whole world knew that even popes suffer and decline. We became ready for the notion that perhaps popes need not serve to the very end of their lives.

Then, Pope Benedict’s decision came quietly, almost as a matter of course. We are startled by the decision, but we are not dismayed. The move is very unexpected and rare, but it gradually seems to be a courageous thing to do and it makes sense. Who knows how the precedent will play out in the future (disaffected people marching on St. Peter’s square carrying signs of “Resign Now”?). All we can say is that at this time and in these circumstances, it’s okay. Significantly, he made the announcement at a normal meeting with the cardinals of the Vatican. No PR blitz, no major press conference, no fuss. It’s only the listeners who are blown away. (If you watch the video clip of his announcement, watch the eye movements of the bishop seated on the right side of the frame. It’s clear that he didn’t know a thing about it.) If only the proclamation of the Gospel had that kind of effect on people.

People now worry about having two popes and the protocol mess that could ensue. (Will the cardinal announcing the results of the new election from the balcony have to say “Habemus secundus papa”?) All the speculation is just silly, of course. The opposite to a protocol mess is more likely to be true. It takes one to know one, and BXVI will undoubtedly be as unseen and quiet as possible, supporting with sympathy, encouragement, and prayer the person who next wears the white.  It’s the same as when you see someone (first-time mother, newbie in business, new student in class, etc.) who is suddenly placed in a position that you remember quite well. Intuitively, you know what will help and what will hurt. It’s my guess that a former pope has developed habits of generosity and wisdom that will easily come to the fore. Would that we would all do the same.

So all of this is a good thing, and Benedict XVI will have taught us with his own actions, just as JP II did with his, what it means to have integrity and faith. Saints down the ages show us that holiness manifests itself in absolutely unique ways. No people are fully alike, and the saints are really not alike. That’s holiness, or wholeness, in a well lived life. Integrity and faith may not lead us to a balcony, but they will lead to our real and best selves.

Chinese New Year Celebration & Lent

At the risk of proving my limitations, this weekend’s and next week’s events deserve reflection. Not only is Chinese New Year a major celebration, but for many Christians the week will be marked by Ash Wednesday and the beginning of the Season of Lent, which leads to Easter. The fine thing about these two events – one cultural, one religious – is that they both draw on the notions of something starting anew, something cultivating hope, something that celebrates a cycle of life that lies ahead.

Chinese New Year is largely a mystery to me because it lies entirely outside of my cultural experience, visits to San Francisco’s Chinatown non-withstanding. But in my short time here in Singapore, I’ve learned a bit about the significance of the lunar New Year in Chinese culture. Just today I was told that the reason for the gifts of oranges is because they are sweet and are colored like gold, symbolizing prosperity and success. And it’s very clear to anyone walking around on Orchard Road or anywhere else that the colors of red and gold are colors of celebration. Family, food, and festivities are the order of the day. One person even tried to be helpful to me by comparing CNY to Thanksgiving in the U.S. It’s not the same thing, but I appreciate the reference.

What stands out to me is that Chinese New Year embodies and lives out the real priorities of our lives. As people go to their reunion dinners, whether at home (7-11 advertised some 88 dishes available for catering) or in a restaurant (nothing can now be booked from coast to coast), with batch-mates or friends or family, they reconnect with the people and the food that shouts “home” with fire-cracker clarity. As the American poet, Robert Frost, wrote:  “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” We might add, “especially on Chinese New Year.”

Lent should be a similar experience of newness, of recollection of the importance things, of the coming spring. In Dutch, the word “lente” means the season of spring. It’s a time of personal renewal, an anticipation of the good things to come, a season of hope. In this case, it is something directed to the specific religious celebration of Easter, the resurrection of Jesus, which is seen as the best darn thing to ever hope for. In very deep and significant ways, Lent and Chinese New Year both share in the life and potential life that are part of the season of spring.

One of my favorite writers highlights the positive aspects of Lent: “Contrary to what many think or feel, Lent is a time of joy. It is a time when we come back to life. It is a time when we shake off what is bad and dead in us in order to become able to live, to live with all the vastness, all the depth, and all the intensity to which we are called. Unless we understand this quality of joy in Lent, we will make of it a monstrous caricature, a time when in God's own name we make our life a misery.” (Anthony Bloom)

For those of you who will go to church next Wednesday in order to have ashes placed on your forehead, reminded that no one of us gets out of this world alive, know that Lent is a season of hope, not despair; of life, not death. It is a time that invites prayer, penitence, and almsgiving. This simply means that it is an opportunity to pay a little more attention to God, to pay a little more attention to things we could do better, and to pay a little more attention to others. Also note that fasting during Lent is a not a dieting plan. There’s more going on.

And if you find oranges in the church, or if you discover that the color red is rather ubiquitous around the building, consider it all as part of the general festivities. Life abounds.

Slow Travel

One of the Brothers in California told me about the time when he was sent to the Philippines as a missionary, over fifty years ago. He said that it took 17 days by boat. I like that. Today it only takes 17 hours by plane. On a ship, you might spend the time walking along the decks, chatting with passengers, having leisurely meals, doing some writing or reflecting or nothing at all, and enjoying the rhythm of the journey. I’ve never heard of anyone suffering from “ship lag.” On a jet airplane, on the other hand, you are slotted into rather confining seats (“Yes, sir, 22D is down the aisle and to the left.”) in very close proximity to people you don’t know (Whose elbow will get that arm rest?), kept busy by mystery meals that appear and disappear within 20 minutes, seduced by multiple movies of dubious character, and lulled to catatonic complacency by the rhythm of the engine drone. Perhaps “jet lag” is nature’s way of telling us that traveling this way puts us out of sync with the universe, as if we didn’t know that already.

To be fair, plane travel is entirely practical for most people. It’s the quickest way to get from point A to point B on the globe. If we had the time, most of us would likely choose to travel differently, by train or ship or even by car. There are still vestiges of the excitement of that kind of travel, even with airplanes. It may be seen in the way people jostle to get onto the plane at the beginning of their journey, happily settling their baggage in the overhead, stuffing their magazine, books, snacks, etc. in the seat pocket in front of them, harboring the simple excitement of going on this really fast jet ride. However, that same excitement seems to be reversed at the end of the plane trip, when most people can’t wait to grab their stuff, escape down the aisle, hurry up the ramp, and move out into the more familiar surroundings of mother earth. What began with eager interest ends with stoic relief.

One might make an analogy to the way that people approach life. Some see it as a journey to be experienced and enjoyed, as children do, while others see it as a burden to be largely endured, as some older people do. Some are happy at the prospect of life’s daily moments, while others are fearful of life’s daily challenges. Most of us are probably a mixture of both, weighing more to one side or the other depending on circumstances and the state of our digestion. But all of us are provided with the ability, the opportunity, to choose our disposition. Abraham Lincoln is said to have remarked, “People are just about as happy as they make up their minds to be”. We can all probably think of a few friends or family members who are good examples of this. In fact, the ability to make a specific choice shapes the consequences of that choice and its effect upon us.  The phrase “Fake it ‘til you make it” works because it’s driven by choice, achieving its transformative power from the effect of cumulative choices. What we choose to do literally changes our world and that of others.

I’ve always liked some advice that St. John Baptist de La Salle gave in a letter to one of the Brothers: “To my mind, what I must ask of God in prayer is that he tell me what he wants me to do and inspires me with the disposition he wants me to have.” The second part is the interesting bit, because we don’t often hear that about prayer. Yet I believe that it may be the real driver for the first part. Our disposition / perspective / attitude / viewpoint / frame of reference provides the means to focus in on what’s important and what’s next for us.

Maybe that’s why ship and train journeys continue to be attractive; not because they are efficient but because they are not, giving us a chance to quietly walk the deck for a while. It makes me wonder if my frequent flier miles can be used for ship or rail travel. That would change my disposition about flying quite nicely.

Lawrence da Silva, RIP

This last week, God called to his side one of those individuals who quietly works in the background to achieve great things. Lawrence da Silva, the Chairman of the Board of Governors since SJI International's inception, who led the drive to establish the school in 2006, passed away unexpectedly on January 1, 2013. It had been largely through his enthusiasm, drive, competence, connections, and generous spirit that we were able to admit our first batch of students in January 2007, within 10 months of the school’s conception. If ever there was someone who could legitimately be described as a driving force for the school, it would be Lawrence da Silva.

Those of us who worked with him on a regular basis, either through the Board of Governors or through regular interactions on school issues, came to appreciate his wisdom, his vast professional experience, and his wonderful personality. He was one of those individuals who is able to make others feel important, no matter their role or status, simply through his open smile, his supportive words, and his clear direction or suggestions. One felt quietly blessed simply by being with him.

Lawrence carried a great love and respect for Lasallian education that dated from his WWII experience in early childhood when he first encountered the Brothers. He never forgot the kindness shown to him at that time and spent a life that was also naturally generous toward others, especially those most in need or abandoned. Attending Lasallian schools in Singapore solidified his commitment to the transformative potential of education, and his professional life focused on all of the unseen background elements of a successful educational enterprise (administration, finances, HR, facilities, etc.), leading him to become a superb, well-respected, and wise administrator. In his own humble way, he advocated for the simple realities of human life and human relationships, building respect while holding people accountable through recognizing their human dignity and simply enjoying the opportunity to interact with those around him.

The generosity of his time, talents, and treasure was truly exceptional. He would not want me to share any details of the ways in which he supported the school financially, through scholarships, building fund donations, annual fund contributions, and special projects, especially in supporting students in need. Suffice it to say that his financial support equaled or exceeded the amount of time and effort he spent in both establishing the school and in ensuring its ongoing success. We owe him a deep debt of gratitude and will very much miss his guidance, support, and friendship.

The direction that he established for our school, through his decisions, recommendations, and wide-ranging conversations, is one that we gladly maintain and will continue to advance. We have started a scholarship fund in his name, thereby acknowledging his deep interest in supporting students in need, and we will honor his memory best by making the school flourish in its every endeavour on behalf of those entrusted to our care.

May God grant him eternal rest, and may all of us be inspired by his example and deep faith in God and others, thankful for the grace of having shared in the life journey of this truly outstanding Catholic and Josephian.

Saint Nicholas - Sinterklaas

There is a very fine tradition from my youth that I rather miss. It is the tradition in Holland of celebrating the feast day of St. Nicholas on December 6^th. The early memories from anyone who grew in that part of the world are as fondly recalled during this time as are your own memories from Christmas times past.

St. Nicholas was a Greek Bishop in Myra (present day Turkey) in the 4^th century who gained a wide reputation for kindness and charity, especially in regard to children. There are a host of wonderful legends and stories around his life, many of which have been retold over the centuries simply for the pleasure of relating something about the goodness of human nature.

Here is the one that I like best. Saint Nicholas (or “Sinterklaas” in Dutch, which eventually became “Santa Claus” when brought over to the U.S. by the early immigrants) learned that a poor man had three daughters. But because they were poor, they had no dowry and therefore would not be able to find a good husband. He found out that one of the daughters was hoping to get married to a fine young man but despaired of ever gaining a dowry. Therefore, St. Nicholas had one of his servants go to the poor man’s house at night, place a bag of gold in front of the door, knock on the door, and run away to hide to make sure that they received the gold. (Hence a Dutch tradition of going to relatives and friends homes around this time, placing a parcel on their front step, ringing the door bell, and running away to watch them from a hidden location.)

When the second daughter was about to be married, he again found out and sent another servant with a bag of gold. But this time, they were watching the door because they had anticipated that this might happen and wanted to thank you the secret donor. So instead the servant saw a partially open window in the house, pushed aside the curtain and threw the bag into the room before fleeing. (Hence a Dutch tradition that for several days prior to December 6^th, a family with young children may be at dinner and suddenly toward the end of dinner, a hand reaches into the room from a previously closed window and throws candies and small hard cookies all over the room, but to the delight and screams of the semi-frightened children.)

Finally, the third daughter was to get married, and the poor man’s family watched the door and the windows for several nights. This time, the servant saw what was going on from some distance away, climbed up to the roof of a neighboring house, and made his way to the chimney where he dropped the bag of gold down the chimney. The daughter happened to be drying her socks inside the fireplace, where a very small fire was burning. The gold bag fell and dropped right into one the socks, where she found it the next morning.

The tradition from these stories, of course, is the giving of gifts on the saint’s feast day, and subsequently on Christmas Day from Santa Claus. But there is one other interesting tradition that comes from the fact that St. Nicholas is also the patron of pawn shops. From the Middle Ages forward, the symbol above every pawn shop has been three golden balls, symbolizing the three bags of gold that St. Nicholas had provided for the three daughters. Merry Christmas.

Ends and Beginnings

The ends of things very often become the beginnings of other things. Here we are at the end of the school year, and I’m sure that you, like myself, have found the time zipping by with little sense of decency for the seriousness with which we had approached it. The traditional analogy of “time is like a river” seems more and more apt, as often we are carried along with little volition, and all we can really do is admire the scenery in passing.

But there is one thing that seems to remain, to stay with us on that river, and it is the grit of relationships, those bonds of all-too-human personal encounter that both irritate us and give real traction in life. Somehow, despite all the rest, a real relationship or friendship endures, even grows. Its epitome is expressed by William Shakespeare in Sonnet 116: “Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.”

This may seem a bit overblown for a simple reflection at the end of a school year. Yet little do we realize the experience of others. It wouldn’t be very wrong to say that for many students, big changes lie ahead around the bend. What to parents or administrators or staff members with years of experience might simply seem to be another holiday break before school resumes, to others is the end of one world and the beginning of a whole new world of experience, whether it be Grade 1, Grade 6 (PSLE!), Grade 7, Grade 11 (IB!) or NS.

The good thing is that most of us look forward more than we look backward. We seek new things ahead, and these carry greater weight than those things that we’ve left behind. We still appreciate Woody in his toy box, and we may even carry him with us to college, but he’s now a passenger on a brand new ride. The great wonder of humanity is the fact that we can wonder at all. When imagination is ignited by reason, magic happens.

At some point in one’s life, the whole thing sort of reverses. What was old once now seems new, and those new-fangled things are just newer versions of old notions. We return to things in the past that had never received much attention from us and discover previously unknown realities because they were previously, quite literally, unseen. Eyes are opened, and what had been there all along, what was available all along, becomes graced with new meaning and suddenly carries real substance. (The bible is chock full of those stories.) Life begins anew.

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

         (T.S. Eliot - Little Gidding V)