The Mystery of Understanding

This is a small trek into the jungle of understanding, largely because I am in the process of reading a book called “Discerning the Mystery” by Andrew Louth. The topic is that of theology as an essentially non-rational human encounter with the divine (my words, not his). The subtext seems to be that reason is over-rated, at least when it comes to serious things having to do with God. The trouble started because of the effects of the Enlightenment, which have led to a sort of fatalism, whereby “conscious that other men were men of their time, we are conscious of the way we belong to our time and feel constrained to think in certain ways.” Science determines all.

Into the mix comes Hans-Georg Gadamer – a great name if ever I saw one – who defends “an experience of truth that transcends the sphere of the control of the scientific method.” Science is one way of finding truth, but not the sole way. The author stipulates that “in reality science as a human pursuit of truth is much less privileged than the claims of the Enlightenment might lead us to suppose.” Elements such as tradition and the tacit dimensions of life, the non-propositional personal knowing based on unwritten rules and father-to-son sorts of skills and crafts (Cf.  Michael Polyani), reveal a pattern underlying any of the human apprehensions of truth , a pattern that is curiously similar to  that found in the writings of  the Fathers of the Church (early theologians from the first few centuries after JC). The point seems to be that one must essentially live the mystery of faith in order to gain any real understanding of it. Discerning or learning the truth of faith happens through the thoughtful and reflective living of all that “faith” refers to and is part of. There are no shortcuts. Thinking is not enough.

When Einstein was asked to provide the ultimate explanation of the world, he is reported as having said, “I cannot tell you in words, but I can play it on the violin.” You will perhaps smile at that answer as if it were a fleeting glimpse of an essential truth, but very hard to put into words.

Near the end of his life, St. Thomas Aquinas, probably one of the most prolific and revered theologians in the church, whose writings still form the backbone of much formal theology, had some sort of vision of things which made him exclaim, “I can write no more. I have seen things that make my writings like straw.” Whatever it was that he saw, the understanding gained profoundly transformed his knowledge about knowledge, even though it was based on that first knowledge.

A friend of mine, presently a retired U.S. federal attorney, earned his PhD in Mathematics from the University of Chicago in three years (a really smart guy). He told me that the “key” or “solution” in his 27-page dissertation came to him while walking to dinner one day. However, he said, he would never have found that insight or solution without all of the work that he had done prior to it. In other words, one must enter into something wholeheartedly in order to bring oneself to the place where understanding might emerge. To repeat a favorite notion that I have used before, from Herbert McCabe: As we enter into a mystery, we increase our capacity for understanding it.

Another way of making the point is via a poem about poetry by Billy Collins (apologies for not properly laying out the lines):  Introduction to Poetry “I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into the poem and watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem’s room and feel the walls for a light switch. I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem waving at the author’s name on the shore. But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope and torture a confession out of it. They begin beating it with a hose to find out what it really means.”

What the Dog Knew

Some 30 years ago, when I taught 8^th grade at a Lasallian boarding school in California, the Brother in charge of the school somehow ended up with three German Shepherd puppies. In his eagerness to find someone to take them, he asked me to take care of one. And so it was that a piece of my education began. Over the subsequent months, “Bart” ate and you-know-what with great frequency, tugged at the leash as if it were all part of the game, grew excited at the least provocation, and generally made me more patient and tolerant of faults. Lesson One.

As he became older and better behaved, Bart grew to eagerly watch me during training periods in order to carry out the commands, generally tagged along whenever he could, liked to awaken me at 3 AM by fervently staring at me in the dark, 4 inches away, became part of the 8^th grade classroom routine where he spent most of the day, and generally contributed to the well-settled atmosphere of our learning environment. At the end of the year, the class insisted that he sit for his yearbook photo, which he did and which was included. Late one evening on my rounds, I discovered him in a school hallway, where a 5^th grade student was seated on the floor in a dark alcove, having temporarily escaped from the dormitory, petting him and saying things like, “Nobody understands me. Only you understand me, don’t you?” Bart just looked at him and licked his hand. Lesson Two.

When it was time to play and exercise, Bart knew it through my body language and the thousand little signals known only to those with limited vocal skills. Once out in the field, it was a time of great fun and running around, chasing here and there through the tall mustard grass, until exhausted he lay down content with even being tired, tongue lolling and bright eyes shining, happy to be alive. Lesson Three.

Several years later, when not so patient anymore with kids pulling his tail or sitting on his back, the new Brother in charge suggested that I find another home for him. After some searching around, I stopped by Guide Dogs for Independent Living, walked him into the vet center, and convinced the founder, who happened to be there, to take him as a breeder (great pedigree, well trained, impervious to loud noise, etc.). She sat on the floor, grabbed his nose with her hand, put her nose up to his, and silently stared into Bart’s eyes for a full sixty seconds. Then she said: “Okay.” I took the leash off and he obediently walked to the back, ready for his next adventure. Lesson Four.

A good number of years later still, when curiosity led to wonder led to inquiry, I found out the address of the rural family where he was boarded, now long retired. I drove out there, but the family wasn’t home. From around the side of the house came an old, partially blind German Shepherd who didn’t react much, until he did the smelling thing and heard my quiet voice say his name. Then his old tail began to wag and the head-shoving began. I sat on the ground and spent a good 20 minutes reliving old times, mostly in silence and some mumbling on both our parts. Finally I returned to the car, Bart walking to the familiar rear door as if to come along. One of the toughest things I’ve ever done. Imagine that. The last image is of an old dog in the rear-view mirror, standing in the middle of an empty country road, both of us going back to where life has brought us. Lesson Five.

Do I regret any of it? Not a bit. Would I change any of it? Very little. Are there parallels with the life of a teacher, or any life for that matter, and the nature of learning? You bet. 

Aristotle (384-322 BC) was right: “Knowledge makes a bloody entrance.”

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.