Lasallian Reflection - Why Lasallian Education Endures

Be convinced that, provided you are willing, you can do more with the help of God’s grace than you imagine."

-  St. John Baptist de La Salle -

Why is it that this particular educational vision and approach–what we call Lasallian education–has stood the test of time, going strong 340 years down the line. What is it about this unique educational movement that has allowed it, has driven it, to adapt to so many places and contexts, taking on a variety of education-related works, and persisting through so many challenges and difficulties? Here are what might be called five transformative operational dimensions of our Lasallian network and charism. Others exist, and you may (and should) highlight your own. But these for me seem to be some of the key aspects that have helped ensure its ongoing vitality.[1]

• De La Salle Himself. John Baptist de La Salle’s personality and approach shape the DNA of this apostolate, this charism. His spirit and story imbue our educational vision, approach, and execution. He was a dedicated, hard worker who persisted in what he set out to do, with a solid faith life, genuine humility, a streak of stubbornness, and natural leadership abilities. He “was content to lead the teachers by the hand, so to speak, to let them see from their own experience and from his exhortations and example what was the best course to follow.”[2] He allowed his trust in God’s presence in and through others to guide the future of the work that they shared.
• Focus on Education. We do one thing, and we work very hard to do it well. The focus of those in the Lasallian world is on education, writ large. This is meant both literally and figuratively. Our apostolate is education, education, and education. AND such education is not confined to the classroom, to lessons and tests, or only to knowledge and skills. Education for us is a sacred project, a holy endeavor, a privileged encounter. If it deals with teaching and learning, education, schools and services for kids and families, we want to be part of it. Education is our primary vocation, and we are more than content with that reality. It fills our lives and vocations very well.
• Self-Adjusting, Adaptable, & Relevant. Lasallian education is essentially experience-driven, using what might be called a “monitor and adjust” process for ensuring success. The early Brothers worked together so that the best methodologies for the time were being used, creating new ones when required. They paid attention to what students really needed in their specific context and worked hard to provide it; e.g., teaching navigation and seamanship courses at the school in Calais; teaching ledgers and invoices to inner-city students and life-skills to those working students attending the Sunday school. The “franchise binder” called The Conduct of Christian Schools, was a practical school manual, built over 40 years and constantly revised and updated via a collaborative, experience-driven methodology. It went through 23 editions over 250 years.
• Community & Association. “The decisive innovation of the Founder is that education is conducted within the context of community.”[3] De La Salle came to see that trained, dedicated, faith-led teachers in community were the transformative driver. He insisted that “union in community is a precious gem, [and] if we lose this, we lose everything.”[4] This community thing is not just a nice-to-have for us. In defining themselves as brothers to one another and older brothers to the young people confided to them by God, they stated both their identity and their mission. The engine for effective Lasallian education, from the very beginning, was a genuine, living, educational community. Lasallian education revolves around what Lasallian scholar Leon Lauraire calls a “pedagogy of fraternity,”[5] and association is a focused expression of community.
• A Spirit of Faith & Zeal. De La Salle became involved in the work of educating the young in order “to make the loving and saving presence of Christ a visible and active reality” [6] in the lives of those God confides to our care. He came to see that his teachers were to “preach” an alternative way of life, living the Gospel for and with their students.  The addition he made to the Brothers Rule just before he died identified Faith & Zeal as the primary Spirit of the Institute, and “those who do not possess it and those who have lost it, should be looked upon as dead members.”[7]

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A PDF of this reflection is HERE.

1] This reflection is based on a longer talk delivered at APLEC 2019 (Asia Pacific Lasallian Educator’s Conference), held this past April 14-17  in Melbourne, Australia. [http://bit.ly/APLEC2019]

[2] Aroz, Leon, Yves Poutet, and Jean Pungier. Beginnings: De La Salle and his Brothers, trans. by Luke Salm, (Romeoville, IL: Christian Brothers Conference, 1980), Pg. 23.

[3] Attributed to Br. Robert Schieler, FSC, Superior General.

[4] De La Salle, John Baptist. Meditations by St. John Baptist de La Salle. (Landover, MD: Christian Brothers Conference, 1994), Pg. 386. [Med. 91.2]

[5] Lauraire, Leon, FSC. "A Pedagogy of Fraternity." AXIS: Journal of Lasallian Higher Education 7, no. 3 (2016).

[6] Johnson, John. “1998 - Look to the Future,” in The Pastoral Letters (1986-2000). (Napa, CA: Lasallian Resource Center, 2016) Pg. 401.

[7] Brothers of the Christian Schools, The Rule of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. (Rome, Italy: Institute of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, 2015), 11-12. This entire short section of the Rule is worth reading and sharing.

[1] De La Salle, John Baptist. Reflections on Their State and Employment That the Brothers Should Make from Time to Time, Especially During Retreat, “Regarding the Use of Time,” # 10, in Collection of Various Short Treatises.

Lasallian Reflection - Simplicity Isn't So Simple

The more you act with simplicity in regard to what is to be observed, the more the practice of it will become easy for you.

-  St. John Baptist de La Salle [1]

For those of you who have been to Disneyland – and not just for a quickie visit, but for that multiday, multipass, parkhopper sort of visit – you will relate to my recent experience of its focused frenetic fabrication of fun. It reminded me of an insight from many years ago, when another Brother and I spent some time in Orlando, birdwatching and going to the Disney parks there. One day we quietly watched birds while ambling through Sanibel Island, the next we rushed hither and yon from one nice artificial experience to the next. I have to say that I enjoyed it all. But I also have to admit that what I remember, what took root inside, and what I hold most dear today, are the bird-watching days. There is a depth and richness in the complex simplicity of nature that finally and easily outweighs the simple complexity of theme parks. Chesterton wrote, “Men rush toward complexity; but yearn for simplicity.” [2]  And for education, “the chief object of education should be to restore simplicity. If you like to put it so, the chief object of education is not to learn things; nay, the chief object of education is to unlearn things.” [3]

     John Baptist de La Salle and his early followers knew this well. Some things have to be learned and others things have to be unlearned if genuine education is to occur, and this is especially true in the development of new teachers. In the early Lasallian operational handbook, The Conduct of Christian Schools (1720), there is an extensive appendix dedicated simply to the training of new teachers. These are the opening lines: “This section on the training of teachers comprises two parts: (1) making new teachers lose the traits they have but should not have; and (2) making them acquire those traits that they lack, and which are very necessary for them.” [4] (Notice that unlearning comes first.) Among the fifteen listed traits that must be unlearned are talking too much, impatience, undue familiarity, and partiality. For each, a full description of the trait is followed by how it may be corrected, with specific suggestions. The ten traits that must be acquired include professionalism, prudence, winning manners, and decisiveness. Each one likewise is fully described and includes suggestions as to how to acquire it.

     This approach could easily be applied to ourselves. As Lent continues, are there things that we should unlearn, habits that we might uninhabit, thoughts or actions or tendencies that deserve our attention? Likewise – and after starting to dismantle some of those less helpful traits – are there habits we might cultivate, and thoughts or actions or tendencies that deserve to be developed, or at least started? Just thinking about it all reminds me of walking down a crowded Main Street at Disneyland. Where to start? What to pay attention to? Which shop to enter and browse? It doesn’t seem to be a simple process.

    De La Salle’s quote about simplicity may be helpful here. What would it meant to “act with simplicity” when addressing personal areas that deserve our attention? For me, the experience at Sanibel Island is a simplicity touchstone. What brings you simplicity, peace, and a quiet settledness of spirit? Where are important things allowed to have a voice, to poke out of the chaos of daily life and breathe? Such places of simplicity – which today require intentionality and effort – allow the little things to emerge, allow the birds to be heard and seen. A short, daily evening reflection about lessons learned that day has been the practice of religious orders for centuries. Today, even successful CEOs have discovered its benefits,[5] backed up by a Harvard study that those who do so were 23% more successful than those who didn’t.[6]

    Finally, simplicity requires breadth, and today it is not the practical that deserves our most focused attention. Our souls are like nature, bearing a simplicity that is profoundly complex, and demanding a wider reach. Finally, “it is a fundamental point of view, a philosophy or religion which is needed, and not any change in habit or social routine. The things we need most for immediate practical purposes are all abstractions. We need a right view of the human lot, a right view of the human society . . . Desire and danger make every one simple. ‘Take no thought what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink, or wherewithal ye shall be clothed. . . . But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.’ Those amazing words are not only extraordinarily good, practical politics; they are also superlatively good hygiene. The one supreme way of making all those processes go right, the processes of health, and strength, and grace, and beauty . . . is to think about something else.”[7]

     As Lent moves towards Holy Week, perhaps it is worthwhile to think about something else, something more like Sanibel Island than like Disneyland. Simplicity does not require a parade.

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A PDF of this reflection is HERE.

[1] De La Salle, John Baptist, Meditations by St. John Baptist de La Salle, trans. Richard Arnandez, and Augustine Loes, eds. Augustine Loes and Francis Huether, (Landover, MD: Christian Brothers Conference, 1994), 262 (Med. 142.3)

[2] Chesteron, G.K., The Complete Works (2014). Chapter X – The Moral Of Stevenson

[3] Chesteron, G.K.,  All Things Considered (1908). https://www.azquotes.com/quote/1253779

[4] De La Salle, John Baptist. Conduct of Christian Schools. Translated by Richard Arnandez and William Mann. Edited by Richard Arnandez and William Mann. Moraga, CA: Buttimer Institute of Lasallian Studies, 1989. Pg. 255, ff.

[5] https://tinyurl.com/yya5bggm

[6] https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=2414478

[7] Chesteron, G.K., Heretics. (1906)

Lasallian Reflection - From Here to Eternity

You have to suffer a constant martyrdom that is no less violent for the spirit than Saint Bartholomew’s was for his body. You must, so to speak, tear off your own skin, which Saint Paul calls the old man, in order to be clothed with the Spirit of Jesus Christ, which is, according to the same Apostle, the new man. Let this, then, be your effort throughout your life, so that you may truly become disciples of Jesus Christ. (St. John Baptist de La Salle)[1]

Lent is just around the corner, and the prospect of “mortification” and “fasting” and “discipline” is not on the top ten list of anyone I know. Most of us see this time of preparation for Easter as the “less fun” season of the liturgical year; no peppy Lent songs like before Christmas, and less decoration. But Lent has gotten a bad rep. As Anthony Bloom says so well, “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. . . . This notion of joy that is connected with effort, with ascetical endeavor, with strenuous effort may indeed seem strange, and yet it runs through the whole of our spiritual life, through the life of the Church and the life of the Gospel.”[2] If we are to be like Jesus, if we are to draw out the Reign of God in our midst, then we have to come to the realization that “The Kingdom of God is something to be conquered. It is not simply given to those who leisurely, lazily wait for it to come.”

So if we are to take Lent seriously, there is work involved. And as with all spiritual things in our lives, such work is a matter of desire, drive, and discipline. We all need a Lent coach!

What would a Lent coach do? The answer depends on the person receiving the coaching. The unique background, interests, talents, habits, and aspirations of each individual are brought into play for any coaching endeavor. But coaches also know that some general things are true pretty much all of the time: i.e., you have to motivate people, you have to show people how to do things right, and you have to get people to practice the basics over and over and over again. The funny thing is that athletes of all stripes are happy to make this effort for sports, but few are willing to make this effort for their spiritual lives. Why is that? And what would it look like if you actually followed the very best Lent coach this year?

John Baptist de La Salle, our Lasallian coach, “puts the emphasis on fidelity to the duties of state, observance of the daily spiritual exercises, attention to little things, in a word, on the mortification of the spirit and mind. . . . De La Salle urges his disciples to accept, and even love, the sufferings of the day in imitation of their teacher, Jesus Christ, and in living the Pascal Mystery, or simply as a condition of the Christian life.”[3] He is pointing the way to our very best coach for the Lenten season. Can you guess?

That very best Lent coach is Jesus himself; what he says in the readings during Lent, what he shows us in his actions during Lent, and what he invites us to enter into during the liturgies of Holy Week. Here is the best coach for our spiritual lives. All we have to do is take his coaching seriously: pay attention to how he motivates us, learn how to do things right, and practice the basics over and over and over again.

What would the result look like? Here is one example: “How often does someone cry for help and we understand nothing? How often has our heart been stirred and our mind begun to understand, but we were not used to compelling ourselves, and our will wavered, and wavers too long, until it is too late. . . . Let us learn first of all to be grateful that God gives us the possibility to do right, instead of preening ourselves and being proud of the fact that for once we have done what should be natural to us always. And then gradually we may . . . learn to be humble in a way in which no one knows, not declaring that we are unworthy, but in adoration of God’s greatness, in veneration of other people, in the readiness to forget ourselves completely for the sake of God, for the sake of any person who meets us and challenges us to be compassionate, to be loving, to be understanding.[4]

Lent is an invitation to follow our coach from here to eternity.

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[1] De La Salle, John Baptist, Meditations by St. John Baptist de La Salle, trans. Richard Arnandez, and Augustine Loes, eds. Augustine Loes and Francis Huether, (Landover, MD: Christian Brothers Conference, 1994), 293-4 (Med. 159.3)

[2] Bloom, Anthony - http://mitras.ru/eng/eng_19.htm

[3] Rodrigue, Jean-Guy – Introduction to the Meditations, op. cit., 13.

[4] Bloom, Anthony - http://www.mitras.ru/eng/eng_155.htm

Lasallian Reflection - A Well-Played Match

It is entirely contrary to decorum to grow overexcited when you play. Still, you should not play in a careless manner nor lose deliberately as a way of flattering your opponent. This would make the person with whom you are playing think that you care little about contributing to his enjoyment in a well-played match.[1]

 -  St. John Baptist de La Salle

And so we come to Super Bowl Sunday, the closest thing that we have to a national ritual expression of our deep devotion to sports. Whether football fans or not, there are over 100,000,000 of us who tune in to cheer on our favorite teams, consume our favorite snacks, sit and argue the merits of players and plays with our favorite people, and generally settle into a comfortable afternoon as relaxing as that of the players is intensely active and professionally anxious. (Winners earn over $100K and a $35K ring.)

     De La Salle understood the dynamics and positive aspects of sports and games. He wrote about the sorts of games that inner-city boys in 17^th century France knew and loved outside of school . . . and sometimes during school. Here are some examples taken from the book he wrote on politeness, a book that was used as a reading textbook in his schools, so that these 10-to-13-year-old boys would learn something useful along with their reading skill.

• “You can play many different kinds of games. Some exercise the mind more; others afford more exercise to the body.”
• Games of chance “are not only forbidden by God’s law, but they are not even permitted by the rules of decorum. Consider them unworthy of an educated person.”
• “It is very impolite for you to make fun of a player who has shown a lack of skill.”
•  “There are two passions that you must particularly guard against, so that you do not yield to them when playing games. The first is avarice, and this is ordinarily the source of the second, impatience and fits of anger.”

As teachers and coaches, we can also learn from De La Salle that who we are and what we do influences others as much as, or even more than, what we say. “Example makes a much greater impression on the mind and heart than words, especially for children, since they do not yet have minds sufficiently able to reflect, and they ordinarily model themselves on the example of their teachers (coaches). . . . They are led more readily to do what they see done for them than what they hear told to them, above all when the teachers’ (coaches’) words are not in harmony with their actions.” (Med. 202.3)

     A section of the Conduct of Schools (1720) lists, with real insight, six ways that a teacher can be unbearable to students.[2] Notice that it talks about teachers being unbearable, not students. With a few slight changes, here is how that section might be applied to coaches and sports.

• First, the coach's corrections are too rigorous and the yoke which the coach imposes upon the athletes is too heavy. This state of affairs is frequently due to lack of discretion and judgment on the part of the coach. It often happens that athletes do not have enough strength of body or of mind to bear the burdens which many times overwhelm them.
• Second, when the coach enjoins, commands, or demands something of the athletes with words too harsh and in a manner too domineering.  Above all, the coach's conduct is unbearable when it arises from unrestrained impatience or anger.
• Third, when the coach is too insistent in urging upon an athlete some performance which the athlete is not disposed to do, and the coach does not permit the athlete the leisure or the time to reflect.
• Fourth, when the coach demands little things and big things alike with the same passion.
• Fifth, when the coach immediately rejects the reasons and excuses of athletes and is not willing to listen to them at all.
• Sixth, when the coach is not mindful enough of personal faults that he [or she] does not know how to sympathize with the weaknesses of athletes and so exaggerates their faults too much. This is the situation when the coach reprimands them or punishes them and acts as though dealing with an insensible instrument rather than with a creature capable of reason.

So when you watch the Super Bowl, think on these things, and see whether it might be helpful to text De La Salle’s advice to the players and coaches in order to ensure “a well-played match.”

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[1] Rules of Christian Decorum and Civility: Amusements – Page 91.

[2] There is also a section that lists six ways that a teacher’s (coach’s) weakness leads to laxity, but there is not enough space in this reflection to list them. Worth looking up, however, in The Conduct of the Christian Schools (2007) – Pages 135-137.

Lasallian Reflection - Where Our Hope Lies

People living in the world think very little about God and have little concern about their salvation. Their sole occupation is usually with their temporal affairs and the needs of the body. It would seem that most have nothing to hope for or to fear beyond this present life.

(St. John Baptist de La Salle - Meditation 58.3)

At the end of each calendar year, billions of people around the world “welcome in the new year” with fireworks, parties, and resolutions about personal diet, exercise, and healthy living. This utterly regular change of one day into the next is transformed into a personal hoped-for change of one way of life into another. A focused consciousness of time is suddenly leveraged to pursue our deeper aspirations, and the beginning of a new year becomes a celebration of hope.

People who have no common ties of culture, religion, family, or profession gather in large public spaces to put on funny hats and glasses, create noises of all kinds, and express the happiness of simply being alive. For just a little while, it doesn’t matter what you do, who you are, who you know, or how much you have. All share the aspirational nature of lived humanity, of a consciously shared individuality. It’s not so much that we really know what we want more of, beyond simply life; just that there is a certain set of things about which “more” is desirable and worth pursuing. For the vast majority, what we reach for at this time are larger, more comprehensive, and less definitive objectives than those which we have just asked for and received a week ago at Christmas. Where we had so recently asked for a coffee maker or a DVD, we now aspire to world peace, a just society, genuine community, and a happy relationship or family. The transition of time implied by the start of a new calendar year reminds us that our own time is limited, and that we had better start thinking about some of the things that we know, deep down, are finally really important. Thankfully, such hopes are generally positive, informed by our past experiences, priorities, and upbringing. They are indicators of where our attention is drawn in the quiet of our hearts.

While such New Year’s aspirations tend to be uniformly positive, the insight from the architect Mies von der Rohe applies: “God is in the details.” This is the real challenge. The world in which we live and move and have our being overwhelms - or at least helps to shape - any aspirations that we wish to pursue. The details of contemporary life tend to aggregate around ideals whose gravitational pull is largely determined by the untamed political crowd-sourcing of social media and the “news” it generates. In contrast, religion by its nature comes from different roots and drinks from far more ancient, deeper, and less noisy wells, where details inspire and evoke what is important instead of defining and determining it. They are the source of meaning, of what we come to know as important, of what informs the character of our lives. And as Andrew Sullivan has written, “if your ultimate meaning is derived from religion, you have less need of deriving it from politics or ideology or trusting entirely in a single, secular leader. It’s only when your meaning has been secured that you can allow politics to be merely procedural.”^[1]

It would be a safe bet to say that the hopes of those whose ultimate meaning is derived from genuine religious sources is qualitatively different from that of those whose ultimate meaning is derived from politics or ideology or a single, secular leader. Therefore, while I am happy that New Year’s revelers harbor positive hopes of one kind or another, I pray that they have the wherewithal to bring them into fruition. But I think that those whose positive New Year’s hopes emerge from within an engaged, genuine, vibrant, religiously focused community have a much greater chance of actually being enacted, however provisionally and incrementally, because those dwelling in such a community will be familiar with habits of perspective, relationship, and justice that are further realized simply in the pursuit or in the doing of them. “Christ has no body now but yours.” (St. Teresa of Avila)

For those of us who constantly challenge ourselves to live up to the aspirations of our faith, the sentiments expressed in the New Testament – the details – are more than just nice ideas. They are, or can become, the fireworks of our lives.

Happy New Year! “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15:13)

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^[1] http://nymag.com/intelligencer/2018/12/andrew-sullivan-americas-new-religions.html

Lasallian Reflection - The Gift of Silence

Luc Olivier Merson (French, 1846-1920) – Rest on the Flight into Egypt – Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Have you ever been in a place where it is so quiet that the absence of sound begets a unique richness and palpable substance? The anticipated “nothing” turns inside out, and a very much kind of “something” emerges. What comes to mind is my nighttime visit to a mountaintop near Sonoma, CA, where amateur astronomers quietly gather to share their passion under star-filled skies, waving about red night-vision-preserving flashlights and beckoning visitors stumbling around in the dark to come and squint through their telescopes to see this or that galaxy or star cluster millions of light-years away. A similar sense of silence is found by others in the quiet company of loved ones, or in a walk in the woods – perhaps with their dog, or in driving a car with the radio turned off and comfortably settled into a semi-automatic mode, or idly watching children play in a public park. The “something” seems to consist of an inner settledness, an unanticipated resonance with the disposition of redwood trees and evening high-Sierra lakes. Each instance carries a hint of eternity and of grace; this is a “something” that strikes us as timeless and good and simply for us. It’s the kind of experience that allows the word “blessed” to make sense.

“A human being is dust called to glory. … The call directed to us … is to raise our soul’s eyes to glimpse the other side; then, to realize that, in Christ, a passage exists. The ladder of humility, laid flat, carries across. To own that I am dust is an act of daring. By that admission, I make peace with my poverty. I resolve to dwell within it. … I am taught to let glory, by grace, lay claim to my being even now, to make it resonant with music of eternity. I learn to look towards eternity as home.”[1] Such sentiments may be easier to reach towards, or even touch, in a monastery or on top of a mountain late at night than in an airport, a shopping mall, or a busy family or school community. Yet the fact that it is possible is itself an invitation to do so. In that sense, and probably for that reason, Advent speaks of the reaching, and Christmas proclaims the invitation.

St. John Baptist de La Salle knew the value of example, the influence of what is experienced, and the learning potential of what is observed: “Do you wish your disciples to do what is right? Do it yourself. You will persuade them much more readily through your example of wise and prudent behavior than through all the words you could speak to them. Do you want them to keep silence? Keep it yourself.” (Med 33.2) The deep-down silence that is the condition for being open to God’s presence in our lives is also the substance of how God “teaches” us. “We learn to speak to God only by listening to him; for to know how to speak to God and to converse with him can only come from God.” (Med 64.2) Does this mean that we should hide in a cave in order to find God? We could, and people do, but thankfully God is more egalitarian than that. Think of the parable of the prodigal son, or the shepherd and his one lost sheep. If anything, God seems to be more readily found by way of forgiveness and mercy, through the cracks of life, than through any direct, stable, predictable, and definitive path.[2]

Such cracks appear to be much more prevalent in contemporary society, contributing to the age of the “Nones,” and yet today's society leaves people bereft of ways to fill them. David Brooks writes, “Sometimes I look at the rising suicide and depression rates, the rising fragility and distrust, and I think it all flows from the fact that we’ve made our culture a spiritual void. When you privatize morality and denude the public square of spiritual content, you’ve robbed people of the community resources they need to process moral pain together.”[3] So while Santa Claus and Black Friday are hugely successful, their benefits fall through the cracks, as it were, and the substance of things hoped for remains as hidden and ignored by most people as are the stars above. We have lost virtually all of our night vision, and even the tiny clusters of light seem out of reach. 

What to do? Wave about red night-vision-preserving flashlights of mercy to help show the way of forgiveness, and beckon visitors stumbling around in the dark to come and squint at what we have been able to see, however far away and indistinct. Because at some point they will step back, take in the whole of it, and be touched by a tiny, silent whisper of presence and love[4] that transforms absence into presence, nothing into something, and Christmas into Christ. And then we can truly say with Tiny Tim, “God bless us, every one!"

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[1] Varden, Eric. Shattering of Loneliness: On Christian Remembrance. London: Bloomsbury, 2018. Pg. 21, 32.

[2] Cf. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “There is a crack in every thing God has made.” (1841), Hemingway’s “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places” (1929), and Leonard Cohen’s now-famous “There is a crack, a crack, in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” (1992) https://quoteinvestigator.com/2016/11/16/light/

[3] Brooks, David. Fighting the Spiritual Void. New York Times, Nov. 19, 2018. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/19/opinion/mental-health-ptsd-community.html

[4] God said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind… but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.  When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. - 1 Kings 19:12  (NRSV)

Lasallian Reflection - The Joy of Gratitude

“Gratefulness is the inner gesture of giving meaning to our life by receiving life as gift. The deepest meaning of any given moment lies in the fact that it is given. Gratefulness recognizes, acknowledges, and celebrates this meaning.”[1] This quotation is by Br. David Steind-Rast, OSB, one of the most articulate evangelists for gratitude, gratefulness, thanksgiving, and all those words that convey a reaching out into the world with arms wide open.

The spontaneous joy of engaging life’s nature as pure gift reminds me of the young two-year-old son of some very good friends of mine, who–years ago now–unselfconsciously brimmed over with life and mischief, climbing onto furniture and ledges with way-too-risky abandon, a smile on his face and giggles as companions, hugging people and things with the kind of joy that only children seem to be able to display with unvarnished transparency. Every moment was precious, was now, was embraced with love and palpable, infectious joy. Jesus’ words, “Let the children come to me . . .” suddenly made lots of sense. Children live with raw gratitude even while being significant recipients of the generosity of others. Both are very much alive.

Gratitude seems to me to be the flip side of generosity. With generosity, we express actions and intentions of unconditional love; with gratitude we receive actions and intentions of unconditional love. The best kinds of generosity are given unasked, unexpected, and previously unknown. The best kinds of gratefulness are received unasked, unexpected, and previously unknown. The most generous people tend to be the most grateful, and vice versa. Generosity and gratefulness appear to be two vectors of love’s living dynamic.

These same vectors are found in education and teachers. St. John Baptist de La Salle tells his teachers: “Thank God for the grace he has given you . . . and calling you to such a holy work of instructing children and leading them to piety.”[2] And “Thank God, who has had the goodness to employ you to procure such an important advantage for children.”[3] But this invitation to teachers to be grateful is a notion that is actually quite challenging. Our internal perspective may at times–among other people, of course; not ourselves–run more along the lines of “These kids should be grateful that they have me as a teacher . . . they don’t appreciate all the work that I do for them, how much time I put into the classes, and what I’ve given up to do this job well . . . they really don’t have a clue.” Such thoughts are based on a transactional approach to teaching; I do this for them, and they should do that for me. The vectors finally point inward.

Of course, most veteran teachers, although unfortunately not all, sloughed off that old cloak years ago and listen to such sentiments with a wry grin on their faces. They walk into most classes with genuine and daily gratitude, because by virtue of their years of experience they have been drawn into the deep generosity of teaching with all of its concomitant joys and blessings. They know that they plant seeds and that the growth comes from elsewhere. (Cf. 1 Cor. 3:6) Most students are never seen again, and so they will never know if those seeds had ever taken root. And if my experience is any indication of the experience of others, the things that did take root may not even have been the most obvious seeds. (I still wash and dry my hands like my 3^rd grade teacher did in the corner of the classroom every morning.) Diving into the kind of arms-wide-open generosity that genuine teaching calls for cannot but coat one’s life with the cumulative gratitude that only steady or great love can bring, whether received or given.

Finally, teachers must step out of the way, trusting the generosity of God’s movement in the lives of their students. And that is something deserving our gratitude as well. It’s not all up to us. "Teaching is cooperative art similar to the nurturing that defines farming; involving watering, pruning where necessary, etc. It consists in developing a respect for mystery, a capacity for trust, and a skill in serious reflection. Through revelations and challenges, experiences and analyses, insights and application, others are led to develop habits of perception; to grind their lenses, as it were, so that the reality of God might be seen in focus and encountered in the full light of truth. Once a path for God is cleared and opened, the teacher steps aside and lets the mystery commence."[4] Stepping aside is a most generous thing, and gratitude for that particular thing may be the last seed dropped into students’ lives.

For a gratitude kick start, watch the Louis Schwartzberg video “Gratitude Revealed”[5] and listen to Br. David Steindl-Rast’s narration. There is no better invitation to the joy of gratefulness.

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[1] Steind-Rast, David, Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer, Paulist Press. 1984. Pg. 207

[2] De La Salle, John Baptist. Meditations by St. John Baptist de La Salle. Landover, MD: Christian Brothers Conference, 1994. (MED 99.1) Pg. 183.

[3] Ibid. (MED 193.1) Pg. 435.

[4] Nouwen, Henri J.M. Creative Ministry. New York, N.Y. Doubleday, 1971. Pg. 11.

[5]  https://vimeo.com/135308696

Lasallian Reflection - A Few Daring Plunges

The vibrancy and noise of online social connections—today’s virtual bacchanal for eager minds and silent eyes—reflects a deep human need for, and appreciation of, connection and belonging. But we know, or should know, that such thin connections are no substitute for the unpredictable richness of even the most fleeting of real human encounters. And without realizing the difference between the two, device-based habits may easily turn into an accepted but impoverished normality. David Brooks writes that with today’s social media “You can have a day of happy touch points without any of the scary revelations, or the boring, awkward or uncontrollable moments that constitute actual intimacy. ... Being online isn’t just something we do. It has become who we are, transforming the very nature of the self.”[1]

Are authentic connections becoming passé? Dr. Jean Twenge in her book iGen makes a strong case that authentic connections are no longer the norm for adolescents today. “Born after 1995, iGen is the first generation to spend their entire adolescence in the age of the smartphone. With social media and texting replacing other activities, iGen spends less time with their friends in person—perhaps why they are experiencing unprecedented levels of anxiety, depression, and loneliness.” The full title of her book is iGen: Why Today's Super-Connected Kids Are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy - and Completely Unprepared for Adulthood - and What That Means for the Rest of Us. Anyone who works with young people today should read it, not only because of the solid research, but also because it will make you think about what is best for those entrusted to your care. “This ought to be one of the main concerns of those who instruct others: to be able to understand their students and to discern the right way to guide them.” (DLS, Med 33.1) This book looks at why, for example, with so many virtual contacts, young people are more lonely than in the past.

A recent CIGNA study showed that over half of Americans view themselves as lonely, and the survey “found that actually the younger generation was lonelier than the older generations.”[2] The least lonely were those of The Greatest Generation - 72 years old and above. Why is this not such a big surprise to some of us who are older? Perhaps we discovered by long experience that achieving a skill or a goal requires actual time, effort, conversation, and engagement - most of which may be facilitated by devices, but none of which may be substituted for them. Even going to a deli requires time, effort, conversation, and engagement. Silently ordering online  - scan menu, make choices, fill in address, pay with card - makes opening the door for the delivery person - brief eye-contact, minimal talk - the most profound human encounter of the whole interaction. And drone-delivery will eventually make even that unnecessary. Is it any wonder that chronic loneliness, serious hole-in-the-soul loneliness, is on the rise?

How then might we as educators make a positive difference and guide young people into a different kind of Promised Land? Lots of ways; but here is a simple one. Find a place on the school property where there is student traffic, and stand or sit or wander there every day, making eye contact with as many students as possible. Say hello, smile, whatever; but engage! You will quickly find that it becomes deeply rewarding, and also perhaps challenging (to keep doing). Human nature itself guarantees that even minimal effort in addressing the deepest of longings of people bears a vastly disproportionate, cumulatively positive reward for everyone. Eye contact is the invitation, and then “a smile is a flower is a smile of the heart.” (Pope Francis) How hard can it be? And if it is hard, then more time, effort, conversation, and engagement are needed. The more we enter into something new, the greater our capacity becomes for doing it.

Heroic endeavors are called for today, because social media generally “flattens the range of emotional experiences. . . [E]very moment is fun and diverting, but the whole thing is profoundly unsatisfying. I guess a modern version of heroism is ... regaining control of social impulses, saying no to a thousand shallow contacts for the sake of a few daring plunges.”[3]

Teachers are at the forefront of what Br. Leon Lauraire calls our uniquely Lasallian “pedagogy of fraternity.” Daring plunges, even brief ones, are the happy requirement for its realization.

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[1] Brooks, D. (2016, October 7). Intimacy for the Avoidant. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://nyti.ms/2JZ69Zv

[2] https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2018/05/01/606588504/americans-are-a-lonely-lot-and-young-people-bear-the-heaviest-burden

[3] Brooks, D., op. cit.