Written by: Siobhan O’Donoghue, PhD, Director of Faculty and Staff Engagement, Division of Mission and Ministry
No matter how long you may have worked or studied at DePaul, I am pretty sure that by now you will have become familiar with the Vincentian question, “What must be done?”
This pivotal question was originally asked of Vincent by Mme de Gondi as they contemplated some of the deplorable conditions in which those living in poverty were existing in seventeenth-century France. It still has much relevance for us today. [1] Indeed, the question could be considered an unofficial motto for DePaul in today’s context.
In fact, we tend to hear this question so frequently that I sometimes wonder if it is at risk of losing its true meaning. As the question doesn’t offer any easy answers, it may occasionally sound hollow, or perhaps even perfunctory, as though it is stating the obvious. Yet, at the same time, the open-ended nature of these words may be their genius.
I was recently invited to reflect on this question anew through a poignant experience that occurred during immersion week as part of a Discover Chicago class that I was teaching. On the hottest day of the year, under a sweltering 97-degree sun, we had visited Pilsen to participate in a mural tour. This site visit is always one of the most popular, as we get to walk around Pilsen led by a dynamic tour guide, Luis, who accompanies us from mural to mural explaining the history of the neighborhood and helping us interpret the meaning behind each art piece.
This summer, we were undeniably flagging as we trudged through the Pilsen streets and alleyways. In the height of the afternoon sun, we struggled to maintain our focus on the wealth of information that was being shared, as we artfully sought to plant ourselves beneath any sliver of tree coverage or dappled sunlight that we could possibly find. As we paused to behold yet another striking piece of art, resplendent with layers of deep meaning, a street vendor selling popsicles happened to walk past us pushing a cart full of tempting cool refreshments. When he saw our group, he promptly sidled up to us, though with the large size of our group, there was no remaining shade under which he could shelter. As he rang his bell, he beckoned to us several times, petitioning us to buy something. A couple of us politely said no thanks and continued to listen to our guide. After waiting for several moments to see if there were any last-minute customers, the vendor moved on, disappearing into the haze of the blazing sunlight. We, too, continued along our way to stop at the next art piece, though clearly some of the group were more focused on when the tour might end, and when we would be able to escape the heat and rest. It had certainly been a long day.
At the end of immersion week, back in the air-conditioned classroom, the group was invited to reflect on the week’s many activities. One of the students chose to refocus our attention on our Pilsen experience, though she took a different angle than I might have imagined. In addition to acknowledging the intense heat of that day and expressing her appreciation of the various murals, this student’s most enduring memory was of the humble palatero, whom many of us had soon forgotten. As she recalled, “We were all so tired that day as we had been standing out in the hot sun for about an hour, but I also found myself wondering about the palatero and how he was. How many of us had truly seen him? We felt so exhausted standing outside in the sun for a bit, but he had probably been outside trying to make a small living from early that morning to late evening, and he would be out long after we had returned home. We were a large group. What would it have taken for one of us to buy something from him? How did we acknowledge his dignity? What might we have done differently?”
The prophecy and wisdom of this first-year student’s words invited the class to pause and enter a moment of deep reflection. What might the students have done differently? What might their professor?
When taken seriously, the Vincentian question asks us to consider not just what I must do, but also what you must do, and what we must do. It is an eternal question that does not offer immediate answers. It should not. Life is complicated, and discerning just action must involve myriad voices and endless possibilities.
From a Vincentian lens, a simple gesture that might start out by acknowledging the humanity of another, who may otherwise be forgotten or ignored by much of society, must also invite us to consider larger societal questions of equity and justice. For, in the tradition of Vincent, personalism must be informed by professionalism. Both invite us to integrate an affective and relational approach to the person in need in front of us while considering an effective, pragmatic, and systemic solution to the challenges that they may be facing.
I believe that the Vincentian question of what must be done, while it may feel overused at times, should never stop challenging each of us to plant seeds of goodness in the world today to leave it a better place than we found it. Who would have thought that a simple act, such as buying a refreshment from an outside vendor on a hot Chicago summer’s day, might present us with such a rich opportunity to embrace our mission anew?
Reflection Questions:
- Was there a pivotal moment in your DePaul career that challenged you to envision the mission anew?
- What is the one small action that you might do today with great love to continue to cultivate a culture of dignity at DePaul?
Reflection by: Siobhan O’Donoghue, PhD, Director of Faculty and Staff Engagement, Division of Mission and Ministry
[1] Edward R. Udovic, C.M., Ph.D., “‘Our good will and honest efforts.’ Vincentian Perspectives on Poverty Reduction Efforts,” Vincentian Heritage 28:2 (2010): 72. Available at: http://via.library.depaul.edu/vhj/vol28/iss2/5.