Lent

Showing up in a Time of Digital Distance

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As has been the case during many former Lenten seasons, this year several groups of DePaul faculty and staff met on Zoom during a six-week period to participate in faith-sharing groups. Even though many of the group members had never before met, their time invited them to get to know colleagues on a much deeper level than activities of the workplace typically allow. During these sessions, we shared about the events of our lives in light of our faith commitments, and we prayed together as a community gathered together for the sake of a rich mission. While we may have started out as strangers, we soon became spiritual companions who travelled together on a unique journey, opening up about our lives and supporting each other during an intimate and sacred moment in time.

In many ways, this simple commitment to meet together and to share honestly aligned with the invocation of Saint Vincent, centuries before, to model truthful simplicity. Writing to a fellow priest, Vincent had implored, “Have the simplicity of a dove. This means giving a straightforward opinion about things in the way we honestly see them, without needless reservations. It also means doing things without any double-dealing or manipulation, our intention being focused solely on God.”[1] After all, “everyone loves simple, candid people, who don’t use subtleties or tricks, who are straightforward and speak sincerely, with the result that whatever they say comes from their heart.… they’re respected … esteemed by all.[2]”

Last week’s Mission Monday invited us to reflect on our human need to be in community and to feel cared for in good times and in bad. As I reflect upon what happened for me this Lenten season, our faith-sharing groups made manifest the best of “Take Care DePaul.” We showed up for one another. We listened and supported each other. At times, we gently challenged each other. We shared our truths, and we made meaning together. We trusted one another. And, if members couldn’t attend, we prayed for them and for the larger DePaul community. It was a form of spiritual accompaniment, a way of reminding each other that we matter, and the events of our lives matter. In a world that is so often defined by digital distance, this weekly coming together reminded us that we were not alone.

At its best, DePaul is a community that cares, and caring for the other is an integral part of working at a Vincentian university. Moreover, it is part of what it means to be human and is essential for human flourishing.

There are many experiences that may represent for us the best of DePaul. In the midst of the winter quarter, these groups were just one small manifestation of such an experience. They offered an opportunity to come together and listen to each other in a supportive environment of peers. This meant that for just a brief moment in time, we were able to share what was in our hearts and feel heard. It offered an opportunity to care and, in a spirit of mutuality, to experience being cared for by trusted peers. Engaging in such meaningful experiences has the potential to remind us that another world is possible, a world that is more caring and compassionate, in which all may thrive.

Reflection Questions

How might you/we create more experiences with colleagues that allow for deeper interpersonal sharing, support, and connection?

Think of a moment when you felt you were particularly well cared for at DePaul. Who showed up for you at that time? How have you paid this moment forward? What did that feel like?

Recall a time when you spoke the truth in the face of your own fears. What do you remember of this moment? What did you learn from it?

Reflection by: Siobhan O’Donoghue, PhD, Director of Faculty and Staff Engagement, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] Constitutions and Statutes of the Congregation of the Mission, English trans. (Rome: General Curia of the Congregation of the Mission, 1989), 109.

[2] Pierre Coste, C.M., ed., Vincent de Paul: Correspondence, Conferences, Documents, ed. and trans. Jacqueline Kilar, D.C. et al., 14 vols. (New York: New City Press, 1985-2008), 12:142.

Seasons of Change

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We are in a season of hope and promise here at DePaul. We recently experienced the first day of spring, a time which brings us the hope of renewed life and beauty after a sometimes-desolate winter. Students have come to the end of the quarter and are ready to enjoy spring break. We have a new basketball coach, and we are excited by the vision of a team that can unite and energize our whole community. We are in the season of Lent, a time in which Christians prepare themselves for change and refocus on what is important in preparation for Easter. We are in the month of Ramadan, where Muslims similarly embrace a period of intense spiritual practices in commemoration and gratitude for the gift of the Qur’an.

None of that means that our challenges have disappeared. Our world faces hunger, oppression, and war. Our city continues to struggle with caring for migrants and coping with violence. Individuals struggle with mental health issues, with financial challenges, with loneliness and anxiety. For those able to focus on politics, more uncertainty and anxiety can be found there. Many of us who are used to hearing and dealing with the challenges of higher education see greater challenges in our current environment than ever before. Yet, the renewal spring promises offers a chance for us to reflect.

The Muslim calendar is based on the moon. Muslims determine the start and end of Ramadan based upon its sighting. This provokes continuous debate in the community about what constitutes an accepted sighting, and the role astronomical calculations can or should play. But more importantly in this context, it has us looking to the heavens often around this time. The beauty and cycles of the moon, and many other signs of creation, can evoke feelings of wonder and mystery. In the Qur’an we are encouraged to read these signs as pointing to the Creator, while they also remind us of our kinship with others, especially those we may miss. Looking at the moon, we may think of how people on the other side of the world are seeing that same moon, or perhaps how those who have passed away used to look at that same moon as well.

What do spiritual practices such as Ramadan and Lent invite us to during a time like this? In his Lenten message this year, Pope Francis describes the spiritual practices of Lent as comprising “a single movement of openness and self-emptying, in which we cast out the idols that weigh us down, the attachments that imprison us.”[1] While we often find comfort in prayer or other acts of worship, Saint Vincent once said that “prayer is like a mirror in which the soul sees all its stains and disfigurements.”[2] Ramadan is a time in which fasting and increased worship at night empty us of the superficial distractions that often fill our attention and the small comforts we use to cover our feelings. In such times, we first encounter ourselves as we really are—our human vulnerabilities are undeniable, the tears flow for all the pain in ourselves and our world. But we are not left there … we also envision ourselves and our communities as they could be! We find places of connection with the Divine and with each other; places of radical hospitality and generosity; and places of repentance, forgiveness, and transformation. An imaginative vision of a better future fuels our work toward change and helps us persevere through the difficulties we encounter along the way.

For Reflection:

In what season do you find yourself, personally or in your work at DePaul? What are you learning about yourself in this season? What is the vision of the future that inspires hope and energy for transformation in you?

Reflection by: Abdul-Malik Ryan, Assistant Director, Religious Diversity and Pastoral Care. 

 

For more information on some of the diverse religious holidays being observed at DePaul this spring please visit https://blogs.depaul.edu/dmm/about/1098-2/spring-depauls-season-of-celebrating-religious-holidays/

[1] Message of the Holy Father Francis for Lent 2024, 01.02.2024, at: Through the Desert God Leads us to Freedom.

[2] Conference 37, Mental Prayer, 31 May 1648, CCD, 9:327. See: https://‌via.‌library.‌depaul.‌edu/‌vincentian_‌ebooks/‌34/.

Accepting Who We Are

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Nothing causes me to examine myself, and my relationship with God, more closely than the Christian season of Lent, when the earthly and divine aspects of our human existence come together in their fullest, most challenging expressions. In my imagination, I see myself standing alone on a mountaintop for the 40 days of Lent, with one hand holding a mirror to my face, reflecting my authentic humanity with all of its fear and vulnerability. The other hand is stretched out, grasping for something that I cannot see, but that I hope is there. It is something that will help strengthen me, sustain me, and keep me safe. The divine presence in the midst of the human struggle.

Lent has taken on an even more personal and intimate significance for me over the last few years. For it was on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, in 2018 that my father died. He went peacefully, surrounded by his family, with remnants of the ashes symbolizing his faith and his humanity still faintly visible on his forehead. It was a poignant embodiment of the traditional Ash Wednesday blessing “remember, from dust you came and unto dust you shall return.”

Recently, I came across a story from Vincent de Paul about his own father that, although centuries old, mirrors my own experience and serves to illustrate our ongoing need for what Vincent called simplicity. Today we might call it authenticity or integrity.

The story goes that once, when Vincent de Paul was a young seminarian, his father came to visit him. Vincent was self-conscious about his humble background and had not shared with his classmates that his family were poor farmers. When the porter announced that a plainly dressed man was asking for him, Vincent looked out the window and saw that it was his father, wearing shabby work clothes, standing outside waiting at the door. Vincent was so embarrassed at the sight of his father that he pretended he did not know him; he said there must be a mistake and told the porter to send the man away.[1]

I feel a guilty connection with Vincent around our fathers as  once, when I was a young attorney working at a large law firm, my father came to visit me at my office. As was the case with Vincent’s father, my dad had been a farmer. Years of working in the sun had taken their toll and, on this particular day, my dad was wearing a big bandage on the side of his nose where he had just had a benign skin cancer removed. Just as my dad and I entered the elevator to head up to my office, one of the partners from the law firm got on with us. The older attorney smiled and nodded hello to us and my dad followed suit. But I, embarrassed by my dad’s appearance and insecure around my superior, could only mumble something like “you’ll have to forgive my dad … he’s just been to the doctor.” The rest of the elevator ride was painfully awkward. Years later, I still cringe at that memory.

Vincent told the story of his own embarrassing behavior towards his father multiple times in his later life. In part, I suspect he did so to pay belated homage to the simple, loving man who had gone out of his way just to see his son at seminary. But Vincent also used the story for instruction. He was teaching his community an important lesson, one that is as relevant today as it was then: challenging as it may be, we must be willing to know and accept our lives and ourselves. This means not just the good and pleasing parts, but also the tough and embarrassing parts, and the times we may have made mistakes or even failed at something important. Without this self-awareness and acceptance, we will find it next to impossible to accept those around us. We will also not be able to bring the integrity, honesty, authenticity, and in Vincent’s words, the simplicity that is necessary to win hearts, build relationships, and impact lives.

This quality of integrity or authenticity that Vincent prized so greatly was clearly not on display the day his father paid him a visit at the seminary (nor, for that matter, when my dad visited me). But it is gratifying to remember that with time and practice it can develop as it so clearly did for Vincent. With intentional effort to accept our entire selves, flaws and all, we will find it easier to offer our lives to the service of others.

Reflection Questions:

  • Are there aspects of yourself, and your life, that you find difficult to accept? Why do you think this, and is there anything you can do to change it?
  • Here at DePaul, do you find that you are usually able to be your authentic self? Are there ways that you might be able to contribute to helping make our community a place where all members can be their full and authentic selves?

 Reflection by: Tom Judge, Assistant Director and Chaplain, Faculty and Staff Engagement, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] Quoted in Pierre Coste, The Life and Works of Saint Vincent de Paul, trans. Joseph Leonard, C.M. (New York: New City Press, 1987), 1:14. Available online at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/coste_engbio/3/.

Sometimes, We Forget Who We Are

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Photo by Erik Eastman on Unsplash

Human beings are creatures who can drift away from who we are at our best. We make mistakes, show poor judgment, or operate from a wounded place. In such moments, we add to the world’s dysfunction and even unwittingly contribute to harm and injustice, despite our best efforts not to. This dynamic seems to be part of our human experience, which suggests that we would be wise to walk through the world with an ample supply of humility and that we need a community to hold us accountable.

Recognition of this human tendency that plays out in our individual and collective lives is at the root of the Christian practice of Lent, which begins this coming Wednesday, February 14, with the celebration of Ash Wednesday. The annual season of Lent is a communal practice that invites Christians to a time of intentional pause to reflect on ways that we may have gone astray in our habits and caused harm to our relationships. Lent is a season when we join our mindful attention and willpower together with the healing and restoring mercy and love of God. Through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, we seek to realign our lives with what we value most. (Learn here about plans for DePaul Ash Wednesday Services and Lent.)

I wonder what regular practices and habits in our work environment might play a similar role in helping us rectify ways we have fallen off course. Perhaps we might benefit from auditing how we have strayed from our mission, developed habits of relating and working together that are ineffective or even harmful, or allowed ourselves to drift into a state of “just going through the motions.” Perhaps, as an institution founded in the Catholic tradition, we might also use this season of Lent for organizational purposes to reflect on how we can refresh our work with new positivity, creativity, and efficacy.

The season of Lent runs from Ash Wednesday on February 14th through Easter on Sunday, March 31st.

Questions for reflection:

What might you commit to doing over these 6+ weeks (40+ days) to put your own house back in order, individually or collectively? How can you realign how you are living with what you value most?

Reflection By: Mark Laboe, Associate VP for Mission and Ministry

The Times They Are A-Changin’

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For many, this week marks the ending of the Christian liturgical season of Lent. As a period of preparation and self-examination, Lent encourages us to intimately, sometimes painfully, confront our own humanity, our shortcomings, our frailties, and our most searching questions. But, always, this personal exploration is meant to be done with a spirit of compassion and understanding that mirrors the love God feels for us. Truly, Lent can be a time of personal and spiritual challenge but equally it can be a time of self-improvement and growth in our relationship with God.

It seems DePaul University itself is also experiencing a moment in our history that resembles the Lenten season. Spurred by budgetary challenges, as an institution we are being asked to scrutinize ourselves with rigorous honesty and courage to determine where changes need to be made. These changes will hopefully guarantee our relevance and sustainability long into the future. The difficult choices to be made will require sacrifice, commitment to the common good, and deep reserves of wisdom if we are to honor our mission and preserve our most distinctive and valuable identity: that of being a Vincentian Catholic university.

As lifelong Catholics, co-founders of what we now call the Vincentian Family, and astute observers of human nature, Vincent and Louise were familiar with the personal challenges of Lent and the systemic challenges of institutional change. Based on the voluminous records left behind, we know they approached the latter with pragmatism, compassion, and faith. They accepted that change—in communities, in responsibilities, in plans—needed to occur for their mission of serving the poor to be effective.[1] But they also taught that these changes, like all decisions, must be inspired by love and guided by that great rule of charity requiring us to do to for each individual that good that we would want them to do to us. As leaders, colleagues, and community members, we must make decisions animated by compassion and bound by ties of friendship and respect.[2]

Underlying every decision Vincent and Louise made was their abiding faith in the providence of God. They had confidence that even amid struggle and uncertainty, God would eventually provide a path forward and the clarity to see this path. In light of this faith, as followers of Vincent and Louise, it is our responsibility to be attentive to the signs of where we are being led and to work tirelessly, with good will and honest effort, toward the worthy purposes given to us.

Today, the signs seem to be pointing DePaul toward a path of strategic change and investment to ensure that we are able to best fulfill our purposes as a Vincentian Catholic university. These changes may require difficult decisions and painful cuts and must be made not only with pragmatism but with love, compassion, respect, and faith. To do any less would be a violation of our mission and a disservice to our community’s heritage and to its future.

Reflection Questions:

At DePaul, when have you observed decisions being made that are grounded in pragmatism, love, and respect? How might you better be able to incorporate these values into your own decision-making?

If you were to scrutinize your own life, your choices, and attitudes, what might you identify as something that needs to change? How would you approach that change? Are you coming from a place of self-love and understanding?

Reflection by: Tom Judge, Assistant Director and Chaplain, Faculty and Staff Engagement, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] See, for example, these two quotes from Louise de Marillac: “Changes can and must occur. If they are not accepted, we shall never enjoy the peace of soul that is essential,” (Document A66, “(On the Necessity of Accepting Changes),”Spiritual Writings, 813); and “You are well aware that changes are always difficult, and that it takes time to learn new ways of serving the poor skillfully and well,” (Letter 337, “To My Very Dear Sister Cécile Agnès,” December 30, (1651) Spiritual Writings, 385). Available online at https://via.library.depaul.edu/ldm/.

[2] See Conference 207, “Charity (Common Rules Chap. 2, Art. 12),” May 30, 1659, CCD, 12:217. Available online at https://via.library.depaul.edu/vincentian_ebooks/36/.

Change in Systems, Change in People

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Last week on February 22, Christians celebrated Ash Wednesday, the traditional start of the Lenten season. Lent is the liturgical season of about forty days that leads to the celebration of Easter by millions of people throughout the world. For them, it is a time of preparing their minds and hearts to receive more fully and to remember again the transformative meaning and power of the Easter story, most notably that of the resurrection of the crucified Christ. This annual ritual of the Lenten season embodies the learned wisdom of the Christian community: humanity benefits from a regular time of “spiritual fine-tuning” to remember and return to what is most essential and to remain open to ongoing transformation.

The season of Lent is in many ways about remembering what we have forgotten and returning to what we already know, which becomes a transformative experience for many. The return to what we know most deeply about self, God, and life becomes a movement toward change, renewal, and a new way of being, doing, and relating. It is something that our entrenched habits may have prevented us from seeing or engaging in previously.

Surprisingly, I thought of the annual ritual practice of Lent during a recent seminar, “Charity, Justice and Systemic Change in the Vincentian Tradition,” led by Father John Rybolt, C.M. In this seminar, Father Rybolt spoke of the necessary relationship between systemic change and the change that must take place within and among people to make participation in systemic change possible. Always fascinated by the question of what makes positive change or transformation possible, I have come to believe there is something important in this insight about systemic change. It connects directly to the spiritual purpose of Lent – that is, the transformation of minds and hearts is necessary for the transformation of systems. They rise and fall with each other.

This insight is central to understanding the tenuous yet profound connection between Saint Vincent de Paul and what we now know of as “social justice,” which was an unknown concept in the minds of those in seventeenth-century France. While Vincent may not have known of the concept of social justice as we know it today, he seems to have clearly understood this fact: for lasting social transformation to occur, we must recognize the unavoidable relationship between the change in systems (economic, political, religious, social) and the change needed within and among persons. Systemic change requires intrapersonal and interpersonal change as well as a change in minds and hearts.

Vincent saw with the eyes of charity, or caritas, which can be translated most meaningfully as love. Vincent paid attention to people and to daily life and events. He recognized what was not right and responded to address the immediate needs of people, while also building new systems that would prove more effective in caring for them. He preached, taught, persuaded, and cajoled his contemporaries, often transforming minds and heart to become more open to encounter the suffering poor of his day. He encouraged the cultivation of habits (virtues) that led to active participation in working for the common good. That said, he did not work for the wholesale teardown of the existing system. He worked within existing systems, and then relationally among and for people, to make change and transformation possible.

Reflection Questions:

  • What is the way in which you believe you can contribute most effectively to the positive transformation of systems and people?
  • What habits or ways of seeing, working, or relating get in the way of your ability to contribute more fruitfully to this transformation?
  • What is the transformation that must take place in you for you to live more fully – perhaps beginning over these next 40 days!?

Reflection by: Mark Laboe, flection by: Mark Laboe, Assoc. VP, Mission and Ministry

Shifting Our Perception

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Depending on our mindset, Mondays can be difficult mornings as we face the beginning of yet another week of work. This may involve facing a long to-do list, including some tasks we might not rather do, coming immediately on the heels of a weekend taste of rest and relaxation.

However, with some mental reframing, we might shift and say to ourselves with some authentic enthusiasm: “Today is a new day and the start of a new work week! This is a new opportunity for me to live my values and to put my mission into action!”

What might you need to move into such a mental-emotional space? Are there practices or habits that could help you to do so? Maybe meditation or prayer, walks outside, or seeking the support of a community of friends and colleagues?

As our Mission Mondays continue to follow Christians through their Lenten season, we might find some insight in the words of prophet Isaiah from the readings for this fifth and penultimate week of Lent. Isaiah invites the Hebrew people to change their mindset, to hearken no longer on the hardships of the past, and to recognize what God is doing anew in their presence: “Do you not perceive it?”[1]

How much of our mindset is the result of our perception or our ability to see and focus our attention on the emerging, possible good in our midst?

This week, we also read of Jesus’s often-quoted admonition to those condemning a woman: “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”[2] Jesus is clearly seeing and focusing on something different than the mob of people set on violence.

Shifting our perception—whether to focus on the good and possible rather than what is troubling, or to set our minds and hearts toward forgiveness and compassion rather than judgment and condemnation—can be mightily difficult for most of us. Such a shift will probably not be achieved through our own will alone. The many ongoing daily challenges of life, added to the tragedies now being amplified in our world with the violent destruction and loss of life in Ukraine, can make it especially difficult to adopt a forward-looking hopeful frame of mind. Doing so may require a healthy dose of grace and some proverbial sunshine to emerge in our lives independent of our own efforts.

As Vincent de Paul would advise, we need to remain radically open to the experiences and people in our lives—to first perceive Providence at work, then to humbly and graciously receive the blessings and opportunities before us—so that we may be able to say, as the Psalmist does, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.”[3]

  • What might help you this week to focus on the good that is possible for you to do and to experience, even amidst difficulty?
  • What holds you back from such openness?
  • When was there a moment in your life in which you embodied an open, positive mindset, and what were you doing—or what was occurring—at that time to make this possible? What might you glean from this experience to apply to your life today?

Reflection by: Mark Laboe, Associate Vice President, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] Isaiah 43:19.

[2] John 8:7.

[3] Psalm 126:3.

A Sign of the Times

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This Mission Monday continues our journey with Christians throughout the world who move through their sacred season of Lent. In the Lenten Scripture readings for this week, we engage with a familiar story from the Old Testament. Moses, tending his flock, encounters a burning bush. To his surprise, the bush remains intact, continuing to burn but unconsumed by the blaze. So, Moses investigates … and he hears from the flames the call of God. Mysterious, commanding, fearsome, the voice of God speaks to Moses. His life, as well as human history, will never be the same.

Lucky Moses. His sign came in the form of a supernatural occurrence—a non-perishable shrub—and the self-identified voice of God calling him by name. It would have been next to impossible for him not to have noticed these things around him! My signs are usually a little more difficult to discern. Maybe yours are too.

I am not saying they are not there. I believe we do get signs all the time, from God, the universe, our Higher Power, or perhaps just as a result of how we choose to make meaning out of the things in our lives. Whatever the source, receiving a sign can be a purposeful, powerful event. It can give us strength, conviction, and guidance. But it is seldom as obvious as a burning bush.

Then how do we discern the signs in our own lives? The rainbow after a shower that gives us hope. The call that seems more like a whisper. The invisible hand of God. If asked how to discover the signs around us, Vincent de Paul would very likely advise paying close attention to our own life experiences.[1] Reflecting upon our thoughts and feelings, our successes and failures, our values and desires, our relationships and behaviors—honestly, humbly, patiently, compassionately— allows us to learn and grow. It is a practice Vincent and his colleagues devoted their lives to, and it contributed to many of the decisions they made in establishing what we now know as the Vincentian Family.

So many of us are eager to encounter and cooperate with the signs that we believe exist in and around us, to connect with that which is bigger than ourselves. Cultivating a practice that helps us attend to the signs in our lives is time well spent. We may never come upon a burning bush. But undoubtedly, we will discern the wisdom, truth, and hope that are there for us and that we are meant to uncover.

Invitation for Reflection:

How do you look for signs around you? How do you discern them? When have you discovered and been led by them in the past?

What might be signs in your life right now? What are they calling you to or pointing you toward? Are you excited by them? Do they evoke other feelings (uncertainty? fear?) in you?

Consider how you can cultivate a practice of reflection and discernment. What questions do you have? What might be helpful for you to make this a successful practice?

Reflection by: Tom Judge, Assistant Director and Chaplain, Faculty and Staff Engagement, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] See for example, Letter 1138, “To Étienne Blatiron, Superior, in Genoa,” September 17, 1649, CCD, 3:480; and Letter 460, “To Pierre Escart, in Annecy,” July 25, 1640, CCD, 2:84.

 

Moving from Revelation to Action

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Have you ever had an uplifting, transformational experience that is so striking that, at least in the moment, you don’t think you can go back to the way things were? Where you lost your routine thoughts and cares and became one with the moment, washed away with wonder? Did it feel as if you were no longer just “you” but part of a broad tapestry of life and being, woven together in uncanny ways? This happens to me most often when I’m on a trip or in nature, quite appropriately in a liminal or in-between space. Often, it takes such distance from the mundane to open myself up to transformation. Hiking the heights of mountains, staring off into the sunset of a boundless ocean, living and caring for others on a service trip, or closing your eyes and hearing the echoes of music in an ancient cathedral … these experiences connect us to something deeper, as we let go of our normal patterns of thought and being. They remind us of who we are and who we can be.

Details of such moments abound in good books, engaging movies, the sacred stories of many faith traditions, and in different narrative accounts of personal and collective transformation. We find one of those in the Christian scriptures in the readings prescribed for this week of the Lenten season. It is a story of a literal mountaintop experience. A few disciples have hiked up a mountain, following Jesus. At the top, they see a “transfigured” Christ, who has been revealed as supernaturally radiant. They also have visions of Elijah and Moses. We don’t need to go into the religious connotations to see this reading’s relevance in our lives. For the disciples, their mountaintop revelation is an uncanny experience—an event that they believe will forever mark a line between the before and after. They are transformed as much as Jesus is transfigured. One of the disciples wants to pitch tents and stay in that moment longer, but it is carried away, quite literally, with a passing cloud.

That’s the thing about transformational experiences. The clarity that they give can pass by as quickly as a cloud. Even as we try to hold on to them, their impact can fade with time. We can be tempted to try and stay within them—lost in their beauty, but without a clear idea of how to integrate that experience into our lives. I’m sure we’ve all been there: we come back from a trip and pledge that we’ll do things differently! But soon we lose that urgency and inspiration and fall back to the status quo.

Our own Vincentian tradition at DePaul counsels us to lean into action after these transformational experiences. Vincent de Paul had his own seminal experiences, most of which were grounded in his interactions with others. From the dying peasant in Folleville, to the outpouring of charity and the insistence of Madame de Gondi on “what must be done,” to his lifelong friendship with Louise de Marillac, Vincent was transformed by his mutuality with others. He was able to integrate these experiences into sustainable action. They revealed to him our shared mission to help others with our goodwill and honest efforts. He charged us “not only to do good, but to do it well.”[1]

What are some experiences that made you lose yourself and feel a deeper connection to the world? Did these experiences share anything in common?

Has there been a time when you’ve returned from a trip or a momentous experience, and you implemented change in your life? What was it?

What helps you personally make sustainable change? How about collectively in your work with others?

Reflection by: Alex Perry, Program Manager, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] Conference 177, “Repetition of Prayer,” November 25, 1657, CCD, 11:289. Available at https://‌via.‌library.‌depaul.‌edu/‌vincentian_ebooks/37/.

 

 

Moving Beyond Temptation

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Christians throughout the world are entering the first full week of the season of Lent, which stretches this year from last week’s Ash Wednesday through to Easter Sunday (April 17th). These approximately forty days (about six weeks) invite Christians to a time of profound reflection and honest life assessment, as well as to return to a deep trust in and fundamental dependence on God’s provision and care, especially where they may have gone astray. The readings in the first week of Lent draw from the scriptural stories of Jesus’s forty days of temptation in the desert, as well as to the Hebrew people’s forty years of wandering in the desert before reaching the promised land. The number forty in Hebrew and Christian scriptures is shorthand for “a very, very long time.”

The season of Lent corresponds this year to an apparent relief from our very long journey through the COVID pandemic, as infection numbers and deaths continue to drop and hope rises for a return to seeing each other’s faces and smiles more regularly. Like the scriptural stories, after this very long and challenging period of time, we hunger to feel wholeness again individually and collectively. Yet just when we begin to feel some hope about that, we must confront the daily realities of war and death in Ukraine. The brutal violence and abuse of power manifest there is deeply troubling.

The challenges that life brings us can feel relentless. Sometimes, the world’s harsh realities can overwhelm us and tempt us to forget the truth of who we are and what we stand for. Into the midst of these challenges, the season of Lent enters, inviting all to remember what is most essential and who we are called to be.

In times when we are troubled or driven by our deepest longings—for love, for peace, for attention, for recognition, for pleasure, for self-expression—we can also be most vulnerable to the tendency to satiate our hungers with a quick and easy fix. Our desperate desire to be rid of our hunger pangs for moments of rest and peace can lead us to seek satisfaction in short-term or even harmful solutions. This tendency can occur with physical hunger, but it is also true with emotional, psychological, and social hungers. Over time, we can easily fall into habits that orient our minds and actions toward easy solutions, rather than toward that which is good.

Jesus’s forty days in the desert serves as a scriptural entry point into the Lenten season. Presented with the opportunities for comfort, power, and an easy fix to his troubles, Jesus withstands temptation because he is rooted in his fundamental identity as the beloved child of God who is filled with the Holy Spirit and called to be the Prince of Peace and the embodiment of love. Regardless of one’s religious, spiritual, or philosophical background, this Christian narrative and the season of Lent offers an invitation to all of us to reflect on our own life temptations and fundamental sense of identity.

Over these next forty days, how might you make the time and space to reconnect to the deep roots of who you are and what you seek to stand for in your life? As you do so, how might you identify and move away from any habits of mind and living that have taken you off course?

Vincent de Paul’s advice to his followers included the encouragement to be faithful to the practice of daily mental prayer, spiritual reading, or quiet solitude.[1] Vincent understood that without such time and space, we are more prone to seeking easy solutions to the challenges that face us rather than following the lead of Providence.

If making such time and space regularly seems impossible right now, perhaps begin with just thirty seconds of deep, restorative breathing, maybe even multiple times a day, and build from there. In doing so, we can grow more attuned to our emotions and anxious thoughts or reactions that can become patterns or unhealthy habits in our lives. And we learn the patience to sit momentarily still before our anxieties and impulsive desires, thereby becoming more intentional and authentic in our response.

As you remember most deeply who you are, what do you feel called to stand for in your life? What values do you seek to embody as you face life’s challenges and temptations?

What are the times, places or situations when you are most prone to pursue mental or life habits that draw you away from what you know to be best for you and for others?

What would help you in this season to be rooted again in what is most authentic to who you are?

Reflection by: Mark Laboe, Associate VP, Mission and Ministry

[1] See for example: Conference 25, “Love of God,” n.d., CCD, 11:33; and Conference 67, “Meditation,” n.d., CCD, 11:76.