covid-19

Dialogue, Not Demonization

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Updates, resources, and events highlighting the integration of DePaul’s Vincentian mission into the daily life and work of the university community.

 

MISSION MONDAY

Photo by The Jopwell Collection on Unsplash

Dialogue, Not Demonization

Successful dialogue with “the other side” requires questioning our own thinking.

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UPCOMING EVENTS

Donate Blood—June 5 or 6

Make an appointment to give blood at the Ray Meyer Fitness and Recreation Center (Room 135):

  • Thursday, June 5 | 9:00 a.m. – 2:00 p.m.
  • Friday, June 6 | 12:00 p.m. – 5:00 p.m.
  • Schedule your visit at RedCrossBlood.org or call 1-800-RED CROSS. RapidPass is available to save you time.
  • As a thank-you, all donors in June will receive a $15 gift card and a chance to win a $7,000 prize!

All are welcome! Your participation helps strengthen our community of care.

 

Baccalaureate Lunch and Mass

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Dialogue, Not Demonization

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Written By: Miranda Lukatch, Editor, Vincentian Studies Institute

Photo by The Jopwell Collection on Unsplash

As political and social turmoil continues to beset the U.S., I keep asking questions. How did we get here? Where will we end up? And perhaps the most pressing question of all is a variation of the Vincentian question, What must be done? What can I do? How can I respond? At a virtual town hall a few months ago, my congressperson said that the most important thing to do now is to stay engaged—and he specifically recommended trying to talk to people who hold different views.

When he said that, I immediately recalled the last time I tried to engage a friend whose opinion seriously diverged from mine. It was in December 2021, when the first Covid boosters became available. My friend said he didn’t intend to get one. This friend and I had already had many conversations in 2020 that had not gone well. We differed on many issues, and it seemed to me that he was more and more inclined to believe in conspiracy theories. His positions on climate change and the origin of Covid particularly seemed to be anti-science, but he had gotten the first Covid vaccine. When he made this declaration, I was immediately prepared to try to convince him otherwise for his own good, especially since he had several health conditions that made him high risk. We started to debate vaccine safety. I began by talking about how vaccines are developed and what diseases they had already helped eradicate. And then I said, “These vaccines are safe—”

“They’re not!” he said.

Oh, no, here we go, I thought. “Yes, they are—”

“No, they aren’t! [His brother] ended up with a heart problem from the one he got. [His other brother] got the first shot and passed out. His girlfriend thought he was dead.”

The conversation ended shortly after that, with me offering sympathy for what his family had gone through but still saying he should talk with his doctor about getting a booster, and with him still refusing. Given what had been said in our conversations before, it perhaps wasn’t surprising that I thought my friend was anti-science. But the attitude that I approached him with was that I knew better than he did and that I was going to try to save him from himself and his woefully misguided viewpoint, which also endangered others. I assumed things about myself, and I assumed things about him, and my assumptions were that I had good reasons for thinking the way I did—and that he didn’t. I offered him sympathy, but I did not offer him empathy.

I thought about this again when I read Ilana Redstone’s The Certainty Trap: Why We Need to Question Ourselves More—and How We Can Judge Others Less. She writes, “The assumption that the other person is simply ignorant is easy. And it’s a way to avoid a disagreement. What’s more, dismissing someone’s opinion as being the result of not having enough or the right information gives me permission to move on, not really engaging with what they’re saying…. If I think my position is the one anyone would come to with the right information, I am free from having to interrogate or challenge my own thinking.” [1] In other words, we would do well to follow Vincent de Paul’s injunction to “practice humility and patience.” [2] Vincent based his entire community on this principle. He and his followers were well familiar with the idea of needing to fully listen to the people they encountered, both the people they were serving and the people who were their colleagues in service. It was the key to their success—but that doesn’t mean it was easy.

As heirs to Vincent here at DePaul, this principle calls us to approach disagreement with honesty and in good faith, in the sense that we must fully acknowledge both the content and feeling behind an opposing viewpoint. It is both arrogance and an error to dismiss a view we do not hold by attributing it to reasons that serve our own preconceived sense of what is true. We need to engage in dialogue with the assumption that the other person has actual reasons behind what they are saying, reasons that go beyond ignorance or hate. That is what I should have done with my friend. I thought he was ignorant, but he was actually speaking from real life experience. I worried that he was endangering himself and others, yet his motives were quite the opposite.

As I wrote before the 2024 presidential election, studies show that it’s not so much the American people who are polarized as it is their leaders. We hold similar values, but we disagree on how to put them into practice. Or we may choose officials we agree with on some issues without espousing all of their actions and rhetoric. It’s hard to believe that, given what we see in headlines and on television. It is so tempting, especially in these times, to demonize the other side, whoever the “other side” may be. But doing so is destructive. We have to keep talking to each other. Redstone says the way to do this is to articulate a value behind your position. For example, you could say, “I believe all people deserve to live in a safe environment, so I believe migration is a human right.” If you articulate the value (“all people deserve to live in a safe environment”), you avoid using some of the shorthand that gets charged, and you can help people to avoid misunderstanding the value behind your position. The same value in this example could lead to someone holding the opposite position, but if you both articulate the value, you can see where you have some common ground and work from there.

Committing to dialogue doesn’t mean abandoning our own core values. As Redstone writes, it means “learning to recognize when we think some aspect of a heated issue is simple or obvious, and that anyone who sees it differently is ignorant or evil…. Leaving certainty behind doesn’t require anyone to admit to being wrong (maybe you’re not wrong after all). It just means being a little less sure you’re right.” [3]

Reflection Questions

  1. Can you think of a situation in your life when your assumptions about someone else’s beliefs turned out to be wrong? What led you to those assumptions?
  2. Think about a position that is opposite from one you hold. What might be one valid reason (not ignorance or evil) that could lead someone to that view? What would another person be accepting as a fact to come to that conclusion? Would you and that other person agree on the same meaning of vocabulary that is key to the issue?

Reflection by: Miranda Lukatch, Editor, Vincentian Studies Institute

[1] Ilana Redstone, The Certainty Trap: Why We Need to Question Ourselves More—and How We Can Judge Others Less (Pitchstone Publishing, 2024), 79. I highly recommend this book, which has exercises in it to help you challenge your thinking.

[2] Letter 1537, “To A Coadjutor Brother, in the Genoa House,” August 16, 1652, CCD, 4:442. Available online at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/vincentian_ebooks/29/.

[3] Redstone, Certainty Trap, 225.

Patience as Method

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For almost two years now, I have been photographing the discarded masks I’ve encountered on my walks around the city. By the end of the autumn quarter 2021, I had accumulated close to 500 mask photos, and this practice has continued. When I traveled to Australia in June 2022, I found masks on the ground there, too. I traveled to Ontario, Canada in August and, again, found the ubiquitous masks. A September weekend in the borough of Queens, New York yielded more masks for my growing digital collection. And in November, on a trip to Paris, I found even more. Such is the nature of collections: they start small and, over time, the numbers grow. One must be patient. Our culture, however, doesn’t tend to traffic in patience. We want it now.

In a letter to Sister Anne Hardement, Saint Louise de Marillac wrote, “Do not be upset if things are not as you would want them to be for a long time to come. Do the little you can very peacefully and calmly as to allow room for the guidance of God in your lives. Do not worry about the rest.”[i] As a health communication scholar, I recognize at once Louise de Marillac’s advice as it relates to the twin aspects of coping: problem-solving (or changing what can be changed) and emotional adjustment (adapting to what cannot be changed).[ii] While it is not always easy to simply “not worry,” there is some peace to be found in accepting a predicament and doing what can be done to move forward. I didn’t know what I was going to do with all these mask photos until I happened to mention the “project” to Robin Hoecker, my colleague in the College of Communication, who happens to be a photojournalist. And our interactive collaborative photo mosaic project of the image of Vincent de Paul—“Unmasked”— was born.[iii]

When I’ve shared the “Unmasked” project with others, a common response has to do with this strange paradox of making art out of what is ostensibly environmentally injurious litter. For me, the masks on the ground are polysemic; there are many ways to read this symbolic detritus of the pandemic. In addition to indicating an irresponsible act of pollution, the masks on the ground—particularly those I photographed almost two years ago—seem emblematic of our community desire to move on too quickly.

This worldwide phenomenon of the Covid masks on the ground, I believe, symbolizes the liminal stage of the Covid pandemic. “Liminal” comes from the Latin “limen” or threshold. Anthropologist Victor Turner refers to the liminal as “betwixt and between,” the transitional or intermediate stage in a rite of passage.[iv] The liminal is loaded with challenges and ambiguities and is often precarious. For comparative mythologist Joseph Campbell, the liminal stage is part of the initiation stage, what he termed “the belly of the whale.”[v]

Few would deny Covid has been a collective rite of passage. Many of us recognize those betwixt and between times in our lives. This is true especially for our students. For example, there is the liminal moment of crossing the stage to receive a degree and a handshake with the university president. This march across the Wintrust Arena stage might last only ten seconds but, symbolically, it marks the culmination of years of hard work.

Do you remember in the very early days of the pandemic—three years ago—we were instructed not to buy masks? Masks were in such short supply that health officials were concerned about their availability for professional providers and essential workers.[vi] Not long after that, whenever we did venture out of our homes, we wore masks. Early on, many were homemade. And then everyone was wearing masks. And now—for good or ill—masking is down significantly. Nevertheless, the masks continue to cross my path. Someday, however, we won’t see them on the ground either. But that doesn’t mean that things will be as we want them, following the admonition of Louise de Marillac, “for a long time to come.”

Perhaps it is simply an aspect of maturity that we grow to be more patient. But I do not mean to imply that patience is passive. Not at all. While we wait, we can move things along. We can find ways to respond to the conditions of our existence creatively. We can perception-check with others—what women in the second wave of feminism branded “consciousness-raising.” We can advocate.

In a blog post dated October 27, 2014, Father Ed Udovic describes the ceremony associated with the publication of the Congregation of the Mission’s Common Rules in 1658. He writes: “One of Vincent’s great gifts as a founder was his ability to take his time and through discernment and consultation draft and re-draft clear, concise, inspiring, essential, and useful rules based on faith and experience to guide his followers in the effective accomplishment of their mission to evangelize and serve the poor.”[vii] To further illustrate Vincent’s tacit acceptance of patience, it’s worth noting the Congregation was founded in 1625, and thirty-eight years passed before the Common Rules were published and distributed. It seems unlikely, however, that those who embraced the philosophy stated in those rules waited thirty-eight years to abide by their spirit.

What can we draw from Saint Vincent’s seeming embrace of patience as a method?

What are the challenges of life right now that provoke our impatience and a desire to move on too quickly?

How can we live in our liminal moments and embrace creative responses to uncertainty, whether individual or collective?

If this moment marks Covid’s threshold, what awaits us on the other side?

Reflection by: Jay B

[i] Letter 519, “To Sister Anne Hardemont (at Ussel),” (1658), Spiritual Writings of Louise de Marillac, 614–15. Available online at https://via.library.depaul.edu/ldm/.

[ii] Charles Tardy, “Counteracting Task-Induced Stress: Studies of Instrumental and Emotional Support in Problem-Solving Contexts,” in Communication of Social Support: Messages, Interactions, Relationships, and Community, ed. B. Burleson, T. Albrecht, and I. Sarason (New York: Sage Publications, 1994).

[iii] Craig Keller, “Unmasked,” DePaul Magazine, February 16, 2023, https://‌depaulmagazine.‌com/‌2023/‌02/‌16/unmasked/.

[iv] Victor Turner, The ritual process: Structure and Anti-Structure (De Gruyter, 1969).

[v] For Campbell, the “belly of the whale” is an initiation stage signifying death and rebirth (through digestion and the creation of new energy). Joseph Campbell, Hero with a thousand faces (Bollingen, 1949).

[vi] German Lopez, “Why America ran out of protective masks—and what can be done about it,” Vox, March 27, 2020, https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2020/3/27/21194402/coronavirus-masks-n95-respirators-personal-protective-equipment-ppe.

[vii] Edward Udovic, “Saint Vincent’s Reading List LVIII: The Common Rules of the Congregation of the Mission,” The Full Text (blog), DePaul University Library, October 14, 2014, https://‌news.‌library.‌depaul.‌press‌/full-text/2014/10/27/saint-vincents-reading-list-lviii-the-common-rules-of-the-congregation-of-the-mission/.

Purposeful Self-Care

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We must be full reservoirs in order to let our water spill out without becoming empty, and we must possess the spirit with which we want them to be animated, for [we cannot] give what [we do] not have.[i]

There are times at DePaul when we think working in a “Vincentian” way means remaining tirelessly active, without regard to our own needs or what is actually effective. However, this is decidedly not what Vincent de Paul taught. In addition to the quote above, Vincent wrote to Louise de Marillac circa 1632, “It seems to me that you are killing yourself from the little care you take of yourself.”[ii] Their correspondence often included encouragement in both directions for tending to their mutual health and well-being.

We have learned much over the past couple of years about the importance of self-care and of remaining healthy. The pandemic has forced us to reconsider and reflect on work-life balance norms and habits as well as what it means to work effectively.

There are many ways in which hyper-activity can be harmful to us individually and as a university community. Sound decision-making and the fostering of innovation are far more difficult when we are tired or feeling burned out. We are also much less likely to cultivate the quality relationships that make for a supportive environment and that reflect hospitality and care for others, both of which are so essential to the “Vincentian personalism” we value. We may lose touch with the deeper sense of meaning and purpose that motivates our work. Furthermore, workaholism and the absence of self-care can accentuate an ego-driven pride within us about working longer and harder than everyone around us—and this serves no one in the end. When we are always busy, what we are modeling to others, particularly the students we seek to educate and serve?

In contrast to such a worker-bee mentality, Vincent’s image of the reservoir may serve us well. Sustained and quality work during busy times often requires us to “dig deep,” and therefore it is essential that we maintain healthy reserves to draw from. Our relationships are vital sources of energy and support when we face vexing problems, and therefore cultivating friendships and collegial networks is a life habit that makes our work more effective and sustainable. We might also imagine the life-giving reservoir replenished by remaining connected to a shared sense of mission or purpose through regular moments of reflection.

As we come to the end of the summer months, the intensity of our work and task lists are no doubt beginning to build up again as we approach the new academic year. Might we transition into the fall with a plan to integrate self-care, relationships, and ongoing reflection? Perhaps we might even work together with others to shape our collective organizational culture in a way that models these things, thus benefitting all in our community, including the students we serve.

One thing will remain certain: any mission worth working toward is not a solo act. We will achieve it only by regularly renewing ourselves through rest, reflection, and friendship—and with some intentionality these things can certainly extend well beyond the summer weeks!

  • What is a regular habit of rest or reflection that can enrich your ability to be creative and to remain energized in the workplace?
  • How might you integrate the cultivation of relationships more intentionally in and through your work?
  • What might you do—even for a few minutes a day—to remain rooted in and nourished by a deeper sense of the mission and purpose that sustains your work?

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

[i] Letter 1623, “To a Seminary Director,” n.d., CCD, 4:570. Available online at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/vincentian_ebooks/29/.

[ii] Letter 95, “To Saint Louise,” n.d. [c.1632], CCD, 1:145. Available online at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/vincentian_ebooks/25/.

Healing is a Journey

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“Healing is a journey.” This is one of the many nuggets of wisdom shared during a recent Mission and Ministry Women’s Power program that featured Sr. Helen Prejean[1] in conversation with students, faculty, and staff. The event was titled Trauma, Hope, and Healing, and prompted participants to acknowledge that we are in the midst of trauma and grief, struggling through a pandemic and living in a warring world. Equally important, the conversation made space to learn from each other as we seek paths toward healing and hope for all of humanity and for us as individuals.

“Healing is a journey.” These words also reflect the work of Saint Vincent and Saint Louise. As these two courageous leaders ministered to the marginalized, they provided ongoing accompaniment to those they encountered. They acknowledged the need for healing, and they brought hope through their words and deeds, returning time and again to homes and prisons, to streets and churches, offering ongoing support and caring.

Each of us has been affected to varying degrees by the realities of our world and each of us need support and caring. As we continue to muddle through the pandemic and strive to return to “normalcy,” we should remember that our own personal healing from the trauma of these past years (and even beyond) is an ongoing process. We would serve one another well by recognizing that each of us is healing in our own way and at our own pace. As pointed out in the Women’s Power conversation, expectations that we simply slip back into pre-pandemic life and work are impossible for some and unrealistic for all. We have all been affected by the waves of trauma of the past few years, and we are all on a journey—each of us in our own way—of healing and hope.

As we continue to walk through these difficult and tumultuous times, may we be filled with hope and embrace a path toward healing. May we give ourselves room and grace for these personal journeys. And may we offer grace and understanding to others in their journeys.

View the video of Sr. Helen Prejean’s conversation on Trauma, Hope, and Healing.

Reflection by: Diane Dardón, ELCA, D. Min., Director, Pastoral Care and Religious Diversity, Division of Mission and Ministry

[1] Sr. Prejean is the author of Dead Man Walking (1994) and is an anti-death penalty advocate and activist. For more on her life and work see: https://www.sisterhelen.org/.

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.

 

 

 

Ted Lasso, the Mission, and Relying on Stories to Share the Load

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In the depths of the pandemic last year, my family, friends, and even work colleagues began sharing recommendations for which show to binge watch next. I’m sure we weren’t alone. This probably started because retelling stories of our daily lives was bleak and became an exercise in recycled trauma, whatever our vocation. We weren’t seeing each other, scattered as we were across the country and world, or even next door, so TV shows became our lingua franca and way of being with one another.

Some of the shows were old standbys that had long since aired, so the spark of rediscovery and most importantly—knowing what came next—helped ease the overwhelming anxiety that permeated every other aspect of our lives. Even if we had seen the episode or heard the jokes before, there was something reassuring about that familiarity. Other shows were new (to us) and exploring their undiscovered countries felt like a joint expedition. Whether the series was just released, like The Flight Attendant or Loki, or was just finishing, like Schitt’s Creek or Killing Eve, we foraged streaming services looking for the next story to share.

With hindsight, a particular kind of humor ran through most of the series we collectively watched—a humor that borrowed a “dash of vinegar” [1] with its gentleness, a comic sense that didn’t flinch from the sadness and tragedy of the world, but that found a way to acknowledge sorrow and still laugh, and in so doing provide relief from its weight. Everything in our lives pushed us towards loneliness and individual sorrow, but through sharing these stories, we found ways to collectively persevere through humor. It made all the difference.

I’ll end with a quote from one of our favorite new shows, Ted Lasso, about an (American) football coach from Kansas who gets hired to lead a premier league (European) football team in England. On the surface, the series seems to be a celebration of joy and positivity (the eponymous Ted is unrelentingly optimistic, after all). Underneath, however, it is a show not about happiness alone, but how to cope with grief, together.

In a memorable scene (no spoilers), from the wonderfully titled episode The Hope That Kills You, Ted professes: “I promise you there is something worse out there than being sad, and that’s being alone and being sad. Ain’t no one in this room alone.” [2]

REFLECTION QUESTIONS

When things seem bleak and most sobering—what are ways that we can authentically find and share joy with one another? How can we find ways to make each other laugh, even while acknowledging the pain all around us? When pursuing our collective Vincentian mission, how do we make sure that we are taking care of each other along the way, so that our “immortified moods” [3] do not overtake both ourselves and our community?

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

  1. [I]f the gentleness of your spirit needs a dash of vinegar, borrow a little from Our Lord’s spirit. O Mademoiselle, how well He knew how to find a bittersweet remark when it is needed!
    Vincent de Paul (Volume: 1 | Page#: 383) To Saint Louise, 1 November, 1637
  2. “I promise you there is something worse out there than being sad, and that’s being alone and being sad. Ain’t no one in this room alone.”
    Ted Lasso, “The Hope that Kills You” Season 1, Episode 10, airdate October 2020
  3. We must hold as an irrefutable maxim that the difficulties we have with our neighbor arise more from our immortified moods than from anything else.”
    Vincent de Paul (Volume: 1 | Page#: 597) To Nicolas Durot, in Toulouse, December 1639

DePaul, We Have Great Work Ahead!

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The statues in Saint Vincent’s Circle are decorated with protective face masks during the COVID-19 pandemic, Thursday, April 30, 2020, on the Lincoln Park Campus. (DePaul University/Jeff Carrion)

Almost exactly one year ago, I left Chicago for Iowa. I was planning to be gone for just a few days and never guessed my stay there would last a full 12 months. Feelings of isolation and despondency, familiar to many during this pandemic, had been growing in me since the spring of 2020. More and more, life was restricted to my cozy, lonely one-bedroom apartment. But, at my mother’s home in Iowa there was space, and I could work. I felt cared for, grounded, safe, and welcomed. Looking back, I knew then as I do today how fortunate I was to have that lifeline.

Now, one calendar year later, I have returned to Chicago and to my same cozy apartment. I am grateful for the support I received, humbled by the events the world has been through, and cautiously optimistic about the new school year. I have also re-learned something powerful: human beings need to feel safe, grounded, and cared for to flourish. We need community and we need to feel welcomed in the spaces that are our homes and workplaces.

I believe this life lesson is one that Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac knew well. In her voluminous correspondence we see that Louise was constantly encouraging her community members to live and work together in “great union and cordiality.”[1] In an updated version of the original Constitutions written by Vincent for the Congregation of the Mission, Vincentians are called to live and work in communities “animated by love…supporting one another especially in difficulties.”[2] Finally, DePaul University’s own Mission Statement reminds us that “Guided by an ethic of Vincentian personalism and professionalism, DePaul compassionately upholds the dignity of all members of its diverse, multi-faith, and inclusive community.”[3]

What, then, should this key component of Vincentian spirit look like at DePaul during this most pressing moment in time? Together how can we help to make all members of our community—students, staff, and faculty—feel safe, grounded, and cared for so that we are all able to flourish? A few thoughts come to mind.

People’s health and well-being must continue to be our top priority. In all our endeavors we need to be flexible and responsive to this commitment. Vincent de Paul once said “love is inventive to infinity,”[4] and the challenge to be lovingly creative in what we do is more necessary than ever. Also, we must work together in a spirit of collaboration and mutual support. This requires very deliberate listening, effective communication, and receptiveness to new ideas, especially by those in positions of authority over others. It must be practiced by teachers and students, supervisors and supervisees, leadership and community members. Finally, everyone—especially our students, but including our staff and faculty—must feel truly welcomed and secure, while provided with the necessary support and resources to flourish at DePaul.

The task ahead will not be easy; it is one thing to say these things but another to bring them to life. However, I reaffirm my faith in the talent and integrity of the DePaul community, and believe that our university mission and values will help us navigate whatever challenges lay in front of us. I am hopeful and prayerful that the great work we have committed to do will bring out the best in what we all give.

Questions for Reflection:

In your role at DePaul, how might you listen more intentionally, act more caringly, and lead more creatively to contribute to an environment where all may flourish?

What do you need in your life right now so that you may flourish?

[1] Spiritual Testament, Spiritual Writings of Louise de Marillac, 835. At: https://via.library.depaul.edu/ldm/

[2] Constitutions and Statutes of the Congregation of the Mission (1984, English trans. 1989), 17. At: https://via.library.depaul.edu/cm_construles/23/

[3] See: DePaul University Mission Statement 2021

[4] Conference 102, Exhortation to a Dying Brother, 1645, CCD, 11:131.

 

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

The Strength of Weakness

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Remember, Monsieur that roses are not gathered except in the midst of thorns and that heroic acts of virtue are accomplished only in weakness.[1]

The life experience of Xavier le Pichon, one of the world’s leading geophysicists, has convinced him that care for the weakest among us is what makes us truly human. In essence, le Pinchon maintains that weaknesses, imperfections, and faults are integral to facilitating the evolution of a system or a society. He says: “A system which is too perfect is too rigid because it does not see a need to evolve.”[2]

We find ourselves at a moment in history when our day-to-day reality seems to be evolving by the nanosecond. When aren’t we in a state of flux these days? As we seek to outsmart the pandemic, barely a day goes by without a new advisory directing us to adopt a different behavior Today masks are mandatory, tomorrow, they are not. The day after, masks are highly recommended, then deemed unnecessary, until, of course, the sun comes up to illuminate the wisdom of yet another new day. Booster advisories, social distancing alerts, vaccination updates, the list continues. The ground on which we stand is forever changing at the pervasive ping of a phone or the tenacious twitter of a tweet. The “new normal,” if such a thing even exists, may be the simple reality that we have become a people adrift. The constant shifting of the terrain threatens our equilibrium and unsettles our very core.

During his life, Vincent de Paul weathered a long period of upheaval and turmoil. What seeds of wisdom might his life experience offer us?

Vincent’s approach, as we see reflected in his penned advisory, was to acknowledge that the existence of thorns is necessary for roses to flourish. The lifeblood of the two are interdependent, thus, both are needed for the rosebush to thrive. Yet, Vincent did not stop here. Similar to his countryman, le Pinchon, Vincent suggests that it is the very existence of weakness that creates the fertile ground in which “heroic acts of virtue” must occur. Perhaps, to frame this in more contemporary terms, experiences of weakness and fragility, as hard as they may be to navigate, offer us a unique invitation to demonstrate acts of compassion, love and justice. Indeed, they call us to right relationship and invite us to develop our own humanity.

Vincent developed this wisdom not through a naïve sentimentalized view of the world, but while living through the tumultuous period of the Thirty Years War, and the civil war known as the Fronde. He certainly knew what it was to battle uncertainty and endure upheaval. Moreover, through his experience of caring for those who were poor, he understood firsthand the colossal weight of human need and the complexity of social problems. Yet, in the midst of navigating such rocky terrain, Vincent came to believe that love is always inventive to infinity.[3]

So, today, as we find ourselves barraged by ever-changing news advisories, I invite you to pause and recall a single moment, during the course of the pandemic, in which you felt most fully alive.  What role did weakness play in this moment? What may the unsettled ground of today be trying to teach you as you address the questions of tomorrow?

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

References:

[1] Vincent de Paul, CCD 2:21-22. Written to Jacques Tholard, In Annecy, 1 February 1640.

[2] Le Pinchon, Xavier.  “Ecce Homo (Behold Community)”. https://onbeing.org/blog/xavier-le-pichon-ecce-homo-behold-humanity/

[3] Vincent de Paul, CCD 11:131. Exhortation to a dying brother.

 

A Summer of Sustenance

bcicirel Mission Monday , , , , ,

As a child growing up in London, before I would head out to school, my mother would often seek to entice us to finish up our breakfast by saying, “Eat up all of your breakfast before you leave. You’ll need energy for the day. It’s like a car; if you don’t give it petrol it can’t run.” Her words still give me pause for reflection these many years.

Where do we find sustenance for life?

In our time the importance of self-care is frequently emphasized. It makes sense. If you don’t take care of your body, mind, and spirit, how can they take care of you?

During their time, in their own way, both Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac embraced such seeds of wisdom. Because their ministry could certainly take a toll and came at a personal cost, these longtime, caring friends sometimes challenged each other and their communities to take a step back to replenish dwindling reserves. Indeed, as Vincent himself knew, “[I]t’s impossible for us to produce good results if we’re like dry land that yields only thistles.”1 After all, “no one can give what he [or she] does not have.”2

How will you replenish your reservoir this summer? As we combat a global pandemic, this question seems all the more poignant now in light of what has been, and continues to be, one of the most challenging periods in living history.

How are you being invited to nurture your mind, body, and spirit? And how will you recharge the spirit within yourself that invites all to flourish? The invitation awaits. How will you respond?

1 Conference 202, Gentleness (Common Rules, Chap. II, Art. 6), 28 March 1659, CCD, 12:157. See: https://via.library.depaul.edu/coste_en/

2 Letter 1623, To a Seminary Director, CCD, 4:570.

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