Reimagine. Rediscover. Recreate.

This past weekend, I spent some time at our family beach house to get away from all the usual distractions of my home. However, the tranquility of my little weekend getaway was interrupted by a comical and disturbing display of trucks, golf-carts and jeeps blaring country music and bearing American flags along with various versions of pro-Trump and pro-gun banners.  

Little did I know, I had entered what a friend of mine called “the Redneck Riviera”.

It is not a term that I particularly like, or necessarily agree with, but I was struck by the palpable level of angst and anger as people carelessly weaved in and out of people walking on the beach, shouting and drinking as they kicked the sand up.

I kept asking myself:  why are they so angry?

It is not new, and hardly limited to the stretch of beach where I found myself this past weekend. I confess it was hard not to pass judgement, and it made me even more concerned about the upcoming election:  perhaps there are more people out there who will vote for Trump than I originally thought.

How will we learn that the opposite of anger is not necessarily happiness, but humility?  

In that same moment, I also recalled a documentary I saw many years ago:  Waiting for Superman, about the education system in the United States. It is a disturbing portrayal, but of all the things I recall about that documentary I saw so many years ago, it was how the education systems of the United States compare to other countries. In every category except one, the United States has fallen on the global rating. Math, science, reading, writing – all down.  The one uptick:  confidence. Americans are more confident than any other country in the world, even if we do not have a reason to be.  

Confidence was on full-display this past weekend. It is on full display in our politics.  It is on full display throughout this country. It a great country, but it has allowed the substance of that greatness to be overshadowed with bravado and showmanship.  

Perhaps this is the source of our anger:  that we know we are not who we claim to be. November will indeed be telling, but I wonder what happens to all this anger then? How will we learn that greatness is not bestowed; but rather it is earned? How will we learn that the opposite of anger is not necessarily happiness, but humility?  

I do not yet know. But I look forward to the day when we can stand on the seashore, humbled by the vast beauty all around us, gently nodding to those around us who do the same.  

A little over 10 years ago, I created a social experiment at the university where I worked:  a campus-wide screen-free day. Students, faculty and staff were all invited to participate so that all instruction, meetings, and interactions would occur, for a whole-day, without the aid/distraction of technology. Well, maybe not a whole day. . .

The more we discussed it with groups on campus, the more we saw the problem – even before the experiment began. People were very intimidated by a day-long commitment to not using a screen (keep in mind this was 10 years ago). So rather than make a t-shirt that people would wear, we made a button they could take on and off to indicate to others that you were a part of the experiment. 

The button read:  “I’m turned off”

Yes, it was meant to have a double-meaning. Because I was watching student after student sit in the lounge outside my office, with a device in their hands, as their expressions changed with each social interaction. One moment, they were working on a paper; and the next, they were depressed or enraged or breaking the silence with a comment about something that they have little control over. 

It was then that I learned just how important boundaries are; and it has been my field of research ever since. Which is why I watched The Social Dilemma this past week. 

The documentary is a lot of what many of us already know: that there is a direct correlation between social media and mental health. What struck me is how much more direct and confident the presentation of this fact has become over the years; because the more time that goes by, the better our data becomes.  

Is technology a still a tool that we use, or have the tables turned?

This is not to say technology is bad; in fact, it is quite the opposite. However, the question our actions should cause us to ask is if technology is a still a tool that we use, or have the tables turned? Perhaps we are not simply users (it is helpful to think about the associations with that term), but that we are also being used.   

Perhaps it is time to experiment again, knowing what we know now? Perhaps we will be convinced to make some changes? Perhaps we will see just how connected everything really is:  our mental health, our political divide, our inequality and inequity, etc. Then, perhaps, technology can be the tool we all want it to be:  to connect us to views we would otherwise miss, and make our lives better.  

We are a people that are very afraid.  For many reasons, we have become a people who are very afraid . . but a person is different than a people. 

Individually, we are challenged to ask ourselves if our decisions, actions and beliefs reflect what we might lose or how we could be punished as a result of the choices we make; or what we might gain? 

One is fear; the other is hope.  

By now we know, fear is easier – more tempting – than hope. Our collective fear is overwhelming. I see it in religion as people sit in pews more often because they are, at the end of the day, afraid of going to Hell; no matter how much they are reminded that our reason for going is actually to practice for Heaven. I see it in our politics as we, more often than not, vote against something or someone more than we do for someone.  

Similarly, I find that we can talk about our mistakes much more readily than we can talk about our successes. We can talk about our sins much more easily than our gifts. We can talk about who and what we are afraid of in an instant, but struggle to articulate in who and where we put our trust.  

We can talk about who and what we are afraid of in an instant, but struggle to articulate in who and where we put our trust.  

I used to tell church congregations that I really wanted two confessionals in every church. The first one would be for “confessing” your giftedness, blessings and trusts. The second would be used only after the first so that then you could articulate your mistakes based on how did, and did not, use your gifts and live with trust – rather than some idea of a mistake that you don’t consider as such.  

It is not “what do you have to lose”, but what might you gain, win, or be possible? 

Can we see that the world is not a bad place? That creation is not sinful or fallen? Can we see that the world is created and thus can only be good. If so, then we can put our trust in our goodness, long before we allow ourselves to be afraid of our brokenness.   

It is far too early to determine if virtual school is working; or perhaps even more importantly, to understand the ramifications of our actions. Every day, I watch a 5 and 7 year old learn through a screen in ways that I did not do until I was earning my Master’s degree. Though we have had our struggles with exploring the internet without permission and simply walking away from “class”; the kids have done fairly well. Of course, it is still only the second week of school.  

We have worked hard to schedule recess pods with select kids so that they have some social interaction in the day (and we get a much need “kid-sitter” break), but this has also required conversations about the people they don’t see.  

I have always believed that the most valuable lessons we can learn are from those who are different than ourselves. While we have connected our homes, we have also isolated them from the institutions that call us out of our familiarity, to beliefs, traditions and experiences that keep us humble.

The most valuable lessons we can learn are from those who are different than ourselves.

This is the perspective many people have been writing about; along with the fear that we are losing entire populations of children because privilege is not evenly distributed.  

What is missing from our conversations is an understanding that children not only learn differently, they need to know the dominant learning style if they are to successfully navigate their education with more independence than they have ever had before. As an educator for over 20 years, I have often been shocked when I introduce personality profiles and learning styles to high school and university students, and they tell me this is the first time they have learned this.

Where one who is clearly an auditory learner thrives in an online learning environment, another struggles because they are a visual learner who is only seeing 9 faces on a screen at a time. 

If we expect our children to succeed in this brave new world of online and facilitated learning, my hope is that we have broader conversations about how people learn differently.  

Moving forward can feel overwhelming, especially in times like these. Persistence is hard. Hope is either elusive because we are not really sure what we hope for, or disappointing because we hope in what we know more than what is becoming.  

When we imagine something different, I think most of us simply imagine the opposite of what already is. . . but, too often, the opposite only transfers the injustice to someone else. So rather than aim for the opposite; I am working on the option no one else has imagined yet:  we’ll call it Option Asterisk.     

I think we can do better than the opposite of what we have known. Actually, I think we already are. Because while people may think that the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I believe we are better because we are more aware of each other now than we were 20 years ago. MeToo movements, Black Lives Matter, protests, inclusive language and a host of other changes tell us that as a society, we understand the dignity of each other more than we once did. And that awareness has left us unsatisfied with old ideas we once accepted as truth.  

We are learning that change is not just about action; change is about motivations. 

There is a difference between wanting a solution and being ready for one. The latter takes work, but we don’t do the work if we don’t have a reason. And if we ever had a chance to truly reimagine and revolutionize our world – it is now. . . if we are willing to do the work. If we don’t simply rush to return and reopen, because all those are the options we know.

Our awareness opens the door for something much better than the opposite of what we have known – and for now we’ll call it option asterisk. May the work begin.  

I first launched this website in 2009 as a platform for my homilies so that people could go back and listen to what was said. Perhaps because people felt weird whipping out their phone, or holding a pad and paper in church, or because they were wrestling with young children in the pews, people would not take notes at Mass – so I made the notes for them.

For 10 years, the site was updated just about every week – sometimes more, and then it just went dormant. Because after almost 20 years as a Basilian and 10 years as a priest, I made the difficult decision to leave and start my life over again. It took me roughly two years to find the courage to do it, and I lost a lot of weight in the process. Perhaps later on, I will expand on the reasons why, but it wasn’t because I felt called to leave the priesthood, so much as I felt called to let it evolve.

New life always requires the death of something. As followers have heard me say many, many times:  there is no resurrection without a crucifixion.

But there is always a resurrection – sometimes you just have to wait for it.  Or most of the time, it is that God has to wait on us. Often, we just need time to pray the prayer we were always meant to pray and to wrap our mind around what we are meant to do.

My heart has always lived in the intersection point between church and civic life. For better and worse, religion has been the single biggest driver of human activity since the beginning of civilization, but there is a disconnect.  My hope was to be a bridge-builder; but the hard truth is that many people prefer walls to bridges. It is easier to put our hope in what we know, rather than trust in what is becoming.

Religion will always matter, and will always be a part of my life, just as it will always be a part of the world we know – but I also recognize that the conversation has shifted, and so must I. The search for meaning and purpose is more complicated now, because we are more aware of each other than we once were. So, rather than try to build a bridge from the side of religion; I am going to try to build a bridge from the world as most of us know it – meaningful work, raising children, and living with a partner who makes me better than I would be otherwise.

But the goal isn’t to get to the “other side” or connect two sides – because we don’t live in a world with two sides. The goal is to be a better bridge-builder, because goodness, we need bridges, much more than we need walls! (and even the bridges we have, are in desperate need of repair)

In many ways, my hope is to continue what I have been doing for the past 10 years, only now from a different point of view. To comment on the world we are living in and why and to ask questions that help us find the meaning and purpose to what we encounter in our lives.