Jesus in the Wilderness

“And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness” (Mark 1:12)

Lately I am not into wilderness. I don’t want to be in a place, physical or metaphorical, where I am at the mercy of the elements, where I am unsafe, where my very survival is at issue. I much prefer to be in control of my surroundings, feel safe in the life I have ordered, and have my mind on things higher up on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs than simply staying alive. Therapeutic moral deism—a popular distortion of Christianity which envisions a God whose sole purposes are to improve my life and help me follow clearly demarcated moral guidelines—encourages me, perhaps unintentionally, to avoid the wilderness. But here in the gospels, Jesus is led (driven!) by the Spirit into the wilderness. And here in Lent, if I am to enter into this season of reflection, I am invited to reflect on the reality of wilderness. And I am beginning to think that, in many ways, I am in the wilderness like it or not, so I might as well face it.

The biblical scholar in me is helpful at this point. I can take a step back from my personal feelings about entering the wilderness and ask what wilderness meant to the gospel writers, when they chose to include this detail from the life of Jesus in their narratives. Recognizing the cultural, historical, and literary context of this event from the life of Jesus is a good starting point. Such reflection can provide some guidance for more personal reflections about wilderness.

source: faith.nd.edu

For Jewish writers in the first century, the wilderness could be viewed as a place of individual isolation and struggle, but that was not its only meaning. The theme of “wilderness” also had many other connections, some with deep roots in the Jewish worldview embraced by the New Testament writers. Wilderness was the place where their ancestors had wandered for forty years: a place of communal (rather than individual) purification and testing. It was also a place of a place of divine revelation. Moses is associated with the wilderness, encountering God at the burning bush and receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, in addition to leading the Israelites through their wilderness wanderings. All of these aspects of Israelite history suggest the importance of wilderness for the early Jewish worldview. In addition, in the period of the Second Temple, the wilderness was a place where rebel leaders against oppressive regimes had gathered their forces, particularly in the Maccabean era. Finally, the wilderness has associations with the concept of exile: the forced removal of the people of Israel from the land of promise during the era of the monarchy. Though the Bible also recounts a return from exile in the era of king Cyrus, for many Jewish authors in the Second Temple period, the exile continued to define their reality as separated in some way from the covenant blessings of God.

With this rich palate of associations related to the idea of “wilderness,” any serious reader of the New Testament might want to pause to consider what particular connotations may be in mind when a gospel writer explicitly points out that Jesus was led into the wilderness. One might expect divine encounters and divine revelation in a narrative that involves a journey into the wilderness. (For an accessible and helpful look at the significance of the wilderness in the era of the New Testament, see Daniel Smith’s Into the World of the New Testament, especially chapter four).

To me, it seems that the notion of the wilderness in these passages makes a link between Jesus and Moses very strong. Such a connection is supported when we see other places in the gospels where Jesus and Moses are both shown to be a part of God’s working in the world (see John 1:17, for example). The full significance of Jesus can only be appreciated when his advent is seen as part of the long history of God’s working in the world. For the earliest Christians, themselves Jews, the significance of Moses and the Torah cannot be overestimated. Thus, in his being led into the wilderness, Jesus is shown to be a participant in God’s age old plan of redemption of God’s people. And this to me is a vital recognition: for the gospel writers Jesus is not just a radical new initiative on the part of God to redeem humanity. Jesus is part of God’s plans from of old. “Wilderness,” as a theme, is one way of showing that connection to the reader.

This way of reading the wilderness temptation of Jesus does not preclude the idea that Jesus models a personal practice of piety in which one is purified through time alone in the wilderness, even as one faces and strives to resist temptation. Christians have always identified personally with this narrative, finding in it encouragement and hope when in temptation. But it is important to also recall that a personal application of this passage to “my life” is not the whole story. Jesus’s going into the wilderness is a way of the gospel writer saying: “Hey, pay attention. This story I am recounting is not only about a unique individual overcoming temptation; what follows will be rich with divine revelation.” Just as God was revealed in the wilderness in the past, God is being revealed in the gospel in the life of Jesus, albeit in a new way. The gospel writers are inviting us to make the connection that this story (the story of Jesus) is part of that story (the story of God and God’s people). New Testament historian N. T. Wright puts it this way: “Jesus is acting out the great drama of Israel’s exodus from Egypt, Israel’s journey through the wilderness into the promised land” (Mark for Everyone, p. 6).

When I think about this passage, yes it can lead me to think about my own experience of wilderness, my own experience of exile. I can take comfort in knowing that Jesus was in the wilderness as well, and that I am not alone in whatever physical or spiritual wilderness I find myself. Those are good things to consider. But I can also consider the larger idea that the story of Jesus is a part of the ancient story of God’s redemptive work in the world.

The prophet Isaiah’s words are thus a very apt reminder of the rich tapestry of wilderness themes throughout scripture: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord” (Isaiah 40:3). So whether I find myself in a real or metaphorical wilderness, such a place is a fitting one in which to prepare the way of the Lord.

"Holy Envy" at Lent

Being raised in a Christian tradition that did not follow the liturgical calendar (well, we had Christmas and Easter; plus, for the really devout, Good Friday), I’ve always felt like something of an outsider when it comes to the season of Lent. I envy my sisters and brothers from other traditions for whom the ebb and flow of the church calendar is a way of deepening, reflecting on, and putting into tangible practice their devotion to God. In a recent On Being podcast Krista Tippet interviewed a rabbi and a Muslim chaplain about their interfaith work. One of them raised the notion of “holy envy:” being able to appreciate something about another tradition that is absent (or less present) in one’s own. Today I still wrestle with what Lent should mean or could mean for me, and the concept of “holy envy” provides me an interesting way of thinking about it this year. And yet, the practices that Lent invites and inspires are not unique to any one tradition but are essential practices of Christian faith: fasting, prayer, reflection, contemplation. But in this season they take on a new significance as we are invited to participate in them again and anew.

This week Carlow’s Center for Mercy Heritage provided the following suggestions as to how we might both fast and feast during the Lenten season.

Fast from:	Feast On:
judging others, emphasis on differences, the darkness, thoughts of illness, words that pollute us, withholding anger, idle gossip, pessimism, worry, guilt, complaining, stress, hostility, bitterness, selfishness, discouragement, apathy, suspicion, being so busy, talking,	the Christ dwelling in them our oneness the light of Christ the healing power of God words that purify sharing feelings spreading good news optimism trust freedom appreciation self-care letting go forgiveness compassion hope enthusiasm seeing the good quiet silence listening

Many of these are very attractive ideas to which I can easily assent. Who doesn’t want more optimism, hope, and compassion in their lives? But to actually fast from something like “stress” or “being so busy” and to feast on something like “quiet silence” or “self-care” seems a tall order. Even more so to feast on “our oneness” and “the light of Christ.” And yet, as conceptual and ethereal as these ideas are, faith tells us that they are also very real.

The brilliant author of the Fourth Gospel put it this way in the magnificent hymn which opens this work: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). By faith, Christians recognize this to be true today as well.

So in our present world in which there is both light and darkness, Lent seems an opportunity to adjust our gaze away from the darkness and again toward the light of Christ: “the true light which enlightens every person” (John 1:9). So “holy envy” or not, I’ll enter this Lenten season with my brothers and sisters to see how we may be enlightened together.

Bono and Beatitudes

The beatitudes keep coming across my frame of reference lately. A colleague is teaching a new course called “The Composition of Happiness” in which she surveys a wide range of writings that address happiness and what it means to be truly happy. She got in touch with me about the week in which her students will be reading the beatitudes and asked for some background information I had that might help in opening up their meaning. Sure thing, I said, and sent her a few introductory pieces that I thought would be helpful, particularly seeing the beatitudes in the larger context of Jesus’s famous Sermon on the Mount. Of particular interest is the idea that there are two versions of the beatitudes, one in Matthew 5 and one in Luke 6. Each author provides a slightly different take on what Jesus taught in the parables, giving us a concrete illustration of the idea that differences of interpretation of the words of Jesus is not a new thing: it was already happening with the writing of the New Testament. For example, Luke has “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God” (6:20), which links well with Luke’s concern that the good news about Jesus is for all people, including the poor and the marginalized. Matthew, with a concern for the qualities Christians ought to embody as members of the Church, takes a more spiritual approach: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (5:3). A similar variation happens in the beatitude about those “who hunger” (in Luke) versus those who “hunger and third for righteousness” (in Matthew). It is fascinating how each author picks up on a different dimension of what Jesus taught.

More challenging is figuring out what the beatitudes actually mean. Are these statements prescriptive telling us how we should be or live? Or are they descriptive, describing the way it is in God’s kingdom, the people who are blessed in God’s eyes though not necessarily in the world around us? My sense is that the beatitudes are largely a counter-cultural announcement of the reversals that Jesus was inaugurating with the arrival of the new age of his advent. He, as he often did, took conventional thinking and turned it on its head. He called people “blessed” that the world would never consider to be so. At any rate, those are the kinds of issues that the beatitudes raise for those who ponder them. Incidentally, I pointed my colleague to the Bible Odyssey website produced by the Society of Biblical Literature as a means of promoting general understanding of the Bible from an informed, academic perspective. For anyone wondering what might be called the “academic” perspective on the Bible, the Bible Odyssey site is a good entry point. As a good academic site it points to research and information about genre, significance, and cultural context. Those looking for an approach that is more devotional/doctrinally oriented can find many of those, including sites like GotQuestions.org.

Since sending her that information, I’ve become enamored with U2’s new album, Songs of Experience. One song (“Get Out of Your Own Way”) ends and another (“American Soul”) begins with Kendrick Lamar reciting a contemporary “re-interpretation” of the beatitudes. In it, he turns the genre on its head and uses the expectations generated by beatitude-style language to surprise us and confront us. 

Blessed are the arrogant, for theirs is the kingdom of their own company.

Blessed are the superstars, for the magnificence in their light, we understand better our own insignificance.

Blessed are the filthy rich, for you can only truly own what you give away, like your pain.

Blessed are the bullies, for one day they will have to stand up to themselves.

Blessed are the liars, for the truth…can be awkward.

This reinterpretation “works” because we have a certain expectation about what a beatitude should be and communicate. It should tell us about those who are in a favored situation for whatever reason—those that God blesses. However, these beatitudes take qualities that we associate with ungodly traits and values, and makes them at least sound like a source of blessing. But when we consider each line on its own, we see that it is not really a blessing at all; each line contains within its logic a reversal for these individuals who embody these traits (and in the context of the album, it is clear that one might picture a certain reality TV star on the mind of Bono as he wrote this).

This notion of “reversal” is central to the genre of beatitudes. And it is interesting here to note again that Jesus’s beatitudes were a portrayal of reversal as well. When he used the genre of beatitude, it was not normal for anyone to consider the poor, the hungry, the persecuted as being “blessed” in any way. So Jesus himself took a genre that already existed and turned it on its head to give us our expectation of beatitudes as we have them today. U2 has taken the genre and used it in a similar way to call out some concerning trends in our public figures.

Last week I came across another “reinterpretation” of the beatitudes in a new document from the Sisters of Mercy—a document they wrote calling for the Sisters to work on global partnering with other groups to address issues of degradation of God’s earth and of the suffering of displaced peoples. This version, I think, captures not the surprise twist that U2’s do, but rather this version captures the heart of the message of Jesus. See what you think:

The Beatitudes as we see the world today, developed by Anna, Mary, and Chris.

1. Blessed are those who live from the depths of their being.

They will see, radiate and attract goodness and know true freedom.

2. Blessed are those who recognise that our earth is in mourning because of human abuse and destruction.

They will comfort it.

3. Blessed are those who recognise their littleness in the whole of the cosmos.

They shall share in the co-creation of an unfinished universe.

4. Blessed are those who live in right relationship with all of life.

They will bring about change in the world.

5. Blessed are the merciful.

For they shall know the heart of God.

6. Blessed are those who are so in God's love.

They shall know it is God who lives and acts in them.

7. Blessed are those who live in harmony with all earth's creatures.

They will come to experience a deep peace within themselves.

8. Blessed are those who seek justice for people who are throwaways in our society.

They will know the true worth of all of Creation.

~ Brisbane Group, Ireland

(Source: Mercy Interational Reflective Process, p. 20)

Clearly, the beatitudes of Jesus are just as timely today as they have been in every generation. In their simplicity, they capture profound truth that is difficult to explicate without making it sound trite. In this, Jesus shows himself to be a master teacher. In addition, the beatitudes of Jesus continue to invite people to reflect for themselves on what it means to be blessed in the context of the current world in which we live.

The Undivided Life: Part Two

Last week I posted some of the insights of Parker Palmer from his influential book The Courage to Teach that have helped me to think in a more holistic way about the art of teaching and the outcomes of a liberal arts education (see "The Undivided Life: Part One"). In this post I discuss a few concepts from some of his other writings. As with his other writings, Palmer's insights derive from a rich understanding of what it means to be fully human based largely on the wisdom of biblical teaching as understood in the Quaker tradition.

Building on the ideas in his earlier work, in The Heart of Higher Education: A Call to Renewal (2010) Palmer promotes what he calls “integrative learning” which is learning that is grounded in his holistic view of the human person. Recognizing the challenges facing higher education, and the ways it sometimes falls far short of its ideals, he asks:

"How can higher education become a more multidimensional enterprise, one that draws on the full range of human capacities for knowing, teaching, and learning; that bridges the gaps between the disciplines; that forges stronger links between knowing the world and living creatively in it, in solitude and community?" (2)

As he makes his case for what can foster such a multidimensional academic approach, Palmer explains that the type of change that is needed is one that is not a simple administrative or structural fix. He writes:

"The change we seek within the academy is not one that flows from administrative mandate, but one that arises in the energized space between caring and thoughtful human beings. When personal agendas subside, and genuine interest in the other is established, then a quality of mutual attentiveness emerges that can become the safe harbor for the new and the unexpected that may become a seedbed of educational renewal." (12)

While administrative mandate cannot bring this kind of cultural change about, there are ways that structures, policies and procedures can be developed and aligned in ways that support and encourage this kind of genuine interaction. If there is one thing I have encountered in my own experiences of higher education it is a multitude of “caring and thoughtful human beings.” Many thoughtful and caring people are drawn to education and one of the things I love about working in higher education is getting to work among such wonderful people. Higher education attracts people who are passionate about their particular area of study and are experts in it, and who are also passionate about seeing others learn and grow. What can be lost at times amid the institutional and cultural pressures of our higher education system are the concern for others and the inspiration that caused us to pursue advanced study in our academic areas of interest in the first place. In the midst of such pressures Palmer promotes the recovery of wonder and humility:

"A mode of knowing steeped in awe, wonder, and humility is a mode of knowing that can serve the human cause, which is the whole point of integrative education." (22)

This sense of awe, wonder, and humility around discovery is something that both faculty and students need, and is something that integrative learning can help foster. And as valuable as that is inherently, it also has value for humanity as it opens up potential for serving others. With this recognition Palmer points to the idea of education serving the needs of humanity—a notion which is also a feature of any education grounded in the liberal arts.

This idea of serving others also comes out clearly in the two audio-books I recently listened to about vocation and the inner life. Palmer writes about the need to connect “soul and role,” in order to integrate who we are with what we do in our professional and public lives of service. In Let Your LifeSpeak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation (1999), he writes:

“Our deepest calling is to grow into our own authentic self-hood, whether or not it conforms to some image of who we ought to be. As we do so, we will not only find the joy that every human being seeks--we will also find our path of authentic service in the world.”

Along similar lines, in An Undivided Life: Seeking Wholeness in Ourselves, Our Work, and Our World (2009) he cites Frederick Buechner: 

“Vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world's deep need.”

In Palmer’s work I find encouragement to be present in the world in a thoughtful way that recognizes that I have something to give others, and that this something comes from being who I truly am. I also find encouragement to be in the world with a deeper awareness of the dignity of all people and the inter-connectedness of all of us.

To me these ways of thinking about life and vocation are central features of what a liberal arts education provides for those who embrace it. And particularly a liberal arts education at a Christian college or university that is grounded in the centuries old tradition of wisdom, of faith seeking understanding, and the sacredness of all of God’s creation.

A complete list of Parker J. Palmer’s books can be found here. If your library has any of them and if you are looking for a reliable and also challenging guide for the inner journey, I highly recommend his work.

The Undivided Life: Part One

Years ago I read Parker J. Palmer’s The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life. I recall being struck by his approach to teaching that honored the humanity of the teacher as well as the learner. In that volume he described teaching as a deeply human kind of encounter between teacher, learner, and subject. In 2014 I came across his book The Heart of Higher Education: A Call to Renewal, and I wrote a blog post about what Palmer referred to as “integrated learning.” This past month I was pleasantly surprised to discover by accident that my public library had a couple of Parker Palmer’s books as audiobooks available on the Overdrive app, so I’ve been listening to them on my commute. To top it all off, I’ve now heard two faculty members quote Parker Palmer within the last month. I am now convinced that it is time for me to explore some of the lessons I’ve learned from his writing and see what connections remain to be explored. For reflecting on the inner life and its connection to one’s vocation in the world, Parker Palmer is a trustworthy guide.

Here I want to provide a few quotes from his work that have wider applicability and that illustrate his approach. From The Courage to Teach:

“Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher” (2).

This central idea is at the heart of most of Parker Palmer’s writings. This notion of identity and integrity draws on Palmer’s Quaker spiritual roots which take seriously an understanding of the presence of God within us. For Palmer this is a radical commitment to the biblical idea that every person is created in the image of God and a corresponding belief in the possibility of finding “that of God in every person” (Hidden Wholeness, 180) including oneself. In this light the journey to discover one’s true identity is not a narcissistic detour or self-absorption; instead the inner journey is a journey toward knowing God as we discover the unique ways God has shaped us and speaks through our lives. Incredibly, the God who created the universe is the God who dwells within and speaks within our own souls. This foundational Quaker belief is part of what makes Palmer’s work on teaching and learning so distinctive and also so attractive.

With this rich view of self, Palmer advocates bringing our “whole selves” to our work of teaching. As it turns out, we all do so either consciously (with awareness of both our gifts and limitations, our light and our shadow sides) or unconsciously (lacking that self-awareness and unaware of how our limits and potentials, our light and our shadow, are affecting us and those around us). Palmer explains, “Teaching, like any truly human activity, emerges from one’s inwardness, for better or worse” (2). In the end, as Palmer explains, “We teach who we are” (2). This is a recognition of the importance of owning our identity and embracing the reality of who we actually are, rather than who we wish we were or think we should be.

In addition, it can also be said paradoxically that “we are who we teach.” In other words, our identity is also being shaped through our encounter with our students who themselves are people of identity and integrity, whole selves with gifts and potentials just like us. Together in the classroom or university, we are whole, individual selves. But we are also individual selves in community. Along these lines, Palmer writes:

“Our equal and opposite needs for solitude and community constitute a great paradox. When it is torn apart, both of these life-giving states of being degenerate into deathly spectres of themselves. Solitude split off from community is no longer a rich and fulfilling experience of inwardness; now it becomes loneliness, a terrible isolation. Community split off from solitude is no longer a nurturing network of relationships; now it becomes a crowd, an alienating buzz of too many people and too much noise” (68)

For my part, as an introvert I find that I am much more naturally drawn to the solitude side of the paradox. Yet I at least mentally assent to the importance of community and would certainly name the fostering of a vibrant academic community as one of the primary goals of my service as a dean. Revisiting Palmer's work has given me some richer context for seeing the importance of both solitude and community, and of the need for solitude in order to be able to promote true community.

Here is one final quote from The Courage to Teach: 

“In the undivided self, every major thread of one’s life experience is honored, creating a weave of such coherence and strength that it can hold students and subject as well as self. Such a self, inwardly integrated, is able to make the outward connections on which good teaching depends.” (16)

To me, this description sounds not only like what we as educators wish for ourselves. It is also what we hope for and believe that a transformative liberal arts education will enable for our students: an inwardly integrated self that is able to make the outward connections on which good living depends.

In a followup post, I will discuss how Palmer extends these ideas and explores their potential to shape the culture of universities in his The Heart of Higher Education (2010). I’ll also draw from two of his other books related to the nature of vocation.

One Path of Mercy

Catherine McAuley, foundress of the Sisters of Mercy, referred to mercy as “the principal path.” This week the Atkins Center for Ethics and the Social Justice Institutes co-sponsored a presentation by Sister Karen Schneider, RSM, MD, MPH, who was in Pittsburgh to meet our students who are going to Haiti in the spring on Carlow’s first alternative spring break trip to Haiti. In this public talk, “One Path of Mercy,” aimed at the wider Carlow community, she spoke about her work in Haiti, Guyana, Peru, Kenya, and Nigeria and how her own path of mercy was changed during an internship in the interior of Guyana as a 4^th year medical student. Today she is Assistant Professor of Pediatrics at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, focusing on pediatric medicine and tropical medicine. For those who missed her presentation here are three points that were particularly striking for me.

First, for our students, Dr. Schneider emphasized that there are so many paths for students, even once they’ve chosen their majors. Her story is an illustration of the many different paths that one can take and how the experiences we have in life, particularly in encountering people and situations of dire need, can have a profound impact on us. Gaining such an awareness is an important aspect of a transformative education that is grounded in the liberal arts. For Carlow students, opportunities to meet and encounter people in need through service trips, service learning courses, and Mercy Service Day have the potential to be life changing. These kinds of experiences are intentionally embedded in the curriculum and are an important dimension of a Carlow undergraduate education as a reflection of our Sisters of Mercy heritage. Yet there is no single path of mercy, and every student’s journey on the path is unique, as was Dr. Schneider’s.

Second, Dr. Schneider emphasized the simplicity of mercy. “Mercy is compassionate treatment of those in distress,” she said. She developed this idea as she shared from her experiences in places with no potable water, where malnutrition and lack of access to basic medical care lead to the death and suffering of children. She explained, “There are so many places in the world where a simple intervention can save lives.” She also read a great quote from Catherine McAuley that emphasizes the realistic, action-oriented approach of the Sisters of Mercy: “The poor need help today… not tomorrow.” Her experiences provided several powerful examples of how an individual can make an impact in peoples’ lives through simple service in their area of study and future areas of professional expertise. The connection between one’s field of study and the opportunities it opens to serve others was also a timely reminder about the value of higher education in educating students to meet the complex needs that exist in the world today.

Third, she reflected on why she keeps going back to these difficult situations. In the end, it amounted to the idea that if she did not go, or if no one went, the dramatic changes in peoples’ lives that she sees would not be possible. In places where malnutrition, intestinal worms, cleft palates, and hernias go untreated, the opportunity to receive treatment can radically change a person’s life. She explained, “Surgery on one child will not change the world, but for that one child the world will change forever.”

Seeing a lecture hall full of Carlow faculty, staff, and students from nursing, biology, and other disciplines engage with her presentation was encouraging. Part of a mercy-oriented education that is grounded in the liberal arts includes expanding students’ visions of what might be possible for them in serving others. There are many paths our students can follow as they complete their degrees and pursue graduate studies or move directly into a career. Dr. Schneider shared her example as one path with hope that our students will find their way on the path of mercy as well.

Catherine McAuley’s words about mercy as the principal path are worth quoting in full to conclude this post. She referred to mercy as “the principal path pointed out by Jesus Christ to those who are desirous of following Him” (source: MercyWorld.org). Mercy is a path that is open to all, and is the path modeled by Jesus. Dr. Schneider’s talk was a challenge to all of us in the audience to reflect on our own path. Where have we seen situations of need and been able to show mercy? Who will we encounter on the path of mercy today?

Reflecting on the Carlow Common Hour Meetings

This past week saw the conclusion of the Common Hour meetings for fall 2017, a new initiative of the Center for Mercy Heritage this year. This month’s meeting was a robust discussion of the Carlow University philosophy statement which was drafted in 2014-15 to support the then newly adopted mission, vision, and values statements. Taken together these statements provide a concise way of articulating the Carlow approach to higher education. A major focus of the discussion was the notion of the transformative power of a liberal arts education, which the philosophy statement articulates in a very compelling way. The discussion centered around the extent to which that is present or may be threatened in the current climate of emphasizing professional programs, highlighting career outcomes, and allowing students more choice in their liberal arts courses. While acknowledging that all those changes seem to be important responses to the changing environment, there was a concern that the transformative Carlow education grounded in the liberal arts was potentially at risk. This was an important conversation and one that will certainly need to continue. How do we foster an ongoing commitment among faculty, staff, and students to the value of the liberal arts as part of a Carlow education? As long as we are having these conversations across the university, I am confident that we can continue to offer an education that is truly transformative, even in changing contexts. I am grateful to the Common Hour committee for facilitating this one.

The previous three Common Hour session discussions each highlighted important dimensions of what is means for Carlow to be a university in the Sisters of Mercy tradition. In November the presentation focused on faculty research related to the Project to End Human Trafficking. This presentation was an excellent instance of the way in which social justice concerns, rooted in the critical concerns of the Sisters of Mercy, feed into faculty/student research, the classroom, and impact the community. October’s Common Hour was a presentation on “Sabbath” and its implications for our work as faculty and staff and in working with students. Particularly with the rapid pace of change, the need for space to reflect is vital. The question was how and to what extent we are inviting students to make time for reflection. And how might we be more intentional about this. September kicked off the Common Hour series with a presentation about the Sisters of Mercy critical concerns in light of their recent Chapter 2017 meeting. In particular, Sister Sheila Carney shared their “Word of Comfort to a Suffering World” in which they “invite others to make common cause in these efforts.” The document can be found here:

Taken together, these sessions demonstrate a real commitment to creating space for faculty and staff to come together to learn about and discuss important issues facing the community. The spring 2018 line-up looks just as promising for addressing issues of importance to all members of the university community. In particular, the Feb 6 Common Hour will be focused on civil discourse in our academic community and beyond.

Many thanks to Sister Sheila and the Common Hour committee for a great semester of programming!