Friends and Members of the
St. Mary's community; it was in 1982 that I had the privilege of addressing
participants in this very event. I feel honored to have been invited again -
which means that (a) my hosts do not remember I had been a speaker once before,
(b) I am known to be dependably brief for such affairs, (c) a canon of an
Episcopal cathedral about to retire from full-time state employment would
incorporate medieval, ecumenical, and public sectors, all in one chair, (d)
regardless of other considerations, one would simply expect - within St.
Patrick's parish boundaries - a Flanagan to invite a Nolan, or (e) all or none
of the above! In any case, I am delighted to take part in the Class Night
Program of this eightieth commencement celebration.
In all vocations of human service, caring about individuals
as persons is fundamental. As professionals taught within a Christian or
humanistic curriculum, we believe firmly that patients, parishioners, students,
and clients are never objects, but always wondrous human beings, in the context
of St. Mary's, "children of God." Easier said than done!
For two years during the 1960s, while studying, I taught 5th
through 8th grade boys in the elementary boarding school of New York's
Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. Anyone who has been responsible for the
well-being of resident choirboys, even at a cathedral, is ready to affirm the
most harsh interpretation of original sin and the limited effects of baptism.
Vested in the cathedral, they looked and sounded like angels. At night in their
two dormitories (wherein the story Lord of the Flies must have originated), I
was supposed to see to it that the twenty or so 5th and 6th graders - housed in
the massive room next to my own windowless bedroom - would sleep well and on
schedule. By mid-fall of my second year, I reacted to them as if they were
imps-from-below rather than children, and I submitted a timely resignation! In
April of this year I returned to the school for its 90th Anniversary. In the
hallway where they used to line up for inspection before meals, I saw little
Stephen, now much taller and about 40, walking ahead of me with his wife.
"Stephen," I said mocking my own schoolmaster's manner. Something
deep inside of him seemed to freeze with terror, as he came to an abrupt halt
and spun around - perhaps for another scolding. He looked puzzled, and I
reintroduced myself as his former dormitory and mathematics master. After
warmly greeting each other these many years later, he said, "You know,
Sir, you once whacked me on the hand with a ruler!" I cringed. We chatted
a bit more, after which he joined his alumni friends. I then located the school
secretary, who supplied me with a large ruler; with a hearty laugh Stephen
accepted my invitation and provided a ceremonial slap across my right hand.
[Incidentally, I've always credited the Kentucky-based Dominican Sisters, my
elementary school teachers, with my familiarity with that disciplinary
measure!]
How we would all like to undo those occasions when we
treated people entrusted to our care as less than children of God! Mismatched
with a job (as I was), exhausted, or allowing our "buttons" to be
pushed, we sometimes react to individuals we are called to serve as if they
were things or objects, even enemies. I had the unusual opportunity of being
absolved by Stephen for an incident I had long forgotten, but I wonder how many
others are buried in my history. I can recall vividly some other occurrences
during my life, moments when words were my weapon. Please don't misunderstand
me; I am not suggesting that we regularly beat ourselves up for our imperfect
behavior. Living peaceably with regrets, humanly forgiven and unforgiven, is a
factor in all of our pilgrimages. However, acknowledging our lapses can help us
reclaim our professed ideals.
For the two years prior to living in New York, I was on the
faculty of a Connecticut boarding school - while at the same time studying for
ordination. A part of my job was to serve as a resident dormitory master for
about twenty high-school age students. This was my very first post after
college. I devoted myself to their well-being, worked well beyond the call of
duty, watched my seminary grades tumble, and suffered physical symptoms. My
adviser, a truly pastoral professor, called me to his study to explore the
causes of my poor academic performance. With not a little pride tinged with a
righteous sense of martyrdom, I told him of my self-imposed obligations to the
boarders. I expected his praise for my dedicated selflessness. His guidance was
gentle and constructive; I can't remember his words, but if he had wanted to
clobber me, they could have been phrased along these lines: "Who appointed
you omnipotent, omniscient god and savior of these students?" "Whose
needs are you really meeting, theirs or yours?" "Do you have an
exaggerated sense of responsibility?" "Is your need to be needed at a
neurotic level?" "Aren't you yet able to sort out your priorities and
manage your time?" "Richard, you're suffering from spiritual
arrogance and vocational addiction." Whatever he actually said, he
provided me with a much needed jolt and balance; my grades improved, and
amazingly the boarding students' journeys continued.
You and I hear "Love your neighbor" all right, but
many women and men in human service vocations tend to forget the remaining
words "as yourself." Certainly, we are called to care for others as
"children of God," but to care as well for ourselves, for our own
well-being as children of God. Thomas Merton expressed it well, "To allow
one's self to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to
surrender to too many demands, to commit one's self to too many projects, to
want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence. Frenzy destroys
our inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our work, because
it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful."
Members of the Graduating Class, you and I are about to
begin new adventures. I am concluding thirty years of full-time teaching to
savor leisurely and selectively a buffet of personal and vocational delicacies
(and, I regard tonight with you as my point of professional transition). You
are about to be launched into a changing, sometimes stormy, always challenging
ocean of health care. None of us will radically change the world or be able to
offer our skills in ideal circumstances. However, we can leave a legacy of
touching some lives for the better and of being touched as well. I should like
to propose a prayer that might be useful as we begin each professional day
accompanied by the proper Spirit:
"Come, Holy and Infinite Spirit, warm my heart, open my
mind, and strengthen my will for loving service to your daughters and sons
entrusted to my finite care. Deliver me from spiritual arrogance, and grace me
with self-regard. I pray in the Name of the One who lived fully the love of
God, neighbor and self, none other than Jesus Christ, Our Lord. Amen."
Graduates, God bless you, and take care!