By Lucia A. Silecchia

“If you become a teacher, by your pupils you’ll be taught.” So goes a line from the prelude to “Getting to Know You,” one of the songs that punctuates the classic musical “The King and I.”

After many years as a teacher, I can vouch for the truth of this observation. I am particularly reminded of it during this time of year. Invariably, as I watch my students prepare for final examinations, they teach me much about how we should and could be companions to each other on our journeys through this life.

Anyone who has been to school will remember final exam season as a time in the semester that is fraught with work, worry and the desire to perform well on the examinations that will determine course grades. (Students may not realize that this season can also be one of equal stress for their teachers!)

Each semester, I am pleasantly surprised when I see my students navigating this season together. I see them working together in study groups, coming to my office hours with friends, and lingering after class to continue discussing the material we covered amongst themselves or with me. When I meet with them on Zoom, there are sometimes two, three or four on the screen, bringing to me their debates and their questions – or asking me to resolve a friendly dispute they have had about the correct resolution to a problem. I see them gathered around tables in our student lounge or our courtyard deep in discussion and notice that they share their notes with each other when one seems to grasp some of the material better than his or her peers.

In one sense, this is not what many would assume to be rational behavior. After all, there is a temptation to don blinders during the final weeks of the semester and focus solely on individual preparation for the exams that lie ahead. It can be tempting not to “waste” time helping others in the hope that all will cross the finish line together. To cynics, it might even seem counterintuitive to share wisdom or understanding with others out of fear that this will propel them to outperform the one who first shared that wisdom.

Yet, each semester I see my students traveling this final stretch of the semester together, and I am both proud of and grateful to them.

I am proud of them because they have not let the stress of exam season distract them from the opportunities they have to be of help to each other, to support each other, and to share the highs and lows of their common adventure.

I am also deeply grateful to them because the way they treat each other during exam season teaches me something about living the Christian life.

As human beings made in the image and likeness of God, we are made to live in community with each other and to share our lives with those entrusted to us and to whom we have been entrusted. We are not made to travel through this life to the next life alone. Rather, we are called to a faith that we do not keep to ourselves, but that we share freely with others.

 We are called to help each other through the seasons of doubt and to rejoice with each other in the seasons of fulfilment. We are called to wrestle with the challenging questions of life together and help each other bear the burdens of difficult times. We are called to share freely “the reason for our hope” with those who ache to hear it. We are called to pray alone, but also to gather with our parish families, our friends and family, and even strangers to pray as a community.

My students show me this. In the mundane ways they walk together through exam season, they show me a glimpse of the more glorious way we are to walk together through this life and enter the next one in the company of each other. They show me what it means to be companions for the journey through ordinary time.

(Lucia A. Silecchia is Professor of Law and Associate Dean for Faculty Research at the Catholic University of America’s Columbus School of Law. “On Ordinary Times” is a biweekly column reflecting on the ways to find the sacred in the simple. Email her at silecchia@cua.edu.)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese

You might remember that I am fond of desert monastics for both inspiration and correction. Having recently left the hospital and rehab after five long months, I’m back home hoping to share with you a little nourishment.

There are all sorts of deserts that these stories might be applied to and hospitals, nursing homes, rehab, jails are among a few. Don’t forget the homebound.

Desert monastic stories might be ‘true’ or not … in any case, the messages they bring are well worth at least devotional reading. Let’s consider two for ‘correction’ and one for inspiration.

“Abba Zosimas used to say: Take away the thoughts and no one can become holy. One who avoids the beneficial temptations is avoiding eternal life. It is like I always say: inasmuch as God is good, God has given us to profit from everything. However, we become attached and misuse God’s gifts, and so we turn these very same good gifts to destruction through our evil choice and are therefore harmed.”

I learned a lot from being so sick and I offer this reflection for those of our readers who are. Even when you are sick you can profit. Even when you have lost a good deal of control over your life, you can still profit. Bitter or better? You still choose. So, when opportunities come our way to be strengthened by adversity … let’s choose God for profit. This is often worked out by how one interacts with nurses, doctors and staff. Learning to listen beyond what we think is a real challenge. Learning to give up, give in and trust strengthens our resolve to love God alone.

What we value is often brought out when we are ill or restrained. I thought many times about how fortunate I was to be where I was (five hospitals and rehab). Would I die? Would I live? Who knew? Many medics were sure of the former (a scary time), but I kept trying to choose the latter.

Mentally I was stretched so my values got mixed up. Maybe I lost my temper, got angry? Or maybe I didn’t eat or I ate everything I could find? Our values come into bright relief when we are not in charge. Would seem that the things we have identify those values … but really it is who we are (in Jesus) that says a whole lot more.

“An old man said: If you have lost gold or silver, you can find something in place of what you lost. However, if you lose time you cannot replace what you lost.” Can we profit then from everything God sends … even those things we are sure are so important? What do we value? What do we share? What do we learn from difficulties?

Finally, I love a story about judgment and how we treat each other. I saw more than I would have liked of people left behind, uncaring professionals, and wrestling with my foibles. Judging others or ourselves is a slippery slope and one who has come to love God has learned this truth.

“Some old men came to Abba Poemen and said: Tell us, when we see brothers/sisters dozing during the sacred office, should we pinch them so they will stay awake? The old man said to them, ‘Actually if I saw a brother sleeping, I would put his head on my knees and let him rest.’”

I can be quick to judge what is right or wrong in any given situation and often I am completely off base. The tenderness of this story reminds me that we are flesh, and we are bound to fail, be weak and give in to ourselves. But here is a brother who understands this well and holds in his hands, as God does with us, the very flesh that this youngest or elder seems to be withholding. Oh no, God gives to His beloved in sleep the Psalmist reminds us and the beauty of this act reminds me to treat others and myself as God would have it. It is the heart of course that makes our awesome God smile and that is a treasure we can never lose and can always profit from. At the core of this heart, we develop that love that loved us first.
Maybe this anonymous little poem helps when we try to explain how great that love is. In A Nonny Mouse Writes Again we hear: “I know you little, I love you lots, my love for you would fill ten pots, fifteen buckets, sixteen cans, three teacups and four dishpans.”

What we learn to profit from will fill all that is around us and we become willing and able to put that love everywhere. So, when you encounter someone ill or left behind, offer them your hands and your knees, and let them rest. And when fear overcomes you, remember that love drives it out. The Russian author Ivan Turgenev in The Sparrow reminds us: “Love, I felt, more than ever, is stronger than death and the fear of death.” Rest, trusting that you are loved and cherished … and pass it on!

(Sister alies therese is a canonically vowed hermit with days formed around prayer and writing.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Our own complexity can be befuddling. We are better than we think and worse than we imagine, too hard and too easy on ourselves all at the same time. We are a curious mix.

On the one hand, we are good. All of us are made in the image and likeness of God and are, as Aristotle and Aquinas affirm, metaphysically good. That’s true, but our goodness is also less abstract. We are good too, at least most of the time, in our everyday lives.

Generally, we are generous, often to a fault. Despite appearances sometimes, mostly we are warm and hospitable. The same is true in terms of the basic intent in both our minds and our hearts. We have big hearts. Inside everyone, easily triggered by the slightest touch of love or affirmation, lies a big heart, a grand soul, a magna anima, that’s itching to be altruistic. Mostly the problem isn’t with our goodness, but with our frustration in trying to live that out in the world. Too often we appear cold and self-centered when we’re only frustrated, hurt and wounded.
We don’t always appear to be good, but mostly we are; though often we are frustrated because we cannot (for reasons of circumstance, wound and sensitivity) pour out our goodness as we would like, nor embrace the world and those around us with the warmth that’s in us. We go through life looking for a warm place to show who we are and often don’t find it. We’re not so much bad as frustrated. We’re more loving than we imagine.

But that’s half of it, there’s another side: we’re also sinners, more so than we think. An old Protestant dictum about human nature, based on St. Paul, puts it accurately: “It’s not a question of are you a sinner? It’s only a question of what is your sin?” We’re all sinners, and just as we possess a big heart and a grand soul, we also possess a petty one (a pusilla anima). At the very roots of our instinctual make-up, there’s selfishness, jealousy, and pettiness of heart and mind.

Moreover, we are often blind to our real faults. As Jesus says, we easily see the speck on our neighbor’s eye and miss the plank in our own. And that generally makes for a strange irony, that is, where we think we are sinners is usually not the place where others struggle the most with us or where our real faults lie. Conversely, it’s in those areas where we think we are virtuous and righteous that often our real sin lies and where others struggle with us.

For example, we’ve have forever put a lot of emphasis on the sixth commandment and haven’t been nearly as self-scrutinizing in regard to the fifth commandment (which deals with bitterness, judgments, anger and hatred) or with the ninth and tenth commandments (that have to do with jealousy). It’s not that sexual ethics are unimportant, but our failures here are harder to rationalize. The same isn’t true for bitterness, anger, especially righteous anger, nor for jealousy. We can more easily rationalize these and not notice that jealousy is the only sin for which God felt it necessary to write two commandments. We are worse than we imagine and mostly blind to our real faults.

So where does that leave us? In better and worse shape than we think. If we could recognize that we’re more lovely than we imagine and more sinful than we suppose, that could be helpful both for our self-understanding and for how we understand God’s love and grace in our lives.

Aristotle says, “two contraries cannot co-exist within the same subject.” He’s right metaphysically, but two contraries can (and do) exist inside of us morally. We’re both good and bad, generous and selfish, big-hearted and petty, gracious and bitter, forgiving and resentful, hospitable and cold, full of grace and full of sin, all at the same time. Moreover, we’re generally too blind to both, too unaware of our loveliness as well as of our nastiness.

To recognize this can be humbling and freeing. We are loved sinners. Both goodness and sin make up our identity. Not to recognize this truth leaves us either unhealthily depressed or dangerously inflated, too hard or too easy on ourselves. The truth will set us free, and the truth about ourselves is that we’re both better and worse than we picture ourselves to be.

Robert Funk once formulated three dictums on grace which speak to this. He writes:

• Grace always wounds from behind, at the point where we think we are least vulnerable.
• Grace is harder than we think: we moralize judgment in order to take the edge off it.
• Grace is more indulgent than we think: but it is never indulgent at the point where we think it might be indulgent.
  We need to be both easier and harder on ourselves – and open to the way grace works.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)