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Lord, allow me to be inconvenienced today. And when I am, give me the courage and desire to roll the stone away. Thanks for returning for Part 2 of my musings on our proclivity for convenience seeking and what that means vis-a-vis the way we order our lives. I want to note a few things upfront. 1) I’m going to spend a considerable amount of time referencing subsidiarity. Know that I’m no expert. As much as anything, my writings are a way for me to reconcile a diversity of personal thoughts into a cogent narrative. If you possess a better understanding, please share! 2) I’ve come across a trove of quality essays recently that influence this article, the links to which I am including at the end of this post. Admittedly, these folks are MUCH smarter than me. I hope what I’ve knitted together here does their work justice. 3) We’re all aware of the righteous polarization that exists in society today. Loads have been written about it, including in some of the excellent pieces I just mentioned. I’m, therefore, not going to address the topic too deeply here. Allow me to reestablish a few central points from my previous post . I believe most of us strive to be good people. We also, however, strive for weightlessness: to experience the least physical, cognitive, and emotional friction possible. We want well-packaged lives. What trips us up is the inconvenient complexity of the situations that warrant our goodness to be activated. We look to manage these situations as neatly as possible. Thus, 90% of the time, we follow the crowd. Once we start walking in a particular direction, confirmation bias often kicks in, validating our choice and fixing us to a path from which it will be difficult to deviate. Other choices reflexively follow based on the success of the first, allowing us to “do good” while keeping humanity’s messiness at a distance. In this way, all of us are equally good - the furthest left-leaning to the furthest right, the most religious to the least, the richest to the poorest - yet few of us are finding meaning and joy in our goodness. We’re not letting the light in. With that as a backdrop, let me briefly introduce one of the most powerful principles of Catholic Social Teaching, subsidiarity, which provides order and preference to the way we problem-solve and attend to the common good. It states that a matter “ought to be handled by the smallest, lowest, or least centralized competent authority” (1) capable of addressing that matter effectively. “Larger institutions in society should not overwhelm or interfere with smaller or local institutions, yet larger institutions have essential responsibilities when the more local institutions cannot adequately protect human dignity, meet human needs and advance the common good.” (2) In this way, subsidiarity starts by recognizing the dignity, freedom, capacity, AND responsibility of the individual and radiates outward. It goes something like this. That which I can do alone, I do. That which I can’t do alone, I call on family, friends, and neighbors. (Examples: Caring for an elderly parent. Planting a community garden.) That which we can’t accomplish together, we turn to local organizations like churches, associations, non-profits, and businesses. (Examples: Caring for the homeless. Programming for at-risk youth. Little League.) Larger issues still require the unique characteristics of centralized bodies/governments - local, regional, and federal. (Examples: Trash collection. Organ donation registries. National security.) What makes subsidiarity so powerful? Whenever possible, it defers to those who have the greatest capacity for understanding the relevant human condition to act. Subsidiarity begins with encounter. A need presents itself and people of good will attempt to address it. Relationships are the engine and trust lubricates the pistons. Larger issues require more people and greater coordination, but the objective remains consistent, to serve and to care. This sounds pretty satisfying, right? The problem, though, is that subsidiarity can be messy. People have different agendas and opinions. It’s often inconvenient too. Even the simplest issues don’t occur on a predefined schedule. Additionally, in today's world, when it comes to dealing with problems, “There’s an app for that.” At the end of the day, it would be easier to just let the technocrats handle it. In the name of convenience and weightlessness, we address (notice I didn’t say solve) most problems today by moving up the rungs of subsidiarity toward the large rather than down the rungs toward the small. Let’s look at a simple example involving the fictitious Mr. Jones who needs a ride to a doctor’s appointment. Mr. Jones is your neighbor so you coordinate and pay for an Uber to get him to and from the appointment. You even double-check the app the morning of to make sure all of the details are correct to ensure that he isn’t late. Mr. Jones is really grateful for your help, but he’s quite nervous about the appointment as he’s not been feeling too well lately. Unfortunately, his suspicions prove correct; the doctor provides bad news. After the appointment, the Uber driver takes Mr. Jones home where he sits, alone, scared, and uncertain as to what to do next. You did a very good deed. Mr. Jones’ need for a ride was met. However, his messier unstated need for companionship remained. Perhaps with the stone rolled away and light shining into our hearts, we’d have sized up the situation a bit differently. I see a similar problem with movements and issues-based activism today. Both sides of an issue stake their position and then provide oversimplified testimonials of individuals who have been harmed by the actions or inactions of those on the other side. The more sensational the injustice the better. Oftentimes, we’ve not had a personal encounter with the named injustice, but due to previous experiences and choices, what’s being presented seems worthy of our ire. We click a button to “get involved”, essentially hitching our wagon to a cause that takes us where it wants us to go - truth be damned. Weightlessness wins again. So does subsidiarity have a place in our modern world of convenience? Leave it to a project of Omaha’s Catholic schools to remind me that it does. For more than 50 years Operation Others has been providing meals to needy families around the Holidays. LOTS of meals (1,000,000+) to LOTS of families (5,000+) each year. Though there are a set of adult moderators, Operation Others is almost entirely student-led. It would be a business consultant’s worst nightmare. Disorganization abounds, the warehouse used for distribution changes regularly, and nobody has any idea how many people are going to show up on delivery day to take meals to the homes of those in need. Yet, somehow, it always gets done. I used to particularly enjoy packaging day, standing side-by-side with students and other adults putting potatoes and cans of green beans into boxes. Tasks often felt duplicative and decisions were being made on the fly. Yet, in spite of all of the frustrating inefficiency, there was a sense of shared purpose and energy that grounded me. I was where I belonged at that moment. When I was done with one task, I’d simply ask a student what he/she would like me to do next. I relished it in part because of the mess. I was being inconvenienced and loving it! Most everyone present had rolled their stones away. Light flooded in. Joy permeated. What if it were possible to find that every day? I’m not naive enough to think our biggest problems can be overcome with a simple attitude adjustment, but I wonder what would happen if we allowed ourselves to be inconvenienced a little more. Now for those articles… David French’s Parenting Against the Spirit of Fear . Don’t forget to listen to the music video at the end. Jonathan Haidt’s Why the Past 10 Years of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid . Yuval Levin’s How to Curb the Culture War . (1) Daly, Lew (2010-01-08). "God's Economy". The Financial Times. Retrieved 2010-01-25. (2) https://www.shu.edu/micah-business-economics/principles-of-catholic-social-teaching.cfm CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 4 issue 10

BEFORE YOU BEGIN Please be aware that this article uses the word grope . I recognize that, used in a different context, this word elicits negative sentiments. However, within the intended context - that of feeling one's way through darkness - I was unable to come up with a suitable synonym. I appreciate your generosity in providing me this latitude. Acts 17 so that people might seek God, even perhaps grope for him and find him, though indeed he is not far from any one of us. Why choose a Catholic school if children don’t come out stronger Catholics on the back end? It’s a fair question, and one I have been thinking more about in recent years as more young people coming out of our schools demonstrate apathy (in some instances, hostility) toward the Church. To be fair, it’s not just young people and it’s not just the Catholic Church. As a society, we’ve lost faith in most every major institution including government, big corporations, organized religion, and schools and universities. Still, we all know that society has become less religious and more suspicious of those that do faithfully practice. These thoughts were part of my mental landscape as the recent school year drew to a close. Then came the mass shootings in Buffalo, Uvalde, and more recently, Highland Park. Utter senselessness. Pure evil. And what was the response of many? To place blame, stamping each event with their personal flavor of rationality. “This is a gun issue.” “This is a mental health issue.” “If our ‘do nothing’ Congress would just…” “If the media would stop…” As if each of these responses by themselves would magically make our problems go away. The problem with the blame game is that it absolves all of us of any responsibility while throwing someone else under the bus. My last CrossCurrents post discussing subsidiarity suggests that oftentimes we look to our large institutions to solve our problems. Is it any wonder, then, that it is these same institutions that often wind up on the bus’s underside when things don’t play out to our liking? Besides providing a convenient scapegoat, the blame game also diminishes our personal sense of agency - our belief that our actions can make a meaningful difference. We become spectators as life plays out around us. This isn’t to say that each of us bears responsibility for these senseless shootings. That lies squarely with the perpetrators. But it does prevent us from taking personal stock of our collective circumstance and asking, “How can I through my actions change the narrative and current course?” Changing the current course, however, assumes we have a better destination in mind. Most often we don’t. Due to the sheer complexity of the issues we face, we lack a purposeful sense of direction. Instead, we grope. We’ve all been there at some point in our lives, groping in the dark. Whether because you’re trying not to wake a spouse (or your parents) in the middle of the night, or a sudden power outage leaves you scrambling for candles, there is something about pitch darkness that is particularly disorienting. In these moments, we often search for what’s familiar - a wall, a handle, a light switch. However, if nothing’s familiar and you don’t know what you’re groping for, anything will do. Even if someone told you, “You need to find a flashlight,” but you’ve no prior experience of a flashlight or why it might be of value, you will only continue groping until you have something firmly in your grasp that seems helpful. And as long as darkness persists, that first object will likely remain the thing that emboldens all of your future actions. In this way, there’s not much difference between good and evil. In fact, in some ways, evil might present itself as a more attractive option. Like an anglerfish emanating a soft light, a person is drawn in by the allure of misplaced power, dominance, revenge, fame/infamy, or fortune. That’s why possessing a faith tradition matters, even if it has been most recently dormant. In times of darkness, it serves as the familiar - that thing to hold on to to bolster your continued searching. It is the flashlight. This isn’t meant to be an oversimplified admonishment that all of this evil would simply vanish if everyone “found religion.” God knows, there have been numerous scandals plaguing faith communities, as well as unspeakable acts perpetrated on synagogues, churches, and mosques carried out by religious people. Still, walking in the light matters. Particularly in the midst of great uncertainty and turmoil, when you can see where you are headed, your next step is purposeful - even if that step is necessarily backwards occasionally. A Final Word About Catholic Schools The task for Catholic schools is to not just teach about “the light,” but to help students experience the light in meaningful ways so that, in the long run and through difficult times, they can endure. Noting the current state of education today, “enduring through difficult times” is a constant theme of Catholic schools. Budget difficulties, enrollment concerns, staffing issues, and more make running a school a challenging proposition. So when 450 Jesuit school leaders, teachers, and staff gathered for a national conference a few weeks ago, one could easily assume the nature of the agenda. Instead, the entire schedule was dedicated to the four themes Showing the way to God , Walking with the Excluded , Journeying with Youth , and Caring for our Common Home . What a powerful witness to the purpose of Catholic education. It’s not that budgets and enrollment don’t matter. They absolutely do. However, mission matters more. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 4 issue 11

“To raise any child is to live in the constant presence of a miracle and a mystery.” Wow. Jim McDermott hit the nail on the head with that one. As is often the case, my musings are inspired by others’ commentary. Within the context of McDermott’s recent article , the above statement may be nothing more than a nice transition between paragraphs. But, for me, the weight of the line stopped me cold thinking about the awesome gift of parenting and teaching teens. Allow me to dissect. Any child. What’s the difference between raising a child and raising any child? Raising a child infers a familial tie and/or a level of direct responsibility for their welfare. This often extends to our friends’ children and our children’s friends. Within the context of teaching, that might mean distinguishing between those whom “I have in class” and those who aren’t. The associated obligation is apparent. Even when encountering a particularly difficult child, we do our best to guide and support. But what about everyone else - those outside our direct sphere of influence? It’s alarmingly easy to dismiss the “any ” child. This isn’t meant to suggest that we need to go out of our way to mentor every young person we encounter. But there’s a basic level of acknowledgement and dignity that each person deserves, particularly teens who need the modeling of others. This begins with recognizing the miracle and the mystery within. From there, let the spirit guide you. Living in the constant presence. The crux of parenting teens can be summed up in one word - accompaniment. Surely our physical presence matters, but our emotional and intellectual presence matters more as life’s pace seems to increase. We often talk about the precious moments, but the sad reality is that with every passing year most teens would prefer fewer and fewer of those moments to involve mom and dad. Long gone are the days of micro-soccer when your child would immediately run to you for a hug after the final whistle. Certainly being present still means showing up for games and performances. But more often, it means having the “open for business” sign illuminated. Though your child might not enter the shop as often as you’d like, they’ll know you’re there and available. The miracle. Earlier this summer I was listening to a speaker sharing St. Ignatius’ vision of God as being intimately involved in our world, constantly laboring in creation and redemption. Our being and that of our children are part of God’s ongoing miracle of creation. In addition and more importantly, because everything around us is in a constant state of creation and re-creation, our relationship to those things is constantly changing as well. As the speaker suggested, we are “swept up every day” in the creation story. Our options, then, are to engage as co-creators or to simply go along for the ride. Pablo Picasso once said, “Every act of creation begins with an act of destruction.” If that’s the case, most teens are REALLY good at creating! Every day is a roller coaster ride of destroyed and reconstructed relationships, broken promises followed by repair, lies and deception followed by acknowledgement and growth. Our role in the miracle that is that child is to help them see past the destruction and embrace the creation. The mystery. Whether it’s an Agatha Christie novel or an episode of Scooby-Doo, everyone loves a good mystery. In biblical Greek, the term mystery refers to "that which awaits disclosure or interpretation." The high school years are all about finding oneself. Teens aren’t just a mystery to us, they’re a mystery to themselves, and this can be quite disconcerting to all involved. What should we do with these teen mysteries? Just like a novel, the key is to keep reading - always looking for clues until, one day, a truth is revealed. These are magical moments. We see inside, getting at least a partial glimpse into the talents, hopes, dreams, insecurities, and roadblocks that exist within. Our hearts swell. We love unconditionally. Of course, it’s easy for me to romanticize raising teens at this point in my life. My wife and I have made it to the other side. Our four kids are in their 20s and are, thus far, functioning young adults. Does that sound like a low bar? I don't think it is! Life is hard, which brings me back to the idea of God laboring in redemption. TEENS ARE SO INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATING! Teachers in particular have been around enough students to recognize patterns of self-destructive behavior. Parents, too, remember all the dumb things they did in their youth. If teens would just listen to us , they would save themselves from so much angst and disappointment! Obviously, that’s not the way it works. We parents and teachers don’t get to be the arbiters of all decisions regarding right and wrong that our children make. God doesn’t even do that - at least not out loud. When does God intercede? As seldom as possible. Because of the grace of free will and the fact that temptation and evil exist in the world, this can lead to some pretty big messes. So when is God actively redeeming? On the back end. After all, without the mess, there’s no need for redemption. Being the parent or teacher of a teen means being a redeemer a thousand times over. We all make messes. Teens, though, have a knack for making BIG messes, some of which can leave them feeling pretty desperate. Helping them get beyond the mess is what matters. Notice I said “get beyond” and not “clean up” the mess. In the journey to adulthood, the clean up is for the teen to do. In the end, our role in all of this is to model for teens a framework for living a just and honorable life that recognizes the vast capacity of the human spirit. This is a role of love and forgiveness. In this way, "living in the constant presence of a teen" is actually calling us to be our best selves; and I know very few post-teen parents who don’t feel that to be true. Here’s to the 2022-23 school year… CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 1

My wife and I know this couple whom I will call Joe and Angela. We generally run in different circles. They are fine diners while we are burgers and beer people. When traveling, they stay in nice places while we get by in more modest accommodations. Still, my wife and I are fortunate to count them among our very closest friends. Joe is a successful accountant and Angela works the social circuit. Both are VERY good at what they do. Angela is a petite person, but don’t let her diminutive stature and proper appearance fool you; she’s no wallflower. She uses irreverence the way a surgeon uses a scalpel. This is alarming to some but endearing to most. I’ve long marveled at the way she can make a new acquaintance super uncomfortable one minute and laugh hysterically the next. Occasionally, Joe will call her on her impropriety, but he’s long ago realized that this matters little to her. Most often he goes along with it, enjoying seeing others attempting to reconcile and respond to the things Angela utters. Over the years, Angela and Joe have chaired virtually every major fundraising dinner in town. They keep getting tapped because Angela has a knack for creating memorable events. Noting the drama that often accompanies such projects, I’ve often wondered why anyone would want to lead even one such event. For a long time, I thought Angela simply liked being the center of attention. (She does.) I’ve come to realize, though, that there’s more to it. I’ll return to Joe and Angela later. I’ve been reading the book Immersion: The Science of the Extraordinary and the Source of Happiness by Paul Zak. Early in the introduction he states, “The world is rapidly transforming into the ‘experience economy.’...As the planet gets richer, people are less interested in getting stuff and more interested in doing stuff - and then telling their friends about it…As a result, the ability to identify and consistently create extraordinary experiences is absolutely essential.” He then goes on to talk about extraordinary experiences from Starbucks Reserve Roasteries, the low-cost airline Avelo, Disney Stores, and more. Moving on, he explains a general framework for companies to sell more of their wares by tapping peoples’ emotions through storytelling and other means. The science is quite fascinating, but as I continue to read, I keep returning to the book’s title and wondering, “Are extraordinary experiences really the source of happiness?” My personal thinking is that they might be, but only if we clarify what we mean by happiness and what qualifies as extraordinary. Many of the examples Zak uses to describe extraordinary experiences lead to what I’ll call Facebook happiness – exceptional experiences that mess with our emotional wiring the way Meta's algorithms habitualize clicks. We can't really explain why, but we want more, and are left wanting when the extraordinary doesn't occur often enough. You can likely see where this ends. For some, the neverending pursuit of the exceptional ultimately leaves them dissatisfied and wondering, "is this really all that there is?" Some are disenfranchised because of their inability to access the "extraordinary" experiences described by others. And a third group does find happiness, but never fully develops a sophisticated interior self that enables them to fully consider and appreciate some of life’s greater complexities. They wander along the surface, never drilling deeper. An alternative is what I’ll call True North happiness . True North is described by Bill George as “your inner sense, or your calling, of what you want to accomplish in your life. It's a combination of your values, your beliefs, and your purpose. It keeps you on a straight track that's true for you.” Extraordinary experiences that affirm our deepest held beliefs of self and of humanity produce True North happiness. This is a happiness characterized by solace and contentment. In craving Facebook happiness, we miss the beauty of the ordinary, while True North happiness connects us to it. We fall in love with the ordinary. As such, True North experiences not only remind us that we’re alive, they affirm that our being alive matters. We are innately good and worthy. We are connected. True North happiness satisfies our cravings. Back to Angela and Joe. I mentioned earlier that they chair a lot of events which Angela ensures are always well organized and understatedly elegant. There is also some small novelty added that could easily go unnoticed but somehow never does. This makes for a great event, but it’s not the exceptional part. The extraordinary occurs in a moment when all of the trappings and warm conversations fade to the background and the only thing left are the people and the purpose. When this occurs, it’s no longer about Angela or Joe, or who can write the biggest check. It’s about the difference those gathered can collectively make. The True North happiness comes the next morning when you feel a sense of gratitude for having been a part of what occurred the night before. As someone who writes primarily about Catholic secondary education, why am I writing about this? The short answer is that I worry that young people are searching for the wrong kind of happiness, and as well-intentioned schools and parents wanting to provide the best experience possible for our teens, we might go a bit too far in accommodating. We try to cram a lot of extraordinary experiences into those 4 years which may actually work against us sometimes. Taking liberties with a line from the wayward villain Buddy in the animated film The Incredibles , “ When every experience is extraordinary, none of them will be.” True North experiences are pretty rare…and that’s a good thing. If we’re able to harness such experiences, less becomes more because our youth find meaning and value in their ordinary everyday lives. Let me return to Joe and Angela one more time. Recently, they were tangentially attached to a tragic and profoundly sad event involving people they did not know well. The experience lasted the better part of a week. There was no reason for them to get involved in the proceedings but, of course, they did - making accommodations for those needing to grieve. Each day, they would arrange the proper setting and circumstance and then fade into the background leaving only the people and the purpose - those grieving sharing their love and support for each other. We often have a hard time recognizing God’s movements in dark circumstances. Angela and Joe understand that sometimes all it takes is pointing people to True North. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 2

I am one of those people who loves absurd situational comedy. Just mentioning the name Leslie Nielsen makes me giggle, and the show 30Rock makes me laugh out loud which humors my wife Cathy. For those unfamiliar, the 30Rock series revolves around the cast, writers, and crew of a fictitious NBC live sketch comedy show. Recently, I was watching an episode where it was the turn of a particular writer, Lutz, to pick the team’s lunch. It didn’t go well (30 seconds) . This scene is emblematic of the Lutz character, often making choices and suggestions that produce an aggressive response from his coworkers. It’s not that he wants to disappoint others - quite the contrary - but the dynamics of the situations elevate Lutz’s perception of risk. His clarity of thought is compromised. Over and over, the audience witnesses Lutz’s internal struggles, his muddled responses, and, eventually, the group's disapproval. A few days after watching the aforementioned episode, I was reading a study on psychological safety in the classroom, a condition that is paramount to deep learning. The study offers one definition of psychological safety as “a measure of an individual’s perceived interpersonal risk in a given context. Edmondson (2003) posited four risks individuals face in a group setting: being seen as ignorant, incompetent, negative, or disruptive.” This made me reflect on my imperfect experiences of the classroom as a student, instructor, and observer. While we can all probably remember numerous times when we didn’t feel comfortable sharing, I can recall many other individuals throughout my lifetime whose Lutzian-level anxiety must have been difficult to bear. In today’s uber-aggressive cancel culture, the stakes are even higher. It feels as though there’s not a lot of room to miss the mark with a random comment. Additionally, I’ve heard of a few recent incidents where, thanks to social media, high school students have had embarrassing comments, pictures, and episodes from as far back as sixth grade reposted by others for no other reason than to harm. This, of course, is a microcosm of what is playing out in our adult world as well - particularly in politics - where it has become virtually impossible for anyone to have a change of mind or heart for fear of the brutal ramifications. Even the slightest waiver produces blowback. St. Ignatius had one of the biggest conversion stories imaginable. Weighing his options today, I wonder if he would have found the risk worth it, noting that many would question his motives and label him a fraud, exploiter, or worse. There is a second kind of psychological safety stemming from the topic of my last CrossCurrents post regarding extraordinary experiences. The teen years are a time for risk taking and exploration. Sometimes, however, in our well-intentioned efforts to encourage such growth, youngsters are pushed to do things where the risk feels too great. They simply aren’t ready even though others might be embracing the challenge. This becomes a delicate dance for schools. On the one hand, we work for excellence which requires students to leave their comfort zones to achieve new heights. When the outcomes are noteworthy we rightfully heap praise. When efforts fall short, they often go unnoticed. Even when substantial gains occur , finishing sixth out of twelve doesn’t feel very satisfying. Sometimes, there’s failure. Students lose elections. They finish dead last in a cross country race. They forget their lines. Such things aren’t what a person posts on their social media feed…but in our fishbowl world, somebody else might. These are the calculations students make every time a parent or guidance counselor utters the words, “You should try…” In spite of our best efforts to love and care for our students, risk abounds in our modern day Catholic high schools. More and more often, these risks seem to overwhelm, leading some students to shut down. Sadly, this can lead to self loathing as these students witness others thriving. Our tendency is to compare ourselves to others to see how we stack up. This is particularly true of teens. They look at Jimmy who is a 4.0 student and the captain of the football team and Jane who is class President and editor of the yearbook, and they feel inadequate - even though they don’t like football and have no desire to write or take pictures. Additionally, we adults sometimes use words like trauma when attempting to help students cope with a disappointment which connotes that what the student is dealing with requires heroic effort to overcome. This too might add to the weight the student is already bearing. Through our Learner Skills Initiative , AVLI has been collecting student self-assessment data for a number of years. In rooting through the numbers, what might be most compelling is the data on perseverance. Somehow, we need to help students build the skill and will to endure. God bless our counselors, staff psychologists, teachers, and administrators who try to negotiate these realities every day. It’s a Herculean task requiring an empathetic ear, extraordinary patience, and a capacity to, gently but firmly, push students back into the game. A big part of this is helping students recognize that failure and disappointment are a part of everyone’s life journey - and that’s ok. After all, it’s natural to compare oneself to the Jimmys and Janes. The key, however, is to understand that they aren’t ahead of you, they’re simply running a different race. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 3

As one of the 7 deadly sins, I think pride gets a bad rap. I’ll explain more in a bit, but let me first tell you about last week when I was a guest at a conference for Jesuit school educators. For those unfamiliar, Jesuit schools have a particular nomenclature that helps to order their work. It is not as though these general concepts are foreign to other Catholic schools, however, the specificity of the Jesuit language centers attention and fosters conversation regarding school practice. This nomenclature often anchors conference gatherings - so much so that a former Jesuit school administrator used to affectionately quip that buzzword bingo cards should be handed out to every conference attendee at check in. During the conference keynote on the first evening, Fr. Kevin Burke, S.J., spoke about the term magis which generally translates to “the more” or “the better.” For many in Jesuit education, this term refers to the continual pursuit of excellence in order to better serve God and others. I’ve always been attracted to this concept though it can admittedly be pretty exhausting without boundaries or context. Fr. Burke provided a helpful reframing of magis , suggesting that it is akin to the horizon. Note that I didn’t say “ a ” horizon but rather “ the ” horizon referencing the dynamism of its location. Each of us experiences the horizon differently, and the horizon moves as we move. As such, it is unattainable. Similarly, magis is not a destination, but rather an aspiration. We often awe at the beauty of the horizon as if there is something magical just beyond our grasp. Magis , too, is that thing that, in spite of our striving, remains beyond our grasp, calling us forward. My last CrossCurrents post discussed the importance of student perseverance. Academic mindset - the psycho-social attitudes or beliefs one has about oneself in relation to academic work ( Farrington et al ) - is the sister skill of perseverance. And magis is the embodiment of mindset. Perseverance matters little without purpose. Maintaining a growth mindset allows a person to find and retain purpose throughout the changing landscape of daily living. Magis , then, is the action that animates the purpose. It is also the activity on which perseverance takes hold. A growth mindset requires the activation of a number of key executive functions including motivation, goal setting, and planning - all of which need practice to master. However, for the purposes of this article, I’d like to focus on the seemingly incompatible characteristics of pride and humility as important contributors to a healthy mindset. Pride emm​i​​nates from a desire to be your best self. It’s the feeling of satisfaction from a job well done. It’s the recognition of personal dignity. Most importantly, pride requires engagement, both in the form of experiences and among people; pride doesn’t exist in a stationary vacuum. When we encounter a new task, our pride is activated which helps order our motivations and thus our mindset. Humility comes into play when we recognize that we ​are a work ​in progress every moment of every day​. Thus, every task can be viewed as an opportunity for growth or as an occasion for practice. In this way, pride and humility are complementary. A new task is presented, our humility frees us to respond generously, and our pride calls forth our best effort. While pride and humility are powerful characteristics, they are no match for hubris. Hubris ​slips in when we think we have become so good that no further growth is necessary. We stop, bask in the view, and settle in. In that moment, both pride and humility vanish, and magis becomes nothing more than a platitude. Hubris lurks in the dark corners of success. It’s the perennial powerhouse debate team lacking discipline, the undefeated tennis player overlooking her next opponent, and the strong student calculating points to determine the lowest grade he can earn on a final exam and still receive an A. The conundrum for parents, teachers and coaches is knowing when and how to push. We need to build self-esteem but also be willing to have the hard conversations. We need to foster resilience not for the sake of resilience but as a means of achieving a purpose. We need to recognize that when a child stops caring, in most cases, we can’t carry the youngster to the finish line. After all, they are the ones who need to experience the sweet taste of accomplishment or have the opportunity to learn from failure. Finally, when mile markers are passed, it’s important to occasionally stop to rest, to find joy in the journey, and, at times, to celebrate. The key, though, is to start moving again - knowing that, though the horizon can never be reached, there is something beyond our current standing that is worthy of pursuit. This is the magis. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 4

Parenting toddlers in the era I did meant watching a lot of animated films…over and over. With few exceptions, I found these films entertaining, often touching, and occasionally insightful. One such insight came from Shrek when he compared ogres to onions, and stated, “There's a lot more to ogres than people think.” I’ve held on to that onion imagery and have recently begun to recall it when confronted with particularly vexing concerns. I pride myself on being a person of integrity. Thus, my nature in such situations has been to quickly survey my surroundings, recall similar past experiences, and act in a fashion consistent with past performance. This approach has enabled me to stay true to a fixed course. Thus, most people consider me reliable. My path is fairly straight and well lit, so it doesn’t take folks too long to find me. Still, something feels a bit different today that renders this process incomplete.  There has been a shift in forces that, in the name of transparency and truth, have instead exploited complexity to cast shadows and doubt, and then capitalized on people's insecurities by offering simple solutions. Build a wall. Tax the rich. Take this pill. Where in all of this is the truth and how do we know when we find it?  Now add ChatGPT and similar natural language processing tools to the landscape of the public square. These tools aggregate the myriad of conflicting information regarding complex topics available on the web and confidently boil the topics down to generally-well-constructed prose a person can consume on a single visit to their favorite sitting area. Why do the heavy lifting of research when the chatbot can do it for you? This is my onion issue. If we liken truth to be the center of an onion, the only way to access it is by peeling back layers. That’s the task we are unconsciously forgoing, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.  First, let me state that I’m NOT against this type of artificial intelligence. One can imagine any number of valuable scenarios where having instant access to a “walled garden” of the most relevant current and historical information on a given topic could be of great service (think medicine, law, climatology, and, yes, even education). However, within the context of an open forum, the potential for misuse is substantial. We need look no further than the weaponization of social media in politics - where half-truths and outright falsehoods abound - as an example. Now imagine the writing efficiency and speed of ChatGPT cranking out hundreds of propaganda pieces a day based on the input values of agenda-driven actors. Soon, this new content becomes a part of the digital tapestry further feeding the AI itself. Thus, as discerning individuals attempt to peel back layers, the onion itself keeps getting bigger. Let’s explore the onion a little more. When at the market, we primarily use visual cues to determine the purchase worthiness of a particular onion. This makes sense. The outer layer is what we can see with our own eyes and that we can touch with our own hands. The entirety of the onion, then, comes to be represented by its exterior surface which we believe to be absolute. Processing visual information in this manner allows us to negotiate life fairly efficiently. Whether through interest, opportunity, or adversity, there are times when we feel compelled to explore an issue more deeply. This often stems from a personal experience that threads disparate thoughts together. We begin peeling back layers. Often what we’re searching for is simple validation of a subjective train of thought. If we’re fortunate, we find compelling conflicting viewpoints that require more layers to be removed. And, like an onion, as we continue removing layers, the issue takes on new textures. More importantly, we are aware of the changing textures. We become introspective.  One might ask, “Can’t you just cut the onion in half to get to the kernel of truth?” Not really because the layers are interconnected. So even if the essence of truth was revealed, it would be beyond our comprehension to recognize. No, there is really only one way, and that is to commit to a long and sustained exercise of peeling back layers.  It is in this spirit that AVLI is working with the Jesuit Schools Network on The Listening Project , a curriculum initiative to assist young people develop meaningful dialogue and discernment skills. The Rule of St. Benedict refers to “listening with the ears of our hearts,” and I think that is the skill we hope to activate in our students. Revisiting my onion metaphor, listening is the process of peeling back layers. Seeing the external is the easy part of understanding. Listening is work. Seeing often attracts our attention while the discipline of listening holds it.  Finally, just like with an onion, sometimes peeling back the layers of truth can make us cry. Discernment is hard. The complexities and nuances that are revealed through our deepened understanding can produce tears of joy as well as heartbreak. Cherish these moments, particularly the heartbreak, for it is in these moments that we need to pay particular attention. By holding these moments close and contemplating the essence of our joys and our sorrows, we find purpose and peace. This, in turn, encourages us to peel back one more layer…  * The above onion image was created using the natural language processing tool Dall-E 2 from the written prompts I provided. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 7

There is much nuance to the English language, and recently in my reading, I’ve been paying a good deal of attention to the articles that accompany subjects and objects. In a particular way, my interest is in how the meaning of a phrase changes depending on the use of the article “ a ” versus “ the .” One such example recently occurred while in Mass. Advent is a season of preparation and, thus, the scripture passage, “prepare the way for the Lord” often takes center stage. However, while singing Michael Joncas’ A Voice Cries Out this past Sunday, I noticed that the refrain includes, “prepare a way for the Lord.” I hadn’t previously given that much thought, but this time, it stuck like an earworm; I must say, I think I rather prefer it. In my last CrossCurrents post about pride and humility, I suggested that one of the most difficult aspects of parenting, teaching, and coaching is knowing when and how to push. In response, I received a very nice reflection from a friend who noted that it is equally difficult to know what struggles our students and colleagues are facing that might hinder their pride and humility. I thought of her words as I read Fr. Jim McDermott’s recent America Media contribution Why Does God Hate Me? . The article is an open letter to those whose life struggles seem so persistent and insurmountable that they feel as though not only is God’s love not attainable, God is actively working against them. Wow. Thankfully, this is a place I have never been. Still, there have been many times throughout my life where God’s love hasn’t been terribly apparent. “Distant” is probably the best way to describe it - as if God just isn’t paying attention. This is the internal lens through which last Sunday I received and reflected on the phrase “prepare a way for the Lord.” In reflecting on the nature of my own writing over the years, I trend toward the themes of perseverance and hope rooted in a Divine Master. This has not been intentional, but these are the two things that, from a metacognitive perspective, I find myself consciously attempting to activate in response to my own life challenges, meager as they are in relation to what many others are facing. And, in short, perseverance and hope consistently get me a pretty long way. What happens, though, when they are not enough? We all experience times of loss, abandonment, or, perhaps, injustice that leave us feeling alone and powerless. Occasionally, these experiences are pivotal moments that could alter life’s trajectory, or spiral into a debilitating emotional state. Why would God allow this to happen? Why did God abandon me in my moment of crisis? God really doesn’t care about me as an individual. It’s in these times when it is most important that we “prepare a way for the Lord.” What I mean by that is to intentionally keep the door open for grace to enter. Prepare a way by which God can find you and you can find God - eventually. The bigger the space you prepare the better, but if all you have available is a small spot in the corner of your heart, so be it. Perhaps your “preparation” is choosing not to toss out the prayer card in your wallet, keeping the crucifix that’s hanging on your wall, or taking a few seconds out of your day to tell God that you are still mad or hurt. All of these might seem insignificant, but in doing them you are acknowledging your faith in God’s existence . This is the necessary kernel. From here, anything is possible regarding the relationship you ultimately foster. Though much of this post has focused on those among us who may have good reason to question God’s goodness, “preparing a way for the Lord” is equally important for those of us suffering from a more prevalent condition - indifference: when we look at our lives and determine that our belief or unbelief doesn’t really matter. This tends to be where a lot of young people find themselves - and I’m not just talking about today’s youth. MANY of us went through a similar stage as young adults, and continue to experience periods of indifference throughout our lives. Thus, while “preparing the way for the Lord” has a seasonal aspect to it, “preparing a way for the Lord” is a constant - sort of like a pilot light. So as we approach Christmas and the resolutions that accompany the start of a new year, I invite you to consider what it is that you might do to keep your light lit. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 5

I have an active mind: thoughts and ideas always bouncing around, waiting to be anchored down and put together in a constructive way. Many of them drift off into the ether before they can become something real, so it’s a real treat to be able to put thoughts down on paper, to have the opportunity to organize them with intentionality, and to follow them to a conclusion. Or to at least start down the road where a conclusion starts to take shape. At AVLI, we began this past September, as we do every term, by inviting students to complete an inventory of their Learner Skills. Our goal with this questionnaire, and in how we engage those ideas throughout our coursework, is to help students better understand the skills associated with learning and where they can improve, not just in a specific course but as an overall learner. While individual data is kept confidential, we do analyze the results as a whole, looking for trends and patterns, if there are any to be found. This year’s results showed something interesting, particularly in the area of Academic Perseverance, which impacts how students react when obstacles arise, learning gets tough, or students experience a set-back or failure (Farrington et al, 2012). We’ve come to anticipate and expect learning loss in various forms in these last few years so a drop in scores for the category of Academic Behaviors or Academic Mindset wouldn’t have surprised us. But when we saw that those scores were relatively consistent but that some groups of students were scoring lower on Academic Perseverance, my mind, doing what it does, started to bounce around the idea of “Why?” This gave me a great opportunity to take a deeper dive into some academic literature. There is a large body of research demonstrating that social isolation increases risk of depression and anxiety in both children and adults. And stressors in the home (like concern over job security, health, finances, etc) are often picked up by children, deepening the impact of other stress factors. So when you combine an extended period of isolation with a bunch of other high stress factors, like say a world-wide pandemic, it’s not a surprise that kids suffer. And these factors are also known to have a serious impact on a student’s learning, self esteem, ability to cope with stress, etc. All of which impact Academic Perseverance (Claypool & Moore de Peralta, 2021). So ok, now it makes perfect sense why this particular skill would be suffering. The last three years can pretty much be summed up as a collection of lengthy periods of isolation and increased stress for kids and their families. But what can we DO about it? This led me to the next phase of my research, looking for strategies to better target perseverance in our teaching. But it turns out, learning theorists generally agree that while strategies for attention control and environment structuring can be coached and practiced, when it comes to “grit”, the ability to choose to power through a difficulty, you can’t actually teach that one (Tough, 2016). This left me in a bit of a temporary quandary. Does this mean there’s nothing concrete we can do to help? Thankfully, that’s not the case. The key, it turns out, can be found in the work of Camille Farrington (2012). One of the most significant contributing factors to students’ tendency to persevere in the classroom is their willingness and ability to embrace 4 key beliefs: I belong in this academic community. My ability and competence grow with my effort. I can succeed at this. This work has value for me. So while we may not be able to teach perseverance directly, we can create and foster a classroom environment in which perseverance develops and flourishes naturally. And when you break these core beliefs down, of course they make perfect sense. As human beings, we have a deep need to belong, to feel capable, and to feel that our efforts have value. It also makes perfect sense that in the turbulence and isolation of the pandemic, these beliefs become harder to sustain. It’s hard to feel the presence and support of a community you can’t see. It’s hard to see the success and value of your efforts when we toil in isolation. On the bright side, this understanding also provides a roadmap for how we can help students get back on track. The deepest and most resilient learning happens when students make an emotional connection. To teachers, to classmates, to content. This is the heart of perseverance. The ability not just to grasp the concept but to take it in, to assimilate it into self, to apply it and ultimately use it to make ourselves stronger. To bounce back when an attempt doesn’t yield immediate success because we feel secure enough to believe that we are capable and that success will eventually come. It’s easy to see that these all flourish when you feel safe, like you belong, that your work matters, and that there are people around you who believe you can succeed. If we want to help students learn to persevere, this is the environment we need to build. Or in this case perhaps, rebuild and/or reinforce. And as Catholic educators, we are uniquely positioned and equipped for this challenge. These things come naturally to us. The inclusion in a faith community that fosters true care for each person is an immensely powerful thing. We have always worked to make Catholic schools a place where students belong, believe in themselves, and succeed. The educational obstacles created by the pandemic don’t demand anything new of us, there is no required course correction. Instead, this reinforces just how vitally important our efforts are, not just to what students learn in our classrooms but to how they build and support their own (and each other’s) identity and dignity to carry them through a lifetime. This is the time to double down on who we are. We specialize in truly seeing our students on a human level. Helping them to realize they are loved. Loved by God, loved by us. Worthy. Deserving. Helping them to realize the role they play in helping others to feel this way as well. We build our community one person at a time, each person feeling connected and empowered to make connections with others. This is who we are and this is how we will persevere together. References Claypool, N. & Moore de Peralta, A. (2021). The Influence of Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), Including the COVID-19 Pandemic, and Toxic Stress on Development and Health Outcomes of Latinx Children in the USA: a Review of the Literature. International Journal on Child Maltreatment, 4, 257–278. Farrington, C.A., Roderick, M., Allensworth, E., Nagaoka, J., Seneca Keys, T., Johnson, D.W., Beeechum, N.O. (2012). Teaching Adolescents to Become Learners: The Role of Noncognitive Factors in Shaping School Performance--A Critical Literature Review. Consortium on Chicago School Research. Tough, Paul. (2016). How Kids Learn Resilience. The Atlantic. CONTRIBUTOR: Gabrielle Martin, AVLI Chief Academic Officer vol 5 issue 6

"And there appeared before them Elijah and Moses, who were talking with Jesus…They were so frightened." In my last CrossCurrents post , I attempted to address some of the complexities of adapting to a world with evermore sophisticated and public forms of artificial intelligence. Little did I know at the time that that post would be the first of a series, yet here I am, revisiting the topic. Like many of you, I have been following with a degree of unease the media coverage surrounding ChatGPT. We get the sense that the applecart is being upset though we aren’t certain as to why or how. Many questions naturally follow. Who is tending the “AI farm”? Has technology reached a tipping point where we’re no longer in control? Are ethical considerations being trampled in the name of progress? Who is watching out for the most vulnerable? How will this affect my job - or will I ultimately have one? Still, it wasn’t until listening to the Gospel passage on the Transfiguration a few weeks ago that I figured out what I believe to be at the root of my discomfort. Capacity scares us, most often rightly so. When faced with something that is beyond our initial comprehension, our response tends to be to want to control it. (Heck, Peter literally wanted to put a lid on the Transfiguration by constructing tents!) Our instinct is to diminish capacity by treating barriers as limitations - as things to be accepted rather than addressed. This provides us some sense of security though it never fully allays our apprehensions since we never fully confront the thing lording over us. For all of the talk of “disruption” within the education sector over the years, much has remained constant. I don’t mean this in a negative way; it’s simply the truth. Most of the time in education the latest craze is around finding new ways of teaching students the same things. Like the waxing and waning of the moon, momentum illuminates the potential of a new initiative. Eventually, momentum fades though, only to pick up again with the introduction of the next best practice. Progress tends to be made with each passing cycle, but at the end of the day, Math is still Math, English is still English, and History remains History. These are the limits we currently place on student learning. This time, things feel a bit different. For me, the conversations around AI will need to focus on the ways in which we adapt current practices to teach new things. For many years, certain brave teachers within our schools have explored cross-curricular units or courses, combining certain principles of Math with Science, or History with English Literature. Simply because of the ways in which AI collects and arranges disparate data and ideas, I wonder if the cross-curricular approach should - at least in part - be the norm rather than the exception? We still need the content expertise and classroom savvy that teachers provide, but the approach to learning is less linear, combining elements of English, History, and Math, or Science, Art, and World Languages. There would also be opportunities to weave in a faith narrative, connecting religion directly to the lived experience. Many - though definitely not all - of the desired outcomes would be the same, though the pathway would be different. This would certainly be a paradigm shift, and it’s truly frightening to think about. How would one begin to consider something so audacious? By stripping everything away and having a discussion about what truly matters - what our greatest desires are for the young people we serve. What we in Catholic education may not realize is that we are eminently prepared to have these conversations! Whether we’re delicately balancing secular movements with Gospel teaching or addressing budgetary concerns, we’ve always had to make hard choices. Most often, we do this by returning to our mission and proceeding from there. An initial objection that will most certainly arise is the perceived risk to our college-preparedness: that the university system, NCAA, and others aren’t prepared to entertain student acceptance from students with non-traditional transcripts. This is a barrier not a full-stop limitation. An argument could be made that a cross-curricular approach would make students more college ready, particularly in light of mission-focused documents like Loyola of Chicago’s Transformative Education which lists five “hungers” the University attempt to feed - integrated knowledge, a moral compass, community, a global paradigm, and an adult spirituality. If the cross-curricular concept is worthy of our consideration, we must work beyond this obstacle. The key is being open to the uncertainty and willing to make the long play, knowing that where we land may not be where we initially intended. A Different Look at Capacity Sometimes it’s helpful to think of capacity in terms of abundance. The moment I first experienced unbridled abundance was the birth of my second child. My wife Cathy and I just had our first child fifteen months earlier, and the closer we got to the second birth, the more I felt sorry for our first. I loved him so completely. How could I split that love in half? The instant I held our second child in my arms, however, I understood capacity. There was no splitting, only doubling. Cathy and I were blessed to have that experience two more times, and should any of our four choose to have children, I’m sure it will happen again. We frequently talk about the power of love, but we don’t often reflect on its capacity. Many of us can identify someone in our lives who seem to possess boundless amounts of love and joy. Like a flame, we are very much attracted to them, but there’s a point at which we don’t want to get any closer. What keeps us from surrendering to such a life? Fear of love’s capacity which inevitably includes moments of heartbreak, disappointment, and tears shed. (You might also recognize these as the occupational hazards of parenthood.) The undeniable truth is that when we give into capacity, failure is inevitable. Things will go wrong, occasionally horribly. This, however, is the magis - knowing that there’s more left inside to give, and waking up the next day to give it another go. So long as our intentions are well ordered and we endure, we often find ourselves in surprising places showered by graces we couldn’t have previously imagined. I leave you with the following by Matt Weber as he reflects on another great capacity moment… “God's care for us extends beyond the farthest reaches of our imagination. Who but God could imagine feeding thousands of people with five loaves and a few fish?…It would have been easier if Jesus had listened to the disciples and sent the people off. Instead he calls the disciples to step out of their comfort zone and do something that must have felt futile in the face of so many hungry people.” CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 8

Routines. We all have them, and, for the most part, they are a healthy part of productive living. Having things scheduled ensures that certain important aspects of our lives receive the attention they deserve. Sometimes, however, routines are actually ruts. This becomes particularly problematic when one’s entire existence is on autopilot, sleepwalking through life somewhere between comfortable and numb. On Good Friday, I realized that an alarming portion of my faith life has been on autopilot. To be sure, I have developed some helpful habits around prayer, church attendance, and other “measurables” that keep me on a good path. One of those habits is a practice I started a number of years ago where I choose a character from the Passion narrative and spend Holy Week imagining myself walking in their shoes each day starting with Palm Sunday. Sometimes I pick a main character like Peter, Mary Magdalene, or Pilate while other times I choose a lesser role like a Roman guard, or Simon of Cyrene. This year, I chose Judas. All was going well (as routines normally do) until the very end of the reading of the Passion on Friday evening when Jesus said, “I thirst.” That’s when it struck me; over all of these years of imagining the Passion, I’ve never immersed myself in the person of Jesus. This is mostly due to the fact that I’ve never truly entertained the idea of Christ’s human-ness. Of course he was human, but it's easier to think of Jesus as something “other”. Even in the brutality of the Passion my mind tells me, “Yah, but he’s God.” The mystery, though, is that Jesus is fully divine and fully human - 100% of both. I’ve sat through a hundred readings of the Passion. How did I fail to notice that Jesus thirsts? Why does this matter? Because thirsting is primal; we cannot control it. Thirsting is the signal for us to address a life sustaining requirement. And though it can be quenched, thirst cannot be completely extinguished. We will thirst again. If Jesus experienced something as primal as thirst, he surely experienced temptation, loss, love, jealousy, joy, and anger in ways very similar to me. Jesus felt emboldened, and Jesus felt inadequate. Jesus felt in command, and Jesus felt overwhelmed. Jesus felt connected, and Jesus felt alone. Jesus lived for roughly 12,000 days. One could only assume that on some of those he wasn’t at his best (on a “Jesus” scale). There must have been days where little things annoyed him, or the constant demands of others were exhausting and made him curt. Did he ever not want to get out of bed? Jesus was also a teenager at one point. What must that have been like? Did he feel the pressure to fit in? Was he ever embarrassed by Mary and Joseph? Did he ever have a crush? This is all part of being 100% human, and it’s the Jesus I had never previously considered. I bring all of this up because there is another kind of thirsting that is particularly human - a thirst for meaning. This isn’t a new phenomena though it seems to be more acute in recent times, particularly among young people. I use the word “thirsting” intentionally here because I believe the search for meaning to be more than a yearning since yearnings often resolve or abate. The search for meaning is ever present up to a person’s last day. A variety of experiences and personal epiphanies provide glimpses of our purpose, but the thirst around meaning always returns. Most often, these glimpses are lightning strikes of gratitude - a brief moment in time when things seem to align and affirm a larger purpose. Sometimes it's in the experience of nature, a musical score, or an inspiring conversation. Other times the gratitude comes in the form of consolation, when a difficult situation yields a personal understanding of why we are present at a particular moment. Each of these quenches, yet they are also fleeting. Woven together, however, they are sustaining. It’s the weaving that tends to get us. In living our busy lives, we simply aren’t attentive to the regular practice of reflecting on these moments, cherishing them, and then knitting them together to form a larger narrative of gratitude. In previous writing I’ve referenced an Ignatian practice called the Examen which is especially well suited to assist with such reflection. Still, it isn’t easy. This is particularly true when searching for gratitude as a self-conscious teen growing up in a society that requires you to have a personal brand. That’s where Catholic schools come in. Returning to the water metaphor, one of the things Catholic schools do best is continually lead young people to healthy forms of hydration. Sometimes, particularly when they are younger, we need to tell them, “Don’t drink that!” But at some point the message and tone shifts toward self discovery, and then, to agency. Here we no longer provide the water. Instead, we are gifting them the tools and habits to search for life-sustaining water on their own. Seeing this as an important part of their journey will help them endure the periods of spiritual drought a long life affords all of us. So what was the teenage Jesus like? Personally, I hope he was a tiny bit mischievous during these formative years. A bit of innocent adventure would surely have made those around him grateful for their shared experiences. And Jesus’ grateful memories of these early years likely helped him endure later in life during some of the more difficult periods of his ministry. It’s easier now for me to imagine the Last Supper and Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. He knew what awaited him, including the betrayal. Still, there seemed to be a melancholy gratitude for the life he had lived, and that sustained him until the end. That’s the human Jesus. I’m not sure Jesus really needed faith, but that’s what it reminds me of. After all, at its core, that’s what faith is: surrendering to the fact that we don’t have all of the answers to the meaning of life, but trusting that a purposeful, dogged pursuit will yield the desired outcome…eventually. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 9

We are pleased to share with you Looking Forward , our concisely-written year-end Stakeholders' Report telling the story of where we have been and where we are heading. I hope you take a moment to read. None of this would be possible without our truly exceptional team of teachers and staff, led by Gabrielle Martin. My sincere thanks to all for your service and dedication. CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President vol 5 issue 10