Letters & Leavings

November 26, 2012

God forbid that any of my friends should judge of my regard for them by the punctuality of my correspondence. Edmund Burke

I dreamt of writing a letter a day during this contemplative experience. But, my imagined routine wasn’t to be the reality, in all things. As one of the greeting cards in my abnormally large stock declares, “I write you letters by the thousands in my thoughts.” And it’s true. I’ve drafted a letter to each person I expect is following this blog at some point since arriving at Nada. But now I find myself at the beginning of my fifth and final week and must accept that many of those mental letters won’t get put to paper, at least on this side of the Mississippi.  And today, Desert Day, I needed to make room to read some letters that traveled here with me from Maryland. 

That overwhelming stack is what Loyola students and staff sent me forth with on my final day of work one month ago. Reading them in the moment wasn’t an option, given the wild emotions of the occasion. Not to mention, I wanted to savor them, to give each one the same precious time the writer gave to it.

To be honest, though, I’ve also been avoiding those letters- choosing instead the “safer” readings of Thomas Merton & the mystics. The truth is: that stack of letters is the only thing standing between me and closure. Once I read them, the Loyola chapter of my book of life will need to close. As well, the volume pertaining to my career in campus ministry will also reach an end. It’ll be time to put aside both identities. And though I’ve physically packed up, locked the doors, and driven away from those worlds, emotionally it feels a bit like a very long vacation that I’ll return from in a few weeks.

One of my many former priest-bosses thinks this whole closure thing is silly. “Lay people always need closure!” he said, half mystified, half exacerbated. Well, I’d argue (successfully so, I might add) that’s it’s not just a lay person need. More like a human person need. I’m not saying that priests aren’t human, of course! I guess I’m saying that they need closure just as much as they rest of us, but maybe don’t want to admit it. Or maybe, sadly, they’re so used to transient lives – moving from one assignment to the next every 4 or 6 years- that actually coming to terms with all those endings would be too painful. Indeed, closure is painful, whether it means the end of magnificence or misery.

I’m also not saying that closure means elimination, or destruction, or repression of what was. Bringing closure to my life at Loyola doesn’t require me to sever the relationships or erase the memories…though there are some I’d be quite happy to erase! But most I want to keep. And all will remain part of me; they are threads in the fabric of my life.

You all know what I mean. You’ve said goodbyes and closed doors. And more often than not you’ve carried pieces of those leavings with you into the next chapter, and even the next. It’s as it should be. We’d make no progress toward our greatest selves if we left behind all the lessons we have gleaned from where we've been.

That said, it’s nonetheless necessary to mark an ending. To recognize that what has been will never be again. Even if you return to a previous job, a relationship, a neighborhood- or in my case, return for a visit every now and then- you can never pick up exactly where you left off. What was has ended. What will be can begin, but it will be something new. Something similar, maybe. But something new still. The old things have passed away; behold, new things have come. 2 Corinthians 5: 17

Ritual is a signature element of the Catholic tradition, and of my psyche, it seems, after 34 years of practicing this faith. So, reading these 27 letters was a sacred act for me. I read each one- laughing out loud and tearing up, sometimes from the same letter- and recalled the face and essence of each writer as well as a memory of my time with him or her.

I’ll hold on to the letters for awhile- months, maybe years- as I did with my letters from Providence College. The writers have left out all my dark spots and rough edges, choosing to shine a light on only the good. There are few jobs in this world that can send you away with such tangible appreciation for your efforts. Younger kids are still too self-absorbed, and adults have become a bit too guarded. (I can't imagine my sister's former Bank of America coworkers writing letters to express their gratitude and fondness for her when she left!) No, this work of mine has been a rare privilege. And there will be days that I need a reminder that, for a brief time and in small ways, I made an impact.

But when the next cold night comes around, I will light all the envelopes in my little stove and let the unnecessary stuff burn to ash- the superficial shells. The stuff that was left out of the letters but was part of the chapter. The anger, the stress, the pain. The stuff that doesn’t matter anymore.

Then my ritual will be complete. And then, by the grace of God, I’ll find closure.