Grad at Grad Reflection talk by Ms. Susan Baber

The following Grad at Grad Reflection was delivered by Ms. Susan Baber to the school community at morning assembly on Tuesday, April 30, 2013.

A Loyola Student is Becoming More Open to Growth

I was at a meeting in Boston over the weekend, and, as frequently happens at such gatherings, we started off by introducing ourselves to the people sitting at the table with us. After I introduced myself, the person seated next to me introduced himself by giving his name followed by “I’m Sue Baber’s friend” and then his professional information. I’m telling you this story not so you’ll say “Oh, isn’t it nice that Ms. Baber has a friend”, but rather, because this weekend’s meeting was so deeply connected with my understanding of what it means to be “open to growth.” In my adult life, openness to growth has been intimately and inextricably connected with the Gospel passage that serves as the basis of our Easter Examen – the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. In that passage we find companions facing their sorrow together (and it’s safe to assume that prior to that day they had also shared all sorts of positive and joyful experiences as well.) Together they encounter – but fail to recognize – God present with them. They have a moment of recognition of God’s loving presence and they are inspired to grow beyond their fears. The greatest growth experiences of my life have always involved trusted companions, plenty of insecurity, as well as the grace of God. As I was preparing to lead prayer on the second day of that meeting in Boston, I couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that the person who I had been during the single year that my friend and I shared as colleagues could never have

led prayer for a gathering of adults, about a third of whom were Jesuits. I’d like to share with you now just three of the experiences in my own growth into the person I am still in the process of becoming.

The Grad at Grad states – and I think pretty accurately – that a person who is open to growth “is learning to view criticism and setbacks as interesting, challenging, and growth producing.” My first year of teaching was not an easy one – and it was full of setbacks and challenges. I was a young woman, teaching in a boys’ school that didn’t have many other young women on the faculty. I was teaching sophomores, and they had the upper hand in everything – it was already “their” school, they knew how things worked, and as a new teacher, I needed to prove myself. In the middle of the year, I had a meeting with the principal and I voiced my frustrations and disappointments. I went to him looking for sympathy, but he responded with questions – “Well, Susan, what are you doing about it? What are you doing to contribute to the problem, and more important, what are you doing to solve it?” That most definitely was NOT the response I wanted. I was angry. I felt unappreciated. And I decided that I was done. I’d finish the year and then I’d look for another career – I was only 23, and I had plenty of time to figure out what to do with my life. When I shared this decision with two of my colleagues, they challenged me to reconsider. They assured me that “the word on the street” was that the students felt they were learning a lot and they actually liked and respected me – even if they didn’t show it. These colleagues were sure that the second year would be different. The principal, too, urged

me to reconsider. “The kids like you. They don’t like Latin. Why don’t you try to change that?” Since the comments on the course feedback surveys seemed consistent with what all these voices were saying, I decided I’d stay for another year. So, Loyola students, if you ever wonder whether your responses on those course feedback surveys make a difference – they do. They make me a better teacher, and I’m grateful for that.

I ended up staying at that school for 18 more years, and probably could have stayed forever. I loved the place. I loved the work. I was working side by side with my closest friends. I was in a place where I felt confident and loved, where my parish church was just around the corner, where the personal and the professional converged when my nephew entered the school, and where I was giving back to the community in which I resided. But God apparently had a different plan for me. Nine years ago, at just about this time of year, two Jesuit friends of mine informed me that Loyola was looking for a Director of Campus Ministry, and these friends thought I would be a good candidate for the job. It was in interesting idea, but a crazy one – I was a full-time Latin teacher; I had never worked with teen-aged girls; I was used to a big school; I had no desire to ever commute more than 20 minutes. But it was such a crazy idea that I had to pay attention to it. And because someone who is open to growth “seeks new experiences, even those that involve risk of failure” I ultimately took the risk of changing jobs. It was a change fraught with risk, for in addition to the challenges I already mentioned, I had never planned a liturgy, I don’t like public speaking, and, although I had been on dozens of retreats, I had never been on a Kairos retreat. So I

came to Loyola committed to doing my best, hoping that things would work out, but also hoping that, if things didn’t go well, at least I would do no lasting damage.

What I found here was something of a miracle – evidence of God’s presence in my life in a new set of companions on a new bend in the road, helping me to learn this place and my job, and in the process, challenging me to grow. The most significant and growth-inducing challenge of that first year was the “dreaded” service trip. For nineteen years I had deliberately avoided service trips; although I loved retreats, I simply could not imagine myself being on a service trip. I was deeply committed to justice intellectually; I understood the issues and I knew the language. But I didn’t have a commitment of the heart. “Love God, love neighbor” was really more like “love God, think about neighbor.”

A few of these new companions of mine challenged me on that head–heart split; they were persuasive and they were right, so during spring break I went to Kentucky!

While I was there, I had a conversation which altered my understanding of my place in the world; this moment, which occurred in a “professional” context, was personally transformative. For as I spoke with a woman whose home we were demolishing, I was acutely aware of how different our lives had been – and that my life had been full of choices that she had never had. I had been able to choose where I went to school, where I wanted to live, where I wanted to work. Hers had been a life that, from the beginning, offered her few resources and even fewer choices. She had been born and raised in the house we were literally tearing apart; she had raised her own family there.

The differences between us were differences in luck – I had been fortunate to be born into a family with all sorts of resources. She had not.

As I was reflecting on that realization, an even more significant one dawned on me. My “luck” and my access to choices were, in large part, the results of the support of other people, of strangers. My father, the son of immigrants, had been the beneficiary of a free Jesuit high school education; that education prepared him for a scholarship to a Jesuit college, which prepared him for a scholarship to medical school.

My freedom of choice and my way of life were the results of the generosity shown to my father. And, since a person who is open to growth “is developing a habit of reflection on experiences that informs future action”, that encounter in Kentucky changed my response to the world around me. It was another one of those Emmaus moments of recognizing God and desiring to do and to be more.

If it’s starting to sound like I’m confused about which Grad at Grad talk I’m supposed to be giving, I apologize. But I simply don’t know how to understand the five components of the profile separate from one another. My intellect informs how I start to engage with the world and God’s presence in my life informs my relationships and my commitment to justice, which in turn strengthen my faith. And my concluding observation about both the road to Emmaus and the Grad at Grad is that neither ends when one finishes high school…they’re really only just beginning.