So, let’s talk some more about faith, hope, and love in the classroom by reflecting about my recent experience outside the classroom. Susie and I just returned from two weeks of family care-giving in Boston. As I settled in my cramped seat on theplane a warm wash came over me. My eyes closed, I thought a lot, deeply, maybe even profoundly, about how each of us deal with pain, physical disability, fragility, mental deterioration, mental anguish, and the fear of being pitied and forgotten in some dependent care facility. In academia, our attitudes of privilege, self-expectations, and indeed our training, has made us particularly vulnerable to the kind of detachment so many of us currently experience. It’s a similar question of how do we deal with the challenge of the cynical and sad perception that “they don’t belong here” or “they’re letting anyone in?” How do we address the fear of job insecurity and a lack of campus-wide community? The question is: be it colleague or student, do we have faith in, hope for, and love of people only when things go right, only because they’re clever, physically beautiful, talented, knowledgable, accomplished GPA-wise? Or, do we see beyond all that, and have faith in, hope for, and love people just because they’re people. Without any laid down conditions, do we hear them knock; do we open the door; do we hospitably ask them in; do we see their beauty; do we acknowledge their sacredness; do we believe in their potential; do we embrace, support, and encourage them?

You know, one thing that struck me in Boston that is applicable in any classroom was that when you have faith in and hope for people, when you love them, you don’t idolize them from afar; you recognize their beauty and sacredness. That beauty and sacredness are incredibly powerful. In the midst of ugly disdain and dismissal, they convert us into what I’ll call a “spirit whisperer.” As nothing can, they feed our spirit, move us, stop us in our tracks, shake us out of tiresome familiarity and weary routine, take us to a different level of feeling and thinking, open our eyes and ears, force us to notice.

We’re returning to Boston in five or six months, and have decided we will do that on a regular basis, sooner if need be. We made this decision not out of a sense of obligation, not because we have to. We’ll be returning because we want to. At first glance, it would seem we didn’t do that much while we were there: chauffeured, shopped for food, pick up medicines, took clothes to the cleaners, cooked some meals, took walks, went to the movies, watched television, made some minor repairs, and did a host of other mundane things. But, sometimes, a lot of times, “not that much,” just being there for example, the little things matter as much as, if not sometime more, than the big stuff. Being in a little place like the breakfast nook in the morning, out on the deck in the afternoon, or in the TV room at night sparkled with little lights of love. That was brought home on the next to last day, when we told them that we would be returning at the end of October, their eyes and faces lit up with joy. Being there told them that they are more than just being seen; they are appreciated, valued, loved. How did Leo Buscaglia say it? “Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”

It reminded me that faith, hope, and love–anywhere, any time–is an exercise of respect, tender caring, kindly serving, consideration, empathy, compassion, support, and encouragement. They’re a pursuit of something far stronger than anything a discipline can offer: meaning and service through human relationships. They say, “You are sacred, you are sacred to me. I will not ignore you; I will not diminish you; I will not set you aside. No, I will honor you, be there with you, and will walk with you.” They mean to see, not just look at one another; and, to see means unconditionally to appreciate and value someone as a worthy somebody. They mean to listen, not just hear, to another; and, to listen means being attentive, caring, nurturing; it means being silent and not getting the last word in. They mean to touch someone in a way that is a wanted embracing hug of the spirit. They all mean replacing the “me” of ego with the “you” of love. They’re always about “how can I make you feel worthy, valued, loved?” They offer us a place from which to meet the challenges of life that resume, title, and position cannot. They help us fight for our purpose, against self-diminsihing cynicism brought on by unreasonable expectations and unrealistic perceptions.

And, maybe, in Boston,then, there is a lesson for all of us in the classrooms: to have faith, hope, and love with every fiber of our being. Love reality! Have the courage and strength to rise to it, accept it, touch it, face it, embrace it. Don’t live in and ruminate about a host of wishful, self-serving, emotional self-satisfying, self-pitying, frustrating, and even angry could haves, should haves, and would haves. Stop living in anguish and disappointment if reality isn’t going the way you want. It’s when faith, hope, and love bubble up from deep within our heart and soul, when we tear ourselves loose from selfishness and bear the burdens of someone else, caring enough to share ourselves with that person, and serving her or him. Inside or outside the classroom, we all should be distinguished by the faith, hope, and love we have. They should burst forth with such enthusiasm that they could never be hidden. They are the philosophy of caring and serving; they are the religion of caring and serving; they are the neuroscience of caring and serving; they are the ethic and morality of caring and serving; they are the pedagogy of caring and serving.

So, as Viktor Frankl might say, we should not merely pursue faith, hope, and love; we should be a living sign, an embodiment, of them. If we do, as I found in Boston–and in the classroom–we’ll true meaning. We’ll notice rather than ignore; we’ll lift up rather than push down, away, or aside; we’ll nurture rather than weed out; and in so doing, we’ll nurture and lift ourselves up. Those are the moments that most define who we are. And, those are the moments that bring us most inner peace and joy.

Louis