Tag Archives: Wisdom

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Looking for Kolvenbach

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I was not raised in the Catholic faith.  Perhaps it is not surprising, therefore, that I did not attend a Catholic school of higher learning.  I thus confess to knowing very little about the major tenets that drive education under Catholic guidance.  But in my work with Winds of Peace, I have had occasion to learn a little of the thinking and teachings of Jesuit universities in the U.S. as well as the University of Central America (UCA) in Nicaragua.  I’ve been intrigued by some of what I have encountered.  And while I have not converted to Catholicism, I have been enamored with one of the Jesuit’s outstanding thinkers and educators, Father Peter-Hans Kolvenbach.  Figuratively speaking, WPF has been searching for him- and application of his words- since its inception.

Now, as for my Catholic-ness, I have spoken to a number of classes at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota.  The classes are  always business, accounting or religion courses, and I am continually impressed with the fact that I am addressing such classes on topics like employee ownership, broad-based equity sharing, organizational participation and open book management.  It suggests to me that there might be significant cross-pollination of ideas, a mixing of the technical with the humanities, a truly serious effort to provide an holistic view of the world even to such seemingly disparate students as religion and business majors.

I haven’t heard Kolvenbach’s name or work mentioned during my brief visits to St. Thomas, but it seems to me that the connectivity among disciplines that I’ve experienced there is absolutely in line with something Kolvenbach wrote years ago, something which recently caught my attention in a major way.  In an address at Santa Clara University in October 2000, this is what Kolvenbach had to say about learning, the world, and our place in it:

“Universities must make it possible for students …to allow the disturbing reality of this world to enter into their lives, so that they learn to feel it, to think critically about it, to respond to its suffering and to commit themselves to it in a constructive fashion. They will have to learn to perceive, think, judge, choose and act in favor of the rights of others, especially of the most disadvantaged.… The measure of Jesuit universities is not what our students do, but who they become and the adult Christian responsibility they will exercise in the future towards their neighbor and their world.”[1]

His immediate audience was university students, but the words apply as well to middle-aged adult learners and senior citizen sages,  as much or even more so today than in 2000.  The message is for all of us.  Allowing ourselves to become personally infected with the discomfort of the disadvantaged is the essence of learning the truth about ourselves and the makeup of our character.  It’s the “point of the trip,” the purpose of this journey that each of us is taking in life.

Kolvenbach’s concept summarizes a significant component of Winds of Peace work.  It’s the reason the Foundation has supported cross-cultural education experiences over the years, why we have been a supporter of The Center for Global Education methodologies, and why we seek to further the Kolvenbach vision through partnership with a U.S. university in creation of a “Synergy Center” in Nicaragua. (Read a full description of the concept from the WPF website homepage, located toward the bottom of the page.)  Partnership with a university seeking to immerse its students, researchers and supporters in real life context is the next stage in the WPF calling to generate transformational and global life experiences.

Kolvenbach understood and encouraged the intimate bridge-building between cultures and classes.  He challenged his Jesuit audiences to take the “risk of infection,” not just to accept difficult realities when confronted with them, but actually to seek them out in order to feel what others feel.  He speaks of risk and commitment and discomfort.   As WPF seeks its synergy partnership, in a very real way it’s looking for Kolvenbach…..

 

 

[1] The Service of Faith and the Promotion of Justice, by Rev. Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, S.J., Santa Clara University, October 2000.

 

 

Interdependence

Taking the Week Off

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Things were quiet in Nicaragua last week, a good change from the previous week’s earthquake-filled excitements. They were quiet for another reason, too. This was holy week, a time when Nicaraguan life in general slows down to allow reflection about this meaningful time in the Christian church. There are celebrations and observances and worship, of course, as time approaches the hope-filled day of Easter. Hope is a major need in Nicaragua, and any occasion to reinforce optimism is cherished. Nicaraguans continuously hope for change, even as the Christians among them contemplate their religious faith at this most important time of the year.

There were similar slowdowns taking place elsewhere around the world, and for many of the same reasons. The approach of Easter provides a context for pausing just a moment and reflecting about the state of the world and our own lives in it. We become engaged in a type of collective contemplation about conflict and resolution, forgiveness and redemption. Even those who consider themselves less than faithful admit to at least moments of such thoughtfulness, intrigued by visions of what “could be” in this life.

It’s a freeing and valuable process, this immersion into calmer waters of contemplation. We can temporarily transport ourselves to more peaceful places and imagine a world more worthy of the sacrifice that Easter represents. There is a certain sense of serenity and healing, and we are left pondering what the world might be like if it could only experience such tranquillity more permanently; the longing for peace lies deep and innately within us.

Regrettably, such ruminations do not last long. The immensity of the difficulties faced by all of humanity are too great, too deeply-seated to encourage long deliberation. Like the very universe we inhabit, the enormity and complexity of our collective lives is more than we can tolerate in anything but small moments. Faced with such proportions, we feel small, impotent, frozen in indecision. Even those of us privileged to work with institutions which possess resources for change, the obstacles to hope are titanic: where to start, when to proceed, how to finish.

I was thinking about these things during Easter week, indulging in dreams, imagining a different worldly model and my place in it, envisioning creative initiatives but always stumbling before the mountain of reality. And quite unexpectedly, I received a stunning affirmation of a truth well-known but under-appreciated.

As the United States approached the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing, news coverage took on a decidedly Boston feel. News stories of survivors and heroes and those determined to stage an even better and stronger Boston Marathon filled nearly every newscast during last week. Vignettes about enhanced security salved the fears of even the anxious among the “Boston strong.” But it wasn’t the flexing of security muscles or determined runners or dedicated first responders that caught my attention. Rather, the message came from an eight year-old little boy.

Martin Richard died at last year’s marathon bombing.  Much has been written and recited about him from his family and others who knew him. He was, in most ways, quite typical for an eight year-old. But what captured my attention and reminded me of where I stand in this complexity called human existence, was a photograph of Martin holding a sign that he had fashioned as part of a school initiative. In eight year-old lettering of simplistic truth were his words, “No more hurting people.”

images

Perhaps you have seen the image, too. It is heartbreaking and ironic and a message seared into our history now as an iconic lesson. It’s simple: stop hurting one another.

The lesson is one-size-fits-all.  It’s the one thing you and I can do in the face of impossibility.  At work, in our homes, our neighborhoods, within our communities and relationships, at every venue we inhabit, Martin’s call is for no more hurting people.  The words set a simple standard against which our decisions and actions can be honestly regarded as to their true intent and content. We know what we intend, and we know if there is hurt within. It’s as true in Nicaragua as in the U.S. and every place where human thought and emotion take place.

The filter is simple; the discipline and the desire to live by it are not. We would be naive to presume that such a strategy is as easy as making up our minds.  Yet those who engage in contemplative reflection are not likely to expect easy resolution to hard matters. To the contrary, to engage in the search is to admit the hard work of any quest for a more sensible human existence. During this past week of reflection and introspection, perhaps the gravity and poignancy of Martin’s sign tells us all we need to know for now….

 

 

 

 

 

Education, Education, Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., WPF partners, WPF partners, WPF partners

There’s A Lot I Don’t Know About Computers

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My wife and I were working with our computers this morning, trying to synchronize some file sharing, exploring the best way to communicate with each other through the “magic boxes.”  (It’s an activity that still feels very strange when we are sitting together in the same room, talking face-to-face.)  She was describing to me a process which one of our daughters had used in her file-sharing process, a sequence of actions which was totally alien to me.  Actually, there’s a great deal of computer use and savvy that completely escapes me, and I am quick to admit it to my wife, my daughter and any technical help person I might encounter over the phone when I’m stuck.  Becoming smarter about computers requires that I don’t pretend that I know more than I do and that I admit what I don’t know.  It’s called learning.

None of us has a corner on the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  We are all possessed of a unique combination of skills, knowledge, experiences and perspectives which make us singular resources on any subject.   (If you doubt the voracity of that idea, simply ask a group of people about, for example, the most important means to a long and happy life.)  But the answers to difficult questions are not vested in all of us;  some of us simply know more or less about certain things.  It’s why we need each other.

Too often, we believe that we know all that we must.  Self-reliance is a good thing, but self-deception is not.  It’s a dangerous place to be. For if we acknowledge the fact that no one has a perfect understanding of all things, then we necessarily embrace the reality that we could be wrong on any given issue, and that someone else might well see the matter with a clearer perspective.  As begrudging as it may feel, we might be wrong.  Acknowledging it, admitting it, is not a symptom of weakness, but rather a sign of self-confidence in learning.  And there is never anything impotent in that. Impotence lies in the false posturing that is fostered by ignorance, or an unwillingness to accept wisdom from someone else.

I’m occasionally asked whether our partners in Nicaragua are grateful for the partnering with Winds of Peace.  The answer is yes, they understand its importance and impact, of course.  But the more complete answer is that the learning experienced by those of us who interact with Nicaraguans, both rural and city, is at least as great as the value of what WPF brings to the partnership.  There’s a lot that I don’t know about Nicaragua.  My acquaintances there are just the ones to help me with that.  Who better?

The world is a big and diverse place.  Facing our own shortcomings about what we know versus what we think we know is both a curse and a blessing.  It’s tough to admit that we aren’t omniscient and in control.  But it’s a gift to recognize that fact as the starting point for seeking out the truth.  Likely, I’ll never know everything about my computer….

 

 

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Teaching and Learning

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The workshops that I have mentioned here from time to time continue to reveal no end of lessons learned.  The participants- many of whom have attended every one of the sessions for the past several years- seem eager to consider and report on the “take-aways” at the conclusion of each gathering, and the insights are as diverse as the people themselves.  In some cases, they might have learned about a production technique or marketing access.  In others, they may have gained an insight into organizational strengthening or even personal interactions.  The presentations and resulting discussions are rich with the reflections of rural Nicaraguans who, like all of us, possess experiences both illuminating and mundane.  And I wonder at the end of every session whether that isn’t the real lesson to be both taught and learned. Continue reading Teaching and Learning →

Rural development, Rural development

A School for Learning

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In the first moments of the cooperative workshop held a couple of weeks ago, Rene Mendoza, the architect and facilitator of the session, asked the 40 or so attendees several questions: 1.) When you first heard of cooperatives, what did you think?  2.) What do you think now?  3.) What do you think a cooperative can be?

Each of the questions elicited a range of answers from the participants, but the one that struck me was one man’s response to the third inquiry, about what a coop could be.  On that point, he observed that the cooperative “ought to serve as a school for learning,” a place where members ought to be able to become better: better producers, better stewards of the land, better administrators, better colleagues with one another, better providers for their families and themselves.  The moment was a passing one, and the conversation immediately took a different turn.  But I made the note to myself that this fellow understood the essence of what could be.

The motivations of the attendees for being at the workshop covered the full spectrum.  They revealed it in their answers to the three questions.  Some were there because they had attended previous workshops funded by WPF over the past several years and they didn’t want to be absent for the latest installment.  Some were there because the venue was close to home and the opportunity to check in, have several meals with members of neighboring coops and hear the latest news was just too convenient to pass up.  Some attended because they thought there might be a chance to secure new funding from WPF; they said as much.  And then, there were those who came because they have begun to understand that the experiences and wisdom of other cooperatives contain a wealth of learning opportunities that are unavailable almost anywhere else.  All the reasons for attending were good ones and there are no judgments here about whether one person’s basis for coming was valid or not.  We all come to the table with very different histories and circumstances.

But if one of the intentions of the workshop was to create a long-lasting, sustained impact on the lives and the fortunes of rural cooperatives in Nicaragua, then the observation made by the guy quoted above deserves special attention.  For the idea behind that comment gets to the heart of lasting change in Nicaragua  or anywhere else, for that matter.  It is only when we allow ourselves to be in a full learning mode that we’re capable of real transformation, both organizationally and individually.  In this case, the comment was made from an holistic point of view, wherein change at the individual level would facilitate change at the organizational level, and the benefits of such changes would scatter through entire communities.  But first, every member of a cooperative would have to be willing to bring whatever knowledge he/she possessed, to share in building a true school for learning.  That’s what a cooperative does, cooperate to the advantage of the entire group.  Easy to understand, more difficult to perform, and particularly against the tide of a culture which has not functioned in such a way historically.

All of the folks in attendance were present for good reasons, whatever those might have been.  The good news is that they were there, taking the risk of leaving their comfort zones and exposing themselves to something new.  That takes courage and willingness to accept some risk.  But a further step to be taken is the one where each member of a cooperative can come to feel the trust and collegiality within their organization.  The pieces of the cooperative puzzle are embodied in each of its members and, like any puzzle, all the pieces are needed in order to complete the picture.  And when that faith among fellow coop members has been cultivated sufficiently, then in turn the coops as organizations are more likely to turn to one another to further contribute to the solving of the producer puzzle on a territorial basis.  Education may be partially dependent upon great teachers, but without willing learners, even the most compelling educator is rendered useless.

Many interesting visions about what a cooperative can be emerged in that discussion several weeks ago.  But the notion of “a school for learning” is the one that stays with me, and I hope with the other participants, as well….

 

 

 

 

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A Legacy for the Common Man

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I haven’t written here lately.  Over the past several weeks I’ve been preoccupied, thinking about a guy who has been fighting a serious health condition; as a result, I’ve traveled to visit him, spent time with his family and generally worried about his prognosis.  Finally, the end which is inevitable for each of us closed in and he perished last week.  So I traveled once again, this time to attend his funeral and offer my final good-byes.  More than that, I was able to put his life into a perspective that should teach any one of us a great deal.

He never had it easy.  For some people, breaks always seem to fall either a step ahead or a step behind, and in his case he often seemed out of step.  While he was raised in the relative affluence of the middle-class, his life seemed to present more than the usual number of travails.  He was a quiet, introspective fellow, and not very social.  He would be far more comfortable in the loneliness of the north woods than with a group of friends, a fact which by itself limited the number of close acquaintances in his life.  As a young man he was a very average student, despite great discipline for study, and he even dropped out of college for a short time, so overwhelmed was he with the rigors and anxieties of university life.  During these years he experienced his first bouts of depression, a disabling affliction that would subsequently haunt him at every stage of his life.  He faced the certainty of being drafted into the Viet Nam war by the U.S. Army after college, a stark prospect that forced enlistment as a preferable alternative. Whatever horrors he faced in those years, he rarely spoke of them, either from obedience to confidentiality or an aversion to his remembering.  His subsequent careers moved in fits and starts, as his aspirations for pursuing advanced education were always vexed by the need to create an income sufficient to meet the needs of a growing family.  There were times when he sold his own blood plasma for the additional income that it could provide.  One of his adult sons was struck and nearly killed by a drunk driver, creating a need to provide special and long-term care at the very moment of expected parental independence.  And the final hit was the most egregious: his love for the outdoors and running shirtless in the summer sun translated into a fight with skin cancer.  While odds of recovery from topical treatments are generally good, his were not and he underwent surgeries.  While odds of recovery with surgery are generally good, his were not and the cancer metastasized in more than twenty sites in his body.  And while the odds of recovery with chemotherapy can be generally good, his were not and within ten weeks’ time he was transformed from health to death.  To me, it seemed as though he just never caught a break.

But at his funeral last week, the life story told by those who knew him best were quite different from the perspective that I had.  His work colleagues and neighbors spoke of one who always presented a calming air of acceptance, even in the midst of crises.  Each remembrance that was offered included recollections of his patience, kindness and generosity for others, in spite of his own needs.  I heard reflections about his commitment to learning, to accessing new ideas as a means of personal growth and spiritual stewardship.  I came to know about the people he touched through his personal generosity, often at times in his life when, by most measures, he could not afford such largesse.  I learned about his passion for teaching others, his gift of being able to make complex issues more simple.  And I witnessed for myself the deep love and high regard of his wife and children for a husband and dad who demonstrated only love and patience for his family during the whole of their lives together; each expressed their own stories of a man who not only taught high virtues, but who lived them, as well.  Ironically, it was these commonplace traits which made for the uncommon man.

No, the endowment under review last week was not that of a powerful or controlling master.  It did not even reference the unlucky circumstances of a sometimes troubled life. The legacy instead  described the caring and loving life of a “peasant,” a humble and gentle man who refused to give in to either the struggles of a stressful life or the temptations of an alluring life.  In the process, he remained true to the values of faithful stewardship and kindness of character.

In the end, no one recalled the marginal grades of high school.  There were no reminiscences about crippling depression or serving in an unwanted war or aspirations that were never achieved.  What mattered at the close was that my brother, Skip, was a common man who loved his family, treasured the gifts that he had instead of belaboring those he did not have, and who cared about others generously.  He taught, he fought to learn and sought to give.  He did so quietly and with deliberation.  It’s a legacy that has been wonderful to receive, and that is required for each of us to give in turn….

 

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Feeding the Wolves

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I have a long-established interest in Indigenous people and their traditions, in cultures around the world.  I’m not sure why; maybe for me such people represent humanity from some of its earliest manifestations, at a time when we were all a lot less “developed,” sophisticated, savvy.  That interest is one of the factors which years ago drew me to Winds of Peace, an organization which had identified Indigenous people as one of its priorities.  The history and circumstances of the North American Indigenous people, in particular, has resonated with me since I was a young boy.  Recently I came across a well-known parable suggested by some to have been handed down through the Cherokee tradition.  Whether the attribution is accurate or not, it reads like Native American wisdom and I share it here:

An elder was talking to his grandson and said:

“A fight is going on inside me, I feel like I have two wolves fighting in my heart,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil- he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret,greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.
“The other is good- he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, companion and faith.”
He told his grandson the same fight is going on inside you and inside every other person too.
 
The grandson asked:  “Grandpa, tell me which of the two wolves will win the fight in your heart?”
 
The grandfather answered :  “The one you feed.”
It’s a nice little morality play, one that almost always gives pause to readers due to its simplicity and the universality of its truth in each of us.  We all sense the struggle within ourselves.  Right versus wrong, good versus evil.  No battles in human existence have been fought longer than this one, and there still seems to be no armistice in sight.  It’s the essential work of every soul to take up the conflict.  And though we innately recognize which side of the battle lines we should be on, the struggle never seems to become any easier.
I’d be proud to relate some of the outcomes of such confrontations in my own life; you would hear of sacrifice and persistence and honesty that would define me as a selfless steward of the opportunities life has presented.  But my embarrassment would more than counterbalance all of that, to tell of the shortcomings and neglect that I have allowed in that same journey.  The fight rages within me, and  despite what I know to be true, my choices turn out to be a mixture of both sense and nonsense.  And maybe it’s not just me.
The unpredictability of our dual selves transcends virtually every demographic and circumstance.  We hear of it every day here in the United States, where news media reflects the results of internal battles both won and lost.  In the past week alone, we have identified with the major university basketball coach who was fired due to his unconscionable behavior with his players, a man who quickly and resolutely condemned his own actions as being offensive and wrong.  As well, we identified with the woman who donated one of her own kidneys to save the life of someone completely unknown to her, simply because she could; we choose to see a glimmer of ourselves in her because her response is so courageous and right.
The wolves inside of us circle each other every day, waiting for the moment to take a leap of domination, influence.  When I am tired or worn down or  complacent for whatever reason, it is easy to feel the surge of the evil wolf.  In such moments my attentions are focused on myself and my own needs.  I simply want to feel better.  I might use food.  Or exercise.  Or making an unnecessary purchase.  Or trying some other extravagance.  And yet, there are the other days, when I feel the good wolf in my self-confidence and the possibilities of my life, and I become obsessed with the need to share, to empower and encourage, to enhance lives.  I might use a gift.  Or a call.  Or simply being present before someone who feels anonymous.  My choices are ones that I make each day and that strengthen or diminish the power of the wolves within.  They are likely yours, as well.
Recognizing it, I find myself better understanding the actions and the context of the Nicaraguan partners with whom we work.  I can better comprehend the indiscriminate felling of trees for firewood and profit.  I can understand the choice by some to drink.  I see why young children are not in school, and cell phones are owned by even the poorest of peasants, and why parents may use whatever discretionary money they have for a TV satellite dish.  Or why visiting North Americans can be received into their communities with such warmth and embrace.
It is overly simple to draw conclusions about the poor and their motivations when one’s good wolf is well-fed and self-satisfied.  One of the side-effects of good wolf victories can be a self-righteous indigestion that diminishes our ability to see clearly.  It’s only when we recognize the dark-and-light duels of our own lives that we can come to appreciate the internal struggles and actions of others, and thus to know a more complete truth about ourselves….

 

Making An Impact, Making An Impact, Making An Impact, Making An Impact, Making An Impact, Making An Impact, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections

The Secret of Wisdom

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I spent some time last week with the Founder of Winds of Peace, Harold Nielsen.  As usual, we had plenty to talk about: what’s happening in Nicaragua, the state of the global economy, progress on several Foundation initiatives, the presidential campaigns here in the U. S., and more.  It may not seem unusual for two people to engage in conversation about such items, but I always regard my discussions with Harold as somewhat unique opportunities to learn, since he is now 96 years of age.  The breadth of his experiences and perspectives grows more valuable every day, and his views of the world and human behaviors in it are lessons rich with insight.  Whenever I’ve had the chance to sit with Harold and engage in such discussions, I find myself speculating about where Harold gained all that wisdom. I’m reminded of how infrequently we in the U.S. look to our most seasoned citizens for wisdom.  All too often we see our elders as being out-of-date. out-of-touch or irrelevant to modern-day issues.  Too bad; there’s a lot that we need to learn and in many cases they’re just the ones to teach us.

 

There were any number of perspectives that Harold shared with me last week worthy of reflection and consideration.  But perhaps the most valuable of all came not from something he offered, but rather from something he asked.  (It’s not unusual for Harold to bring me to a salient realization by asking a question rather than stating an opinion.)  We had been talking about our education initiative in Nicaragua when he quite unexpectedly changed the subject.  He asked me to describe what it had been like to work for him over the years, what his strengths and weaknesses had been, what he could do in the future to be a better leader, mentor, and influence, and how he could become better at seeing those characteristics in others.

I was startled for several reasons.  First, I wasn’t prepared for a question that required such a personal, candid response.  Second, even though Harold and I have worked more as collaborators than as employer-employee in recent years, my response required me to think back to his earlier roles in my life, when he was company owner, CEO, foundation patron, and I was his employee.  Third, in my work experiences, Harold turned out to be, by far, the easiest and most effective “boss” I ever had; analyzing his weaknesses and areas for improvement never occupied much of my thought.  While I am rarely at a loss for words, his questions left me speechless for the moment as I tried to formulate a response that was both candid and useful.  Unfortunately, I doubt that I offered him anything that he regarded as helpful.

Long after our time together, I was still thinking about those questions and wondering what there was about them which continued to hold my attention.  I’ve been asked the same such questions many times over my managerial career, but never before did the query strike me with the same degree of surprise as this time.  But I finally figured out what was so different.  The difference was that the question came from a 96 year-old man who, well after most people have ceased to breathe let alone ask piercing and introspective questions, still seeks to learn about himself, still aspires to know more about his relationship with others, still wants to know how he might become better at life.  What startled me was the recognition that his questions revealed the source of the wisdom that I have respected for all of these years.  That source lay in the unquenchable thirst for learning that Harold has had, a never-ending curiosity about himself and others and the world around us.

Far more than simply a function of advanced age, true wisdom is cultivated in the continuous drive to ask and understand, not only for one’s own edification, but for application to the circumstances of the world at-large.  Wisdom eschews the notion of retirement of any kind, giving no quarter to withdrawal, forbidding us to stop the flow of natural inquisitiveness that spurred the younger versions of ourselves.  The answers to the contemporary questions facing the youth of today might well be discovered in the curiosities of their elders over a lifetime of seeking.  And those of us in-between are in the best position of all to benefit from the realization if we can allow ourselves to do so.  Maybe all of this is well-known to psychologists and gerontologists, but it’s a first-hand observation to me.

How does a 96 year-old man expect to effect change in the way that he is perceived by others, the way in which he interacts with them, the extent of his positive impact upon them?  I’m not sure of the answer, but I love the question.  And I may have unwittingly affirmed a secret to real wisdom….