Just Care

The four years which I have now seen at Boston College have occurred during a pivotal moment for this university, likely even for this nation. I have seen the great divide which has fallen between the world of those who knew the university and high school before Covid, and those who did not. It was not terribly long ago remarked to me that those who came to college having spent at least a year in high school during the Pandemic are different in communicative faculties. When comparing the classes formerly and currently, it strikes me, however, that the great difference is not so much with respect to communication, but, rather, to caring about things.

There seems to be a sort of miasma of apathy, a lack of care which I have seen in both myself and the student body around me. Where once the Pro-Life Club would have attracted thirty members, only seven are there on an average day. Where fourty Sons of St. Patrick would once keep vigil, praying for two hours in the dead of night, now under ten are present. Even the St. Thomas More Society, greatly advantaged in their abilities to get numbers by that great collegiate galvanizer which is free pizza, was almost empty for several recent lectures.

Nor is this apathy restricted to the Catholic world. One of our Jesuits recently mentioned that, to his dismay, there are very few rabid atheists any more; all that remains are nominal Christians and unimpressive agnostics. There is no fight even in evil, just laziness of heart, mind, and soul.

As much as this is not good atheism, this is far, far worse Christianity. Jesus says to the Church of Laodicea in Revelation: “But because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold, nor hot, I will begin to vomit thee out of my mouth.”

Strive, therefore, not to be vomited. Work well and hard and become burnt-out because of how hard you worked. You will surely sleep far better than you would have and you will wake up refreshed, prepared to work hard again. Join a good club, attend every meeting, and then pass the club on to those below you. Live in such a way that when you have finished working you can enjoy true rest and true peace, not the half-rest of the one who has accomplished nothing. 

An excellent description of this true work comes from what is likely the best short story ever written, Leaf by Niggle, by—of course—Tolkien:

“At any rate, poor Niggle got no pleasure out of life, not what he had been used to call pleasure. He was certainly not amused. But it could not be denied that he began to have a feeling of-well, satisfaction: bread rather than jam. He could take up a task the moment one bell rang, and lay it aside promptly the moment the next one went, all tidy and ready to be continued at the right time. He got through quite a lot in a day, now; he finished small things off neatly. He had no “time of his own” (except alone in his bed-cell), and yet he was becoming master of his time; he began to know just what he could do with it. There was no sense of rush. He was quieter inside now, and at resting-time he could really rest.”

As we approach Advent, even here in early-darkening Boston, where the lack of sun kills motivation at 4:24, let us find that true work and true rest. As we read in Galatians, “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.”