Ms. Susan Baber's Commencement Address
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Transcript of Ms. Susan Baber's Commencement Address
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Commencement Address delivered by Ms. Susan Baber at Loyola School’s
Graduation, Friday, June 1, 2012
Thank you, Mr. Lyness, for the invitation to speak tonight. And thank you, too, to
everyone here who has brought us to this wonderful occasion – to the trustees
and all of my colleagues who give life to this work that we share, to the parents
and friends of our graduates who have trusted us and supported us in that work,
and to you, our graduates, who have, in the past four years, been such a gift to
Loyola. What a blessing it has been to share this journey and what a blessing it is
to share this night with all of you.
I have always loved graduations. As a child, I loved the pageantry – Pomp and
Circumstance, the fancy clothes, the applause, and the decorations. It was
dramatic and exciting. As a teacher, though, what I treasure about graduation is
the opportunity to look back in gratitude and look forward in hope; to look at
each person who has helped to shape our collective experience and say
“congratulations, thank you, and Godspeed.”
During the prelude at the Baccalaureate Mass on Weds. evening, I was standing
over there next to the high altar, looking out at the congregation; for a few
moments I got lost in thoughts of this class as freshmen, thinking to myself “Who
knew?” Who knew that the student whose older sister had made me promise to
be nice to him and to never tease him about anything – “because Ms. Baber, he’s
just too shy” – would become someone who would serve as a retreat leader? Not
once, not twice, but three times this year, enduring far more teasing than his
sister had, and contributing his own fair share to the mischief. And who knew
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that the student who, on her first Camden trip fell asleep early on during the
evening reflection – and spent the remainder of that reflection sound asleep on
the shoulder a member of the Romero Center staff – would be one of the first
students to commit to the Belize service trip that leaves on Sunday? Who knew
that several students who came to Loyola as accomplished athletes would find a
home not only in the athletic program, but also on stage? Who knew that it
would be members of this class (with a little help from some friends) who would
redefine Spirit Week – wearing your school pride very literally, not on your
sleeves but on your chests? I could keep going on, but Halle, Halle, Halle wasn’t a
long enough song!
The more I think back on the terrific things that you’ve done here, the more I look
forward to what you’re going to do with your future. You are a remarkable group
of people – diverse in interest, in temperament, in personality, in talents. As the
second reading on Wednesday night reminded us, there are different gifts, but
the same Spirit. Each of you has brought and has been a different gift to Loyola.
Sometimes your means of sharing those gifts has been smooth and joyful, and
sometimes it has been noisy and messy. But I hope we can all agree that your
presence at Loyola has been a gift. I know I am a better teacher, a better person,
and a better aunt because of the time I’ve shared with you. So, congratulations
and thank you.
But now the question changes from “Who knew?” to “Who knows?” Who knows
what it is that you’re going to do next? Who knows who you will become? Who
knows how you will respond to the changes, the challenges, and the opportunities
that life will present to you? You were born into a world in which iPods and iPads
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didn’t exist, a world in which hybrid vehicles weren’t on the roads, a world in
which the words “Skype” and “Google” had no meaning. In the span of your
lifetime, how we access information, how we care for our planet, and how we
communicate have changed dramatically. Even more dramatic have been some
of the global shifts in the economic and political landscape of our world. Who
knows what’s next and what your role in all of it will be?
When talking about issues of justice, from time to time some of you have tried to
convince me that I can’t really believe that significant change is possible or that a
more just world is possible. After all, people who have power – political or
economic – want to keep power and probably want to accrue more power. I
think you’re right about the allure of greed – it’s really, really compelling. But
just because some people are seduced by greed, I don’t believe we can
underestimate the human capacity for good or the power of the human
imagination.
I could talk about changes on a grand and global scale, because human history is
full of fabulous examples, but in truth, most of us aren’t called to be agents of
global transformation. But that doesn’t mean we can’t all influence the local
situation. In your time at Loyola, you’ve met people who have been local agents
of change. You’ve met Fr. Greg Boyle. His gang intervention program in Los
Angeles hasn’t changed the whole world, but it has transformed the lives of
hundreds of people whom society had written off, and restored hope to them and
their loved ones. You’ve met Mr. Bill Ford, whose aunt, Sr. Ita Ford was killed in El
Salvador in 1980. Mr. Ford’s a school principal. His school provides not only an
education, but also critical work skills and experience for a student population
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that has historically been excluded from the workforce. You’ve met Mr. Abel
Vargas, who took the risk of leaving a secure job in Belize to work with Hand in
Hand Ministries – a risky proposition, with no guarantee of success. His
organization to date has provided homes for over 170 families and health care
services available nowhere else in the country. If you’ve gone to Camden you
may have met Monsignor Bob McDermott, who had an empty convent on his
parish property and had the vision to convert it into the retreat and justice
education organization that we know as the Romero Center – providing
thousands of young people with their first exposure to urban poverty and
injustice. Have any of these people changed the global structures? No. But have
they provided alternative realities on a local level? Absolutely.
In my experience, your class has demonstrated a penchant for asking tough
questions. I hope you never lose that. Some of them have been cosmic questions
about faith, about justice, about why evil exists, about why sheep were more
valuable than goats. Others have been painful questions, beginning with “how is
it fair that…” or “how is it cura personalis if…”. One of my favorites started with
the words “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but…” and concluded with “Ms.
Baber, what does YOUR commitment to justice look like. I know that you go on
service trips with us, but beyond that, what do you DO?” What a phenomenal
question to ask of someone who howls the language of justice from the safety,
comfort, and affluence of Park Avenue.
As happens frequently in my office, though, the conversation got sidetracked, and
I only gave a partial response. So, I’m hoping that you’ll indulge me in allowing
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me to finish the response now. I could talk about how I choose to invest my
money or how I try to manage my own consumerism, how I vote, or how I decide
what organizations I offer my financial support or my time to, or how I try to keep
myself well‐informed about the world around me. All of that is important, but
they’re not my most significant contributions to the work of justice.
There are different gifts, right? What’s my gift? It’s certainly not the creativity or
the genius to come up with “solutions” to the world’s problems. Nor is it the
oratorical skill to get people to come along with me. My gift is the ability to really
and truly believe in you – to believe in your talent, to believe in your goodness
and to believe that you have the heart and the ability to transform the world if
you so choose. As the Romero Prayer reminds us, “no one can do everything, and
there is a sense of liberation in knowing that. That enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.” And so, accompanying young people as you start to
explore issues of faith and of justice is my “something.” It’s what I am called, at
this point in my life, to do. Believing in you is something I can do, and do
reasonably well. I am constantly humbled, challenged, and inspired by your
willingness to move beyond your comfort zone and to care for others. When I’ve
gotten frustrated with you, it has been because you have refused to see that
potential and that goodness in yourself and in others, or because you’ve let
yourselves be limited by complacency instead of empowered by love. So that’s
what I can do – you’ll have to figure out what YOU can do.
St. Ignatius repeatedly identified the mission of the Society of Jesus as that of
“helping souls.” You share in that legacy now. Who knows if or how you will
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choose to “help souls”? Some of you may be called to do the direct work of
justice “out in the field.” Some of you may be called to advocacy work. Most of
you, though, will probably be called to a life in which the direct opportunity to
effect change is a little less clear. But if each one of you, wherever you end up,
keeps asking the hard questions ‐‐ “Are our practices just?”; “Are we behaving in
an environmentally sustainable way?”; “What opportunities do we have to do and
be better?” you just might find other people who share your concerns. That’s a
pretty exciting possibility.
I’m not going to pretend that I know what your future will hold. I don’t. I’m not
going to pretend that I know how the world of your adulthood will compare to
the world of your adolescence. I’m not going to try to give you sage advice about
any of it. What I will off is two hopes and an image. I’m going to start by stealing
the words of Sr. Ita Ford. You’ve heard them before at prayer services, but I think
they’re “keepers” and worth repeating now.
“I hope that you come to find that which gives life deep meaning for you.
Something worth living for. Maybe even something worth dying for. Something
that energizes you, enthuses you, enables you to keep moving ahead. I can’t tell
you what that might be – that’s for you to find, to choose, to love. I just
encourage you to start looking and support you in the search.”
Now back to my words! I also hope that you find people who will believe in you,
work with you, and challenge you to be the best person you can be. Ignatius
needed those early companions to start the Society of Jesus – it was great for him
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while he was alone in the cave at Manresa, but it became great for the world
when the others joined him. When I was a senior in college, a well‐intentioned
professor suggested that I give up the idea of teaching as a career. In his
assessment, I didn’t have the temperament for the work. During my first year of
teaching, every time I felt insecure or unsuccessful – which was virtually every day
– I heard his voice saying “you just can’t do it” until I found people who believed
in me, worked with me, and who continue to challenge me to be the person God
created me to become. Quite a few of you, ranging in age from 18 to well‐beyond
18, are sitting around me right now. So, young friends, I hope you, too, are
blessed with such companions on your journey.
And finally, I offer you an image. My commute includes a ferry ride. Most days,
the view is simply spectacular – passing by the Statue of Liberty, watching the sun
rise over Brooklyn or glisten off the water, marveling at the juxtaposition of God’s
creation and human construction. But in the past few months there have been a
lot of really foggy, murky days. On those days, it’s been impossible to see much
beyond the boat. Everything that I know is out there became invisible. The
Statue of Liberty – gone. Brooklyn – nowhere to be seen. The Staten Island Ferry
– out there somewhere, hopefully not too close. Without wearing a watch and
without clear sightlines, it became difficult to tell what kind of progress the ferry
was making towards our destination. I had to trust that all the instruments were
working correctly and that the pilot’s judgment was sound.
I’ve been using my ferry ride as a metaphor for faith and for life. There are
moments in our lives of stunning clarity – when we know exactly what we should
do and exactly who we want to be, and we know exactly how to make that
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happen. There are other times when things are less clear – when it’s harder to
focus on things beyond the immediate moment or to see much beyond ourselves,
when it’s impossible to be sure of our progress or even our direction. But the
murkiness doesn’t last forever. Each of us is created in the image and likeness of
God – a God who loves us and has great hopes and dreams for us. Just because
it’s not clear to us doesn’t mean it’s not clear to God. It just means we may have
to trust a little more and “know” a little less.
As the Baccalaureate Mass was ending on Wednesday, I again got caught up in
the music. This time it was “your song” – the song you selected and that we’ve
used every time we celebrated liturgy together this year. Listening to those
words, and imagining a world in which you choose to live them was a moment of
incredible hope. “Call us to be your compassion. Give us hearts that sing, give us
deeds that ring. Give us hearts that feel, give us hands that heal.” With each of
you being God’s compassion, having hearts that feel and hands that heal, who
knows what’s possible?
So, class of 2012, congratulations, thank you and Godspeed.