Supermoon Immaculata
Brittany Comunale ’16
for a kind of radical help that the “normal household” does not
give. To raise happy families just so that we can leave behind
little copies of ourselves, identical in all respects except a
marginally higher chance of getting into Brown, so that they
can raise happy families, is not to live up to the promise that our
diplomas wield, and it is not to make a future worth celebrating
today. If we dream of changing the world, we probably will not
be satisfied, but there is no sane way we could be satisfied to
leave the world unchanged. As hopeless as our given standards
are, it turns out, it does not help to lower them.
And so we come to the answer: to dream properly, we must set
our standards higher.
Let’s not dream that graduation will serve as a steppingstone to becoming happy, upper-middle-class citizens. And
let’s definitely not dream that, with the help of all that studying,
we will turn into Einsteins, or Picassos, or presidents, or kings.
Let’s not dream something difficult: let’s dream something
impossible. Let’s dream that one day, we will each have a mind
like God’s.
Let’s dream that one day, we can rise all the way to being the
poorest, most humble, most miserable servants in the world.
Let’s hope that we will grow until we are willing to be ignored,
and ready to be taken prisoner, and prepared, if need be, to be
spat on, and bled, and tortured, and killed, for the sake of that
servitude. Raise your hands with me, and pray that the Holy
Spirit will “come”—as we pray each Pentecost—“fill the hearts
of His faithful, and enkindle within us the fire of His love.”
I promise you—as Paul promised the Romans—“that
hope will not disappoint us.” (It satisfies itself, see? If you really
try for it, you succeed by definition.) Whether you are working
in politics or physics, biology or dance, if you have made it your
goal—as Ignatius did—“to give, and not to count the cost; to
toil, and not to seek for rest; to labor, and not to ask for any
reward, save that of knowing that you do His will,” let me join
all the saints and choirs of angels in telling you, in complete
confidence, and with total joy: Congratulations.
So let’s go, now, and apply ourselves wholeheartedly to
whatever good cause we’ve made our own, without needing
to overstate the chance of its success, and without daring to
understate the necessity of our agonizing and lifelong devotion.
We will be as forgotten as Everett is, probably; in the world’s
eyes, our lives will be neither accomplished nor successful;
fine. In the dusk of our retirement, as we prepare for the
longer sleep and wonder what it has in store, we will see that
the world’s hearts are still unmoved, and its diseases are still
terrible, and its history is still a dark and twisted tragedy. And
we will rejoice in the knowledge that our dreams have come
true: for we dreamed today that we could become men and
women dedicated to pouring all our strength into love of
God and neighbor, despite the futility of our effort, and the
implausibility of our task, and the invisibility of our reward, and
we will have done so.
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to
this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and
make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen
tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for
a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If
it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”
JAMES 4:13–15
Philip Trammell is a senior concentrating
in economics and mathematics.
Spring 2015
29