From Notre Dame Stadium to the Pew: The Power of Presence

This is not a blog post I’ve been eager to write. I try to use this space to share messages that are hopeful, uplifting, and meaningful. Sure, I have my gripes—but I usually keep those close to the vest... or the water cooler.

But there’s a question I feel compelled to raise, and I think you have an answer: Have you ever been to a game where a singular fan, compromised your entire experience? Have a group of fans ever detracted from your enjoyment of the game? Have you ever been subjected to rude, boorish, or selfish behavior by someone cheering for the same team as you—a fellow fan?

Sadly, I fear that too many of us can answer "yes." The purpose of this post however isn't to castigate fans in 2025. I don't want to play the "it never used to be this way" game—although that might be true. No, I hope that you will read and consider the power that you as a fan have and will use it for good.

My friend Steve gave me an early Christmas present: a pre-game field pass for the Notre Dame game at Stanford Stadium on Saturday, November 29. To stand behind just feet from the entire team—ranked 9th in the nation—and on their level is amazing. Although you might not have the vantage of those who are perched from above, the energy and excitement is palpable—it's electric. Just before kick-off, I walked approximately 20 rows up to my seat and joined my friend Charlie. He noted that our section had been standing since he arrived. A few minutes into the game, the crowd around us took their seats and cheered loudly. We stood up, we sat down. We exchanged high fives. The blue, gold and green drowned out the Cardinal red. Clearly, this is was not enemy territory. 

I stood next to DeShone Kizer on the field and didn't recognize him until it was too late.
I would have loved talking to him about "A Season with ND Football."

The young man sitting in front of us was an enthusiastic fan. He stood every single time the Irish had possession of the ball or when defense made a great play. However, the problem with this gesture is that in order to see the game, we had to stand as well. If we stood, those behind us would need to do the same. Think of this as a different type of wave, and an unnecessary one. 

Charlie politely tapped him on the shoulder and said "excuse me, but when you stand, we can't see. Do you mind sitting down?" This fan retorted, "I do. I'm not going to sit. I'm going to stand when I want to." I listened in disbelief. I thought to myself, "maybe he didn't understand what we were asking." I tapped him on the shoulder and said "I'm sorry, it's just that your view is unobstructed (there was no one sitting in front of him from an angled sight line). When others stand or if someone else is standing—go for it. But you're the only person who stands and that means we can't see the play. We're happy to switch seats with you if that helps."

I was calm and hoped our simple request made sense. He shook his head and said, "I'm not moving seats. And I'm not going to stay seated. I'm going to stand when I want. That's what I'm going to do."

I have never heard another fan speak with such defiance. I would have said, "I am so sorry. Of course. No problem." While that might be too accommodating, I know I would have listened and at the very least found some middle ground.

Charlie shook his head. He told me to let it go as we turned our head to watch the plays on the Jumbotron. 

I tapped this man on the shoulder once more. I don't know from where this came but I said "Please don't cheer for Notre Dame." He looked at me quizzically. I asked "Are you an alum? Are you a current student?" He shook his head, "no." I said "Well, I'm an alum and I would rather that you not cheer for the Irish. What you are doing does not resonate with the values of the University. Don't cheer for the Irish. Please don't." I sat down.

In the words of Thomas Magnum "I know what you're thinking" and you're right. This story doesn't end well. He dug his heels in. He became almost more defiant by standing more and sitting less. 

This fan soured my experience; I would be lying if I said I could shake it off.  I wish he wasn't cheering for ND. The whole thing was disappointing and disrespectful.Very unfortunate.

Marcus Freeman's first game as Head Coach, January 2022

It could have been different. I say that because I know it’s true—I’ve lived it. On September 18, my friend Bill and I joined my aunt, uncle, cousin, her husband, and their four kids for the Purdue game at Notre Dame Stadium. Sitting together in two rows, we made quite an impression on the people around us.

With under two minutes left in the second quarter, play stopped because of lightning. Rain followed. We waited under the overhang for nearly two hours, then returned to our seats for the second half. While a third of the crowd didn’t come back, I noticed those around me were actually talking about my family. A couple of men picked up on the fact that my Uncle Jay has an uncommon knowledge of the game. They noticed how he explained a few of the rulings on the field in great detail. One of them inquired about it only to learn that my Uncle Jay was a Pac 10/12 referee for 35 years. Whether in the classroom or on the field, my Uncle Jay has always been someone who instructs, informs, and helps others. That’s who he was as a teacher and principal, and who he was wearing the white hat.

I love watching games with my Uncle Jay. Yes, I'm an info hound—I do love to gain clarity and comprehension—but he is incredibly spirited, too. He is locked in when the clock is ticking and helping others when it stops. I grew up watching him on the field work games. In his retirement, I have only benefitted from his presence in the stands. I am proud to say that others have too.

But Jay wasn't the only force for good in this crowd. My Uncle Jay's daughter Jodi—my cousin and her husband CW have four children. These fifth through eighth graders, have been raised to cheer for the Irish. To their credit, they did so until the final whistle. They understood the play calls, cheered at all the right times, and were held up for push-ups after a touchdown. It was a long day, but their enthusiasm, attention, and youthful energy were fun to share. They made a great game even better. Young fans have power, too.

The question I raise for fans is one about presence. Whether we are at a sporting event, a movie, a concert or show we have the ability to make a positive presence on the places and spaces we inhabit—including sacred ones. Are you aware of this?

I attend 8:00 a.m. every Sunday at St. Vincent de Paul parish. Because of its early start time, most of the congregation is comprised of elderly people and families with very young children (they get up early as it is!). Of course all are welcome, and I know the spirit of hospitality is important—but it is not with a sense of "do whatever you want" or "everything is okay."

I believe that because of an experience I had recently. A mother and her teenage daughter sat next to me and talked at a low whisper throughout both readings and the Gospel. The only time they refrained from chatting was when they sang. 

I glanced over a few times—giving that teacher look I’ve mastered over 25 years. They noticed but kept at it. During the homily, I held my gaze a little longer. Still nothing. In hindsight, I should have removed myself rather than hope something would change.

ND Football Chaplain, Father Nate Wills, C.S.C. offers a prayerful presence on the sidelines. 

When their conversation continued through the consecration, I couldn’t stay silent. I leaned over and said, “Do you mind not talking? I’m trying to focus and pray.”

My request was met with utter disgust. Both mother and daughter looked at me as though I were committing an unthinkable offense, a stranger daring to disturb their world. 

I stood frozen in fear that I would be the reason this young woman would stop going to church in the future. Perhaps she would say "this woman in church asked me to stop talking. How rude." I was that woman. I am that woman. And sadly, I shouldn't be the one apologizing.

I offer this message in contrast to what a woman once said to my brother as they were leaving Mass. She tapped him on the shoulder and said "I just want to say thank you for helping me pray better." Mark said "thank you" and paused. She added "Your prayerful presence really helped me to be still and hear the Word." 

I love that she thought to say this to my brother. She named for him the giftedness and grace of a positive presence. No words or money required. Truly we have the power for good.

I won't tell you what I said to the girlfriend of the guy who continued to stand during the game, but I can assure you that in the future, I will be thanking fans who make the experience even better.

Photo Credits
Kizer and Freeman

A Good, Good, Good Legacy of Service and Presence: Revs. Ray Allender, S.J., and Greg Goethals, S.J.

At St. Ignatius College Prep, we celebrate the last Sunday of the liturgical year—the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe—by conferring the Christ the King Award. It is the highest honor the school can bestow upon an alum. The recipient is someone who has "distinguished themselves in their profession, demonstrated a commitment to the S.I. community, and best exemplifies the ideal of service to God and others. This year’s honoree, Rev. Ray Allender, S.J., is a man who has time and again “risen up to the best ideals of being an Ignatian.”

“It is the most important decision the St. Ignatius Alumni Board makes each year,” said S.I. Alumni Director Tom Hsieh ’83. After attending both the Mass and the reception that followed, I understand why. At the gathering, an alumni parent told me that she and her husband come to the Christ the King celebration every year because it’s important to honor a person during their lifetime. “Sadly, I go to many funerals where we remember someone after they’re gone,” she said. “But this event gives us a chance to say, ‘Thank you. I love you.’” Her wise words stayed with me—made all the more poignant when, on Monday morning, I learned that Rev. Greg Goethals, S.J., had died. Greg retired as President of Loyola High School in June; he was 70 years old.

Greg would not have received SI's Christ the King Award because he was a member of Loyola High's class of 1973. His leadership during his tenure at SI however, was quite distinguished. As written by SI President, Joe Vollert, "He served as a rector, teacher, campus minister, counselor, chair of the Board of Trustees, and as the Superior of SI's Jesuit community. His lasting gift to SI was to start and fund the Adult Spirituality Program, a gift to so many of us today."

I came to SI in the Fall of 2003. I immediately found a home in this large and vibrant community thanks to the work of Adult Spirituality. As written on our website, 

St. Ignatius’ Office of Adult Spirituality provides a spiritual formation program for faculty, staff and parents rooted in the Jesuit and Ignatian tradition and grounded in the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. 

The future fidelity and commitment to the Ignatian charism and the Mission and Identity of Jesuit Secondary Education depends on the formation of our Ignatian Partners. Those partners, “are willing to deepen their own Ignatian spirituality and assume greater responsibility for the institution’s Jesuit Identity. ” (Responding to the Call of Christ: Provincials Letter, 2008).

SI, like every Catholic school, has a mission. As an apostolate of the Society of Jesus, our mission is shared with Jesuit schools throughout the world. As an educator in a Jesuit secondary school, I am called to bring that mission to life—in the classroom, on the field, and as a Catholic witness. I firmly believe that if we do not abide by our mission, we should close our doors. Our lived mission is a gift to students, their families, and the community we serve.

The Office of Adult Spirituality seeks to form and inform educators in this mission. We do this through faculty retreats, ministry mornings, Ignatian evenings, Advent and Lenten lunches and in offering the Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola. New teachers attend formation sessions during their first five years in the community and  retreats with other Jesuit educators. All are invited to apply for grants to make a personal retreat. Truly, I am not only the teacher I am today but the person I am because of what Greg brought to SI. This office has been a spiritual home for me and my colleagues, enriching not only our lives but, by extension, the faith and spiritual experiences of our students.

I sent Father Greg a Christmas card every year for the past fifteen years. After three years at another school, I returned to SI to work in the Office of Adult Spirituality; I could NOT wait to share the good news in that seasonal greeting. I will admit, part of me enjoyed sending those cards because I just loved receiving a card from him. I would catch a glimpse of that Crane's paper, replete with the return address of 1901 Venice Boulevard, Los Angeles, California 90006 and await the beauty inside. Anyone that knew Greg is aware that he enjoyed the finer things in life—his stationery was just one example of that.

We taught together in the Religious Studies Department. After he left S.I., the next time I saw him was at the Ignatian Family Teach-In in Fort Benning, Georgia. We stood for a few hours at an outdoor prayer vigil, reciting the names of the Jesuit martyrs, their housekeeper, and her daughter in a solemn call and response. It was freezing cold, and the mood was appropriately somber. Greg made his way over to our group to say hello, and that’s when I noticed his Burberry plaid wool scarf. I won’t mince words—a high-end designer scarf wasn’t exactly typical for that gathering and yet, I had to comment on it. We laughed. He loved it as much as I did. That memory is a great snapshot of Greg. He was present—he showed up and did so with style—his style.

But my most meaningful encounter—and memory—of Greg occurred in June 2010. My mom and I took a mother/daughter road trip down Highway One to visit Hearst Castle and two Presidential museums. Along the way, we stopped in Santa Barbara for the night. We decided to go to the Ritz Carlton for an afternoon cocktail and snack. Who did we run into at the bar  but Greg and his lovely cousin. Our time together was so spirited, I can recall our conversation fifteen years later and the photo here reminds me of that.

If you go on Greg's Facebook page, all you will see are photos of him with family, friends, colleagues, former students, other Jesuits...oh and Barbara Streisand.

This is an important memory for me because what I didn't know at the time is that two short weeks later, my life would change dramatically. I was running and my heart underwent an extensive episode of ventricular tachycardia. Call my lucky or call me blessed, but, the fact that I survived is still difficult to think about today. I spent a week in the hospital and was implanted with an ICD. Somehow, Greg caught word and reached out with prayers and warm wishes. He didn't forget. Six months later he added a personal note on his Christmas card, recalling our time together and inquiring about my health.

Greg was energetic and enthusiastic. Forever on the go, he gave you his undivided attention— even if was for just a minute. He listened intently and would bring the conversation to a close with the words "good, good good." The last time I saw him was at the funeral of Tony Sauer, SJ. I had hoped to see him in August at the mass of remembrance for Eddie Reese, SJ but he may have been traveling as part of his sabbatical. I always thought we would have more time to connect and catch up, laugh, reminisce and remember. This is where death has its sting. It also reminds us to celebrate each other when we can and where we can with our presence, time and our talents.

RS Dept circa 2005

For some reason, I have never been to the Christ the King celebration. I attended on Sunday as the representative from the Office of Adult Spirituality. I was happy to do so because I got to know Father Ray when I was a parishioner at St. Agnes in the Haight. I knew he was beloved and I have always thought he has a wonderful voice—a gift for a preacher. I left that gathering believing what the alumni association pitched was true: Fr. Ray Allender ’62 – "a Jesuit who has facilitated spiritual curiosity, connected parishes across San Francisco to the Ignatian tradition, and fundamentally changed our school forever." 

What might have made the greatest impression on me was what I saw transpire during the Mass. Yes, the homily—given by Mario Prietto, SJ was tremendous, the music was remarkable, and I loved the procession of past honorees. The CTK medal is just regal, accented by red and blue ribbon. SI's communications department put together and outstanding video that chronicled the life of Ray past and present. But it was the nearly 400 people in the church—attentive, smiling, clapping and standing time and again in support, gratitude and love for this  Jesuit priest, pastor, educator and spiritual director that expanded my heart and left me truly inspired.  Indeed, the gathering was what an alumni parent said, "a true tonic for the times."

Furthermore, I served as a eucharistic minister. I finished from my post on the side of the church and moved to the center aisle; Ray was sitting in the front row, right side. The line should have been double—but it became a singular affair as the congregation wanted to touch, hug and reach out to Father Ray before communion. I've never seen anything quite like it and yet I understood it completely. 

Whether it be in life or in death, it is a gift for US to celebrate those men and women who lead by service to others, who show up time and again in places likely and in places unexpected. Greg's death was sudden, and still— I have a feeling that when Saint Peter saw him, there's only one thing he could have said, "good, good, good!" Eternal rest, grant unto Him, O Lord and may perpetual light shine upon him! And continued blessings to you, Father Ray. We are so grateful for your presence.

Photo Credits
CTK photos
Greg Goethals Loyola

Bowling Alone, Eating Alone: A Thanksgiving Day Reminder

The Pew Center for Applied Research reports that 74% of Americans will gather at the Thanksgiving table with other people. Approximately 5% will eat alone, many for reasons that are understandable—like work or travel. While those statistics speak to the practice of a national holiday, on the daily, 50% of Americans eat lunch alone—and at their desks. I would like this holiday to serve as a reminder of the importance of table fellowship and what is at stake when we eat alone. 

The Algonquin Round Table was a famous group of writers, critics, and actors who met
for lunch every day at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City during the 1920s

Harvard professor, political  scientist and the award winning author Robert Putnam wrote about the phenomena of bowling alone. In his book by the same name, he argues that American civic life has been declining since the 1960s. He reports that  while the number of people who bowl has increased, participation in bowling leagues has sharply decreased. In other words, people still do activities—they just do them more privately and less socially. More and more of us are bowling alone.

I would never think to bowl alone, but as the moderator of the S.I. bowling club, I have see people do just that. Solo bowlers usually have their AirPods in their ears as they quietly practice their game.

My friend Brook and I were talking about golfing alone during our round on Saturday. Neither of us is partial to it, though it’s not an unusual sight. For us, golfing solo feels compromises we enjoy about the game. This "long walk spoiled," is made enjoyable by the time in recreation  play, and even practice with others.

How we play and spend our leisure time is worth noticing and reflecting on—but so is how we share a meal. Bowling and golf are things we might choose to do in our “free time.” How we eat, where we eat, and with whom we eat are part of our daily lives, shaping our sense of connection and community—which is why the article from "YahooLife!" caught my attention.

Three-quarters of Americans who are employed by someone else do get a lunch break. About half of those people have paid lunch breaks, while half take lunch unpaid. In either case, the most common way that they spend their break is eating at their desk (50%). Just shy of 30% of workers go out for lunch on their own. 

During lunchtime, nearly half (44%) just eat, taking a break from screens and tasks to focus on their food. But 38% spend this time scrolling on their phones.

I read these stats and, although I wasn’t surprised, I felt disappointed. I shouldn’t have been—I live this reality. Even before my school began its major renovation, many of my colleagues regularly ate at their desks. Yes, our days are busy and our schedules are dictated by the bell, but I’ve always made a point of taking fifteen to twenty minutes to sit down and eat with my coworkers.

We have spirited conversations, dynamic ones. There are colleagues I look forward to talking to and others, well not so much. But, table fellowship is a fundamental for building community.

According to Elias, stepping away from your desk and sharing a meal is also good for your sense of connection to others. “When you’re enjoying something, even if it’s just a grilled cheese, in the company of other people enjoying things, it’s a kind of affirmation of your humanity,” she says. Eating together is a form of “community building in little ways,” Elias says, adding that it serves as a reminder that “we have something in common.”

We are nourished by much more than what the lunch room has to offer; we feed each other—with stories, comments and questions, jests and jokes. I miss out...we miss out by those who stay in their classroom or office. 

Today, I am certain that even more faculty and staff eat alone given that our wonderful faculty dining room is no more. When the Jesuit residence was torn down, this refuge for teachers—a house of hospitality for visitors that once lived in the Jesuit residence went with it. I have gone on record to say that the two things I care about most in our new building are the the chapel and the cafeteria/faculty dining space. I don't think these spaces are unrelated. Yes, classrooms are essential, but to underestimate either of those spaces is shortsighted.

In her book "Loyal Sons and Daughters: A Notre Dame Memoir," Sister Jean Lenz, OSF pays homage to a place where she regularly ate lunch and dinner—the Pay-Caf. She writes, 

Call it what you will –the Pay-Caf, the Oak Room, the legendary Oak Room, or the Night Oak–it was a public cafeteria situated between two student cafeterias in the South Dining Hall. This colorful eatery was where the university community intersected, mostly because of hunger for food and good company.

Pay-Caf gatherings and conversations at meal times made me more aware of what Father Hesburgh meant when I heard him speak on the quality of campus life. He insisted that a person could be admitted to Notre Dame, never attend class, and still emerge as an educated person four years later if he or she took advantage of the lectures conferences and other worthwhile activities outside the classroom and spend some time talking with professors and fellow students about their lives and interests.

I knew what Father Ted meant when I saw such professors as philosopher Joe Evans and English scholars Joe Duffy and his colleague Lou Nickelson, from out of the pages of Beowulf, hold court regularly at Pay-Caf tables. These were men who left long-standing impressions in the lives of those they taught.

One of the large round tables turned into what are referred to as The Algonquin table, a takeoff on the famed table of the same name in the New York Hotel, where you would never sit down unless invited. I never realize that this big table had that reputation. Actually, it was a storytelling table. One Sunday morning Jim Murphy, who was in charge of the crowd control in the Joyce Center, invited me to bring my tray to that table and in the process coaxed a Farley Hall story for me. It paid my table membership fee.

There were a number of good readers that gathered at that table who opened up worlds of discussion and storytelling on various topics including Notre Dame and South Bend politics, changes in the church, new books, movies, and sports. 

How I would love to sit at that fabled storytelling table—or at least be close enough to listen in. I’ve sat at enough dining hall tables, especially in places like the Oak Room, to know that good conversation, silliness, and laughter are contagious.

There’s a saying that "Jesuit education happens at tables." And although Notre Dame is run by the Congregation of Holy Cross, I think Father Ted would agree.

For those who are remain unconvinced, "it’s healthier to have a break from work and take your time while eating, rather than rushing through lunch. Though it may sound counterintuitive, research suggests that taking breaks at work can boost productivity (and well-being)."  Upon reading that information, I realized that although I break for lunch, I don't so much as even pause for breakfast. What has been deemed "the most important meal of the day" is one I actually eat while driving. That's a terrible habit. 

I look back fondly on the six to eight men—my former coworkers at St. Francis High School—who gathered every morning at 7:00 a.m. for something far richer than toast or cereal. Their daily coffee klatch, their own personal Pay-Caf, nourished more than hunger. It fed joy, friendship, and the bonds that form when people choose to sit down together.

That’s what gathering at a table with others can do. I hope your Thanksgiving meal offers the same.

Photo Credits

The Alogonquin Table
Bowling Alone
Oak Room
Stat Chart

The Life of Nick Mangold—A Blessing and a Reminder

When called to offer words of condolence, my aunt always writes, “May his or her memory be a blessing.” I’ve always loved that message. It’s a beautiful wish — a hope to hold onto.

Upon hearing about the passing of Nick Mangold, I found myself wanting to rewrite that message. The 41-year-old football player, who spent his entire 11-season career as a center with the New York Jets, died on October 25, 2025 from complications of a kidney disease. As I write about him now, I hope his memory is not only a blessing but something more. Let it be a reminder.

In 2006, Mangold was diagnosed with a genetic defect that has led to chronic kidney disease. In a letter addressed to "My NY Jets community" he wrote, "I'm undergoing dialysis as we look for a kidney transplant. I always knew this day would come, but I thought I would have more time." I wish he had. I also wish he had found a match. I wish more people knew about how they too can save a life. And, I say this because that is precisely what my cousin Amy said when asked why she donated her kidney in June 2024.

The article "By donating a kidney to a stranger, WA woman forged an immediate bond" reports that Amy decided to become a non-directed kidney donor for a number of reasons. In addition to the influence of podcasts (yes, podcasts), she said, “I have a job where I can get time off. I don’t have kids. I’m healthy. I’ve always been a blood donor. And I have a family that understands the importance of helping others.”

Jim Simon's piece is nearly perfect, with one exception: it omits the simple, piercing question Amy asked herself — and, by extension, is asking of all of us. How often do I — do we — get the chance to save a life? The power of that question is not lost on the author, though. After all, he was the recipient of Amy’s kidney. She saved his life.

Amy meets Jim and his wife!

Amy is unique in many ways — and I love her deeply. But here, “unique” is also the technical term. She is what is officially called a non-directed donor, "someone who chooses to donate a kidney even though no loved one, friend, or acquaintance needs one. Non-directed donors have no say in, nor any knowledge of, who will receive their organ. There is no certainty, not even a strong likelihood, that they will ever meet the stranger whose life they save." The story of their meeting in person—months after the successful transplant, underscores Simon's article. But, it's purpose is much more.

Simon notes:

• About 100,000 people in the United States are currently on the waiting list for a kidney transplant.
• Kidney transplants have increased in the last decade, reaching nearly 28,000 last year.
• But the waiting list grows far faster than the number of transplants.
• An estimated 12 people die every day while waiting for a kidney.

We need both directed and non-directed donors. We need people to check the “organ donor” box at the DMV and to tell their families their wishes regarding end-of-life decisions. The math is simple: more donors mean more lives can be saved.

And here’s the truth many don’t realize: in good health, almost anyone can become an altruistic donor. We don’t actually need two kidneys; we can live with one. In short, there are enough kidneys out there to go around — enough that the wait might not be long...enough that we might not lose someone like Nick Mangold—husband, father of four, son, brother, friend and former teammate at such a young age. 

Like Amy, I'm a fan of podcasts. In fact, the one I listen to Pardon the Interruption (PTI) is how I learned of Mangold's passing. They quoted the The New York Jets website which stated. 

He was the heartbeat of our offensive line for a decade and a beloved teammate whose leadership and toughness defined an era of Jets football. Off the field, Nick's wit, warmth, and unwavering loyalty made him a cherished member of our extended Jets family.

Nick married his high school sweetheart, Jennifer

I heard the news and I stopped in my tracks. My eyes pooled with water as I realized his life's story was cut short. I wish he could have gotten a kidney. I wish more people knew about Amy's choice, her gift and perspective. In a letter to her parents (my aunt and uncle), she wrote "It’s not just me saving one life, it’s our family who is ‘saving’ another family.” 

Let's share Mangold's story and in doing so, his memory will only continue to be a blessing and... much more.

BTW: That's Amy's mom, my Aunt Wendy who writes that message ;-)
Please read the full post on Amy here.

Photo Credits
Nick Mangold
Amy and chart
Mangold family

Paying Attention As Prayer: Sunsets and The Shema

Simone Weil once wrote that “attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer.” This week, I saw a sky so beautiful I couldn’t help but stop and notice. It felt as if God were trying to get my attention. That moment reminded me that one of the simplest prayers we can offer requires only a pause—and the choice to pay attention.

I was at school for an evening show and stepped out onto the piazza overlooking Ocean Beach. On too many days, the view is swallowed by fog. But when the sky is clear, it is downright magical. That evening, I realized we were experiencing one of those rare late-Fall sunsets—San Francisco’s version of summer magic. I captured the moment on film, hoping to invite my students to see sunsets like this not only as moments to notice, but as an invitation to pray.

I have written about paying attention as a spiritual discipline before. It resonates with people because it's  not overly pious. It's not difficult and it requires little time and no money. Anyone can pray this prayer. I have found that being outside and gazing at nature is an ideal environment and queue for this prayer.

I first came to this realization when I was playing golf with my good friend Charlie on the Ocean Course at the Half Moon Ritz Carlton. Our 1:00 p.m. tee time meant that we were on the 17th tee box as the sun was setting. Though the majority of hotel guests were walking the grounds to take in the view—an infinite horizon against the Pacific Ocean, I easily could have kept my sights on finishing our round in a timely manner. Not Charlie. He told me that he wanted to take in what his eyes could behold. I said "Charlie, let's bring it in. I'm good." He didn't listen to me; I'm so glad. Instead, he paused, looked from north to south at the western sky and kept silent. He let the sunset speak for itself. 

Ever since that day, I have made a point of taking a prayerful pause when I golf and see a beautiful sight. Honestly, I make an effort to behold a majestic tree, a clear sky, a rising moon or a setting sun. Yes, golfers spend a good chunk of time outside so interactions with nature and opportunities to pay attention to it abound, but I invite other athletes to do the same. The requirement is no different: pay attention.

For example, I attended the WCAL III XC meet at Crystal Springs. Rain had passed through earlier, and by the time the athletes lined up for the 2.95-mile course, the sky had opened—revealing vistas so breathtaking that everyone there, runners and spectators alike, couldn’t help but look up, out, and beyond to savor the moment. I know they did—because I told more than a few of them to do just that.

The purpose of this post however, is to offer a call to action that goes beyond simply paying attention. To borrow from Eric Liddell, the Scottish gold medalist and subject of Chariots of Fire: “I want you to do more than just watch a race.” I want you to pray. How might we do that?

When beauty catches your attention, pause and say, “Thank you, God.” As Anne Lamott might put it, simply say “thanks” and “wow.” Offer those words, too. How often does the Creator get credit for what has been created? I suspect the answer is “never enough.”

Since early October, I have been teaching RS201, Christology. Sophomores are learning about the Jesus of History, the Christ of Faith. In reading the Gospel we learn that before his public ministry began, Jesus was baptized and He was tempted in the desert. Richard Rohr writes

Jesus is the master of spiritual discernment here, which is always much more subtle and particular than mere obedience to external laws. Note that Jesus quotes no moral commandments here, but only wisdom texts from Deuteronomy.

The book of Deuteronomy contains the Shema, a central declaration of faith, meant to anchor daily life in awareness of God. Jews are called to offer this prayer twice daily, in the morning and evening. I absolutely love this prayer practice. It is foundational and formative. It is easy to pray.

As a faithful Jew, we can assume Jesus offered this prayer every morning and evening. While we don't know if he prayed the Shema when he was tempted by the devil, we do know that he called on the wisdom teaching of His faith to keep him strong. Time and again in his life, he called upon the Father—God—for help. We are always invited to do the same.

Our prayers to God need not always be in supplication.We can pay attention and when we do, we can give thanks. We can praise God. We can show appreciation and send our love. 

Mary Pipher has written "attention is the purest form of love." God who is love, pays attention to us. As a way to show our love to God, let us pay attention to  beauty, creation and one another. Amen.

Photo Credits
Shema
Eric Liddell