Headmaster Byron Hulsey delivered the following sermon on Monday, January 10, 2022 in St. Andrew’s Chapel.
Several years ago I was in Colorado with Mr. LaVoie, Mr. Guldin, Mr. Alexander, and the new prefect board preparing for the year to come. I was stunned at the end of Mr. LaVoie’s presentation when he asked, “How many of you feel like you’re not enough?” By my count, over half the boys raised their hands. These were among the most accomplished and strongest boys in the school, and yet they reported that in our achievement-driven culture, they often feel like they don’t measure up, that there’s not enough time, and that they ultimately let down themselves, their parents, their teachers, coaches, and friends.
This conversation with these boys was among the toughest that I’ve had in my time as headmaster. As I say, I was stunned. But upon reflection, I should not have been, for we are living in a time that puts enormous pressure on each of us to succeed, and when we don’t, we feel like we’ve failed, and when we feel like we’ve failed, it’s not hard to spiral into a sense of feeling like a failure. This pressure to succeed and to present ourselves as winners is part of the technological age and the rancid power of social media to define for us what the good life supposedly is.
When we live in the never-enough world of social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, Snap, Tik Tok and Twitter, we’re called upon to construct the ideal version of ourselves. The pressure to look good and present a positive portfolio is unceasing and relentless and creates an atmosphere where we unwittingly exploit ourselves for the interpretation and judgment of others. I’ve heard anxiety described as wanting to be somewhere you aren’t, and this fear of missing out has us feeling unrooted, jumbled, and jangled. Not long ago I read that the average teenager can focus on one task for only 65 seconds a time, and today’s average office worker for only three minutes. No wonder we’re anxious and no wonder we don’t feel like we’re enough.
The world beyond doesn’t offer much comfort. The 24/7 news cycle highlights the miseries and failures and tragedies all around us, from deadly fires this past week in Philadelphia and Brooklyn to destructive weather events spawned by climate change. We’re now two years into the teeth of COVID, and the losses in human life, health care morale, and social development are staggering and ongoing. Last week we marked the one-year anniversary of the attack on the Capitol, when a violent mob attempted to overthrow the certification of what was, by all objective standards, a free and fair election. I recently saw a survey that showed 40 percent of Americans would support a violent coup if it meant that their political party could be in power. We shouldn’t be surprised that the International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance in Stockholm has for the first time recently added the United States to its list of “backsliding democracies.”
The conflict and division around us can make us feel less than, and not enough. It’s part of a culture that can chew anyone up. The conservative thinker Andrew Sullivan has lamented that we’re paying the price for a culture that prizes self-presentation above all else. “Create,” Sullivan writes, “a throw-away consumerist civilization, break families into ever smaller units, add a tech revolution, online addiction, economic precariousness, breakneck social change, endless work, and the collapse of religion and meaning, and yes, people will go a bit nuts. They’ll become depressed; they’ll seek out escape through opiates or meth; they’ll disappear down rabbit holes of online fanaticism; they’ll seek meaning through work or fame; they’ll tear each other down with glee; they’ll lose the skills for family friendship, constancy, discipline, and love.”
There is, indeed, much to lament about the world beyond. At its best, Woodberry can push back against the negative forces. The enduring power of positive relationships with teachers and coaches, the sustaining and generative goodness and sheer fun that can come from your friendships, your willingness to embrace the high standards and counter-cultural values that have defined this place for generations… all of that creates meaning in a world that often lacks it. But as you know, Woodberry is no paradise. Some of you are homesick and lonely. Many of us grieve the loss of Cornell Strother, who selflessly gave us so much. And perhaps nothing right now saddens me more than to hear reports of ways some of you choose to tear down others in this community and beyond through insidious social media apps like YikYak. My best guess is that deep down inside, those who bully online suffer from a pervasive fear and a feeling like they’re not enough and they aren’t valued.
Even the structure of Woodberry can feed the achievement beast. Grades matter here; test scores count. We strive to win and hate to lose. The single sanction for honor violations and drug and alcohol offenses feels like we celebrate justice over mercy. We laud production and work. One verb I often hear boys embrace is “grind,” and the implication is that we’re always working, always producing, surely worried that somehow we’re not enough. A boy in my class wrote to me just before Christmas that he had spent an “insane” amount of time writing a paper that he was turning in. Many of you work hard for the just dessert of college admission, but some seniors now know first-hand the pain and disappointment that can come from being denied or deferred. The writer of Ecclesiastes knew how futile failure can feel: “Then I considered all that my hands had done, and the toil I had spent in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.”
So in the midst of this difficulty, where is the good news? Surely you’d like to hear some, especially given that we’re now in the thick of the challenging winter weeks when it’s cold and dark and the semiformal has been postponed and spring break feels like it’s a million years away. Fortunately there’s an abundance of good news in tonight’s readings. Our first reading from Isaiah reminds us that we are known by the God who created us: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Fear is a constant companion in our earthly life. I battle with it every day, and you likely do as well. Fear often blunts our energy and lulls us into not even trying so that our shortcomings won’t be known to others. This is no way to live in the present. You might be interested to know that 366 times in the Bible we are challenged to not fear, to trust in the God who knows us by name and loves us.
The message of love flows forth in abundance in tonight’s Gospel lesson, and it is radical good news for our broken world and our broken selves. At the time of Jesus’s baptism we’re told by Luke that “the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” We all yearn to have our fathers and mothers give us the message that we are enough, that just because we are theirs, they are well pleased. The good news tonight is that through the life of Jesus, through his crucifixion and resurrection and ascension, the dove of the Holy Spirit has descended into each of us, and we are the recipients of the free gift of abiding grace. That is the peace that passes all understanding, and that peace will fortify you for the path ahead. It will mark you as Christ’s own forever, always enough as a child of God, now free to live life with courage and bravery and joy and good cheer.
Scripture tells us that you are enough. You are valued. You matter. When we decide as a school at the height of the pandemic to gather at St. Andrew’s as one corporate body, we send ourselves and each other a message. Your presence here tonight in this holy space shines light into the darkness. Your presence here after the Christmas break reminds me and your teachers and coaches that you matter to me and to them and that we are privileged to be here with you for the journey that lies ahead. With faith in these truths you might allow yourself to be freed to work hard, build your character, and take care of each other with a little more joy and a little more love for your fellow man in this new year. The good news is very simple, but very hard to grasp. Try it on: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Amen.
What Matters Most 