I suppose that I am most passionate
about discovering new things. I travel a fair amount, especially in the U.S.,
giving talks and attending conferences. One of the most delightful aspects of
this roaming is the chance to learn about other places. Recently I flew into
Toledo, Ohio to give an address at the University there. I have been in other
Ohio cities - Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Columbus – but never in Toledo. It was
cloudless afternoon when I flew in and, because I request a window seat so I
can peer down at the landscape below, I was amazed to see so many of the homes
on the rural outskirts of the city with ponds in their yards. Not swimming
pools but ponds. All shapes and sizes. There were large bodies of water with
homes ringing their shores but there were also uncountable number of separate
properties with one home on it and a back or side area featuring a pond. It
made me wonder about the ecology of the region (Toledo abuts the shore of Lake
Erie) and the use put to those ponds (ornamental? fishing? even swimming?) It
was a question I would have to put to my hosts when I arrived.
When a guest, I am often lodged in
a generic conference hotel but, if given the opportunity, I will choose a more
off-the-beaten-path lodging or at least try to walk the nearby neighborhood and
scout out its unique stores, homes, landmarks, inhabitants and particularities.
Another place I have had opportunity to visit recently is New Orleans, where I
stayed in a somewhat long-in-the-tooth but historic inn which allowed me to
amble through the French Quarter each morning on my way to the conference gathering
and do a tour of my own through the storied district with its layers of
history: the Old Ursuline Convent, the Cathedral with its prominent tableaux of
France’s King Louis, the Creole restaurant where Andrew Jackson dined and I
enjoyed the mufalatta. Each unique
environment has its own history and feel, its own natural and cultural ecology,
its sense of the “place.” This fascinates me.
As a teacher and a scholar I
suppose the same curiosity about things I don’t know drives my work. One of my
main areas of academic research is Salesian spirituality (the tradition founded
in the 17th century by St. Francis de Sales) and I never tire of
being asked to delve deeper into that tradition to ferret out new perspectives
and ask unasked questions. More recently I have completed a study of Marian
devotion in the “minority majority” archdiocese of Los Angeles, which
incidentally is my home town. The research took me all over the vast southern
California ecclesial environment and allowed me to speak with all sorts of
people I never would otherwise have met: priests, religious, and sacristans,
yes, but also members of rosary groups and sodalities of Our Lady, ordinary Catholics
who taught me of their devotion to Mary in her many guises: Vietnamese,
Filipino, Korean, Chinese, Mexican, Guatemalan, Honduran, Polish, Lithuanian,
Nigerian, and Salvadoran.
At Creighton I especially enjoy
students who ask a lot of questions, not that I always know the answers, but I
appreciate the restless intellectual energy that motivates the questions and delight
in the play involved in turning the question over and seeing how things look
when viewed through the lens of a probing inquiry. The “what do I have to know
for the exam” questions, while I can appreciate the often anxious motive behind
them, are not the ones that most interest me. Rather, I delight in a student
who finds connections between a topic we are pursuing in Theology and something
read in a Psychology text or heard in a History lecture, or some observation
they have made through their own experience, or some cross cultural encounter
they have had. These forays into the world of ideas are not unlike my own
roaming in unfamiliar cities: ancient or recent pathways traversed with new
steps, seen with new eyes and sensibilities and a zest for wonder. These are
the things that give life and generate passion.
Kindly,
Dr. Wendy M. Wright, Theology
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