On the phenomenon of stars at conferences

 

“It was so cool, Mom, we were at the archbishop’s table, and when the senator finished speaking, he came right over and sat with us.  And the man I shared a taxi with ended up being one of the main speakers!”

In July, I attended the Napa Institute’s annual conference in Napa Valley, California.  Describing what went on there would be the subject of another long article, but the quotation above is the simple way in which I described it to my mother.  In short, it was a weekend packed tight with of lectures, networking, and sunshine.  (Wine was a fourth component for those lucky enough to be over 21.)  Many movers and shakers of the Catholic world were in attendance.  For a while, I was starstruck.

The academic theme of the conference was beauty, and the speakers offered beautiful witness to the truth, each in their own way.  Joseph Pearce spoke about J.R.R. Tolkien; Dana Gioia spoke about poetry; Tim Gray spoke about illustrations of economic justice in scripture; Rick Santorum spoke about the heart of America; and Stephen Barr and Father Robert Spitzer spoke about God’s existence from a scientific perspective.

But I took much more away from the experience than my notepad full of beautiful ideas and references.  I observed how people tend to interact with the rich, the powerful, and the ‘professionally holy,’ for lack of a better description.  I learned that I want to behave the same way toward those people as I behave toward all people—with openness, respect, and admiration for the good they have done and the good they are doing.

When I left the Napa Institute in July, I had the email addresses of Archbishop Charles Chaput—who has since made waves at the Synod on Marriage and the Family—and a young Notre Dame alumnus by the name of Matt Kernan, who has a small company and is getting married this month, if I remember correctly.  Now, in November, I still have their addresses but have yet to contact them.  Why?

I feel that emailing Archbishop Chaput without emailing Matt would be wrong in principle.  I could easily craft a list of questions for an interview with Chaput, and he would likely be kind enough to respond.  He seems to be a very intelligent and holy man, from what I have heard and what I have read online.  I would get a nice Rover article out of the exchange.  Thus I have a quasi-professional reason to contact the archbishop.  But I do not know what I would say to Matt.

I have so many questions, but they are personal, not something that I could necessarily turn into a Rover article.  That’s silly, now that I think of it.  Notre Dame students would probably love to learn from Matt, just as I would—how did he get the idea for his company?  What advice does he have for us as our years at Notre Dame fly by?  How did he discern his relationship?  Does he find it hard to succeed in the world and be faithful to the Church?

I wish I had asked Matt for a longer conversation during the conference, instead of trying to get my photo taken with a senator or gush over how kind the cardinal was at breakfast.  It was encouraging to see these famous people, these “Church celebrities,” interact kindly and humbly with others.  But why did that surprise me?  Shouldn’t I have expected them to be nice?

The Napa Institute did not leave a bad taste in my mouth, but it almost did.  The combination of wealth and prestige concentrated in one wealthy, prestigious area (Napa) was often in stark contrast with the content of the conference—how to bring beauty to an impoverished world.  I heard about the need to live out economic justice over an extraordinary catered meal.  That is a perennial problem, though.  The Church is both rich and poor in many ways.  The Napa Institute was a place to explore and celebrate the ways the faith enriches our lives.  It enriched my faith with sacraments and wisdom, but it also taught me how to walk humbly with my God.

The next time I attend a conference, I will seek out the worker bees, the young couple from the small town, the newbie journalist, and the obscure parish priest.  I’ll still attend the keynotes and take diligent notes, and I’ll be grateful for the opportunity to be exposed to the world’s leading minds.  But I will not overlook the people whose names didn’t make it onto the program.

 

Becca Self is a junior studying political science and education.  She recently encountered Muriel Harris, a writing center rockstar, at a conference, and her uncontrollable excitement convinced her of the need to write this piece.  Contact her at rself@nd.edu.