Will You Fall For That?

One of the joys of my life at the University of Detroit Mercy was recruiting and training groups of students. From Student Government to the radio station to those who ran freshman orientation, these gatherings of young people come to mind as I struggle her at my keyboard to find a handle for belief in God. 

Dora was a beautiful, talented sophomore, a magnet for everybody. She was always accompanied by one or two other students, and always calling out to others as they passed on the sidewalk from the Student Union to the classroom buildings, calling them by name, her big smile putting one on their faces. As director of student life, Dora was a gift to me, because she had attracted a large group of students to start up a campus radio station, their music bringing life to the building, so that students and staff would feel their culture when they entered it.

Early in the term, just after the students had returned from summer recess, we would take groups like Dora's away for a day, to help them learn to work together. I brought them to Manresa, the Jesuit Retreat House where Kathy and I lived for ten years, and we occupied the area behind the old barns, so they could be noisy without disturbing the silent retreatants on the grounds. The first thing I had them do was a “trust walk”, putting them in pairs equipped with one blindfold each. One of the pair would be blindfolded and guided by the other for a walk through the woods and along the river, over the hilly trail and through the gardens. Then they’d switch roles. They could speak, hold hands, as long as the one was blind, and reliant upon the other. When they came back a half hour later, we gave them time to reflect on the experience, what it was like to have to trust.

As the president of the station, Dora had a big job, and a big staff. So helping her learn trust in all of the students was s specific objective of the day. For that we used the “trust fall”. We took her to a tree stump that was five feet high, just wide enough for her to stand on. We helped her up and her fifteen student staff surrounded her on the ground. I said “OK, Dora, now keep your arms folded and your body stiff, your feet on the stump, and fall. They’ll catch you. Dora’s forehead furrowed with the idea, even as she tried to lighten the moment with words, She struggled to let herself fall, even as the students called to her with encouragement. “We’re here, Dora, we won’t let you fall! Come on; we’ll catch you! We’re right here! We’ve got you, Dora!” She looked over at me as I watched the group gathered around her. She closed her eyes and let herself fall.

Some students who did the trust fall would cheer when they accomplished it. Some would breathe an audible sigh of relief. Dora wept and wept and wept, accepting their hugs of consolation and affirmation. Then Dora told them that she had lost her father two years earlier, her father who had always been there to catch her. Her trusting them had been so hard, and such a relief. Her group that year was among the most effective and cohesive I experienced in a lifetime of work with students.

Can we trust? Can we? In the Good Stories told after the death of Jesus, the focus is on what his followers do when he has died . . . and disappeared from the tomb. Can we fall into invisible arms? What are the wounds in our memories that hold us from trust?


 FreeLemonadeStand by John J. Daniels is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.