“Where’s Sarah? She was here a second ago.” “Not sure; maybe she left. I saw her go out.” “Without saying anything to anyone?”. Many are the interpretations on the origin of the so-called “Irish goodbye,” from the brusque departure of the Irish immigrants struck by the potato famine to the necessity of avoiding the long lingerings that are proper to Irish hospitality. The expression, which in the United States has by now entered into common parlance, indicates the decision to leave a place or an event without saying farewell to those present, including the host. It is also called “ghosting,” the capacity to appear and disappear “like a ghost.” Why this practice, recorded in France in the courts of the 1700’s, is now widespread among young Americans is a question that I have often posed to the university students whom I meet in Washington, D.C.
the ghosting generation needs the experience of a lived communion
“Sarah did the right thing. She didn’t want to disturb anyone and attract attention to herself”: it is like saying that the presence of Sarah makes no difference for us. In a world that is increasingly thirsting for “likes”, young people fear letting themselves be looked at. Or else: “Sarah doesn’t need to check in with anyone; if she wants, she can leave.” It means that our presence makes no difference for Sarah. In a world searching for connections, young people have a fear of dependence. “This way of doing things is right. It is not worth it to get involved affectively if everything ends”: means that it makes no difference to engage with the presence of the other. In a world that is always more focused on creating safe spaces, young people fear suffering.
Fear makes us ghosts, while only reciprocal belonging makes the other a concrete presence. From the moment in which you encounter her on the road, the other comes with you and does not disappear like a ghost. More than a lesson of etiquette, then, the ghosting generation needs the experience of a lived communion, with someone who walks with you every day. The other is there while you walk and you cannot pretend that it is not so. If the other stops and changes direction, you realize because she is connected to you. Her presence also changes your direction.
This is the communion that a little group of students has begun to experience between days of studying in Mullen Library, evening runs on Capitol Hill and meals shared in McGivney Hall. From the common desire to grow in faith, through the charism of Fr. Giussani, was born a simple and daily companionship, in which the presence of the other brings a novelty for the life of each person. It is the novelty of Christianity that happens again today. I look at these ten friends and I realize that the disciples must have had the same experience with Jesus. They left home thinking about meeting Him. They went to places where they hoped they would be able to find Him. They searched for His face among the crowd, in the temple as well as in the market. They waited to see Him to speak with Him about the meaning of things and of God. They sought reasons to stretch out the time spent with that man, at His home or during work on the lake. When it came to evening, they said goodbye with the hope of seeing Him the day after. “See you tomorrow,” exclaims a smiling Madeline at the end of the day. And I understand that this is the alternative to the Irish goodbye: a greeting that resonates like an invitation to continue the journey begun with the other, until reaching the eternal tomorrow. “See you tomorrow” is the prayer of the friend to that “You” who gives Himself to make life into a journey without end.
