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By Joe Harkins '96
Dean of Residential Life

Joe Harkins shared these reflections at the Georgetown Prep faculty and staff retreat on January 8, 2026.

I grew up with a father who was never afraid to tell you what he thought or to say things that, especially as a teenager, would make me cringe. He isn’t necessarily a “Dad Joke” kind of guy. It wasn’t that sort of cringing (although sometimes it was). It was more that he is someone who feels things very deeply, thinks things through very thoroughly, and would usually say far more on a topic than my teenage self thought needed to be said. As a teenager, who knew it all, hearing his verbose thoughts on topics often felt overly complicated and too intense.

So, it was a surprise one year when my siblings and I asked him what he wanted for Christmas, and he succinctly said, “I don’t want presents. I want Presence.” That was one of those things that made me cringe a bit. It had been a pretty straightforward question, to which I was expecting to hear “a sweater” or “a tie.” Instead, his pithy response made it clear that Presence truly meant something to him. That is one of my father’s gifts…the ability to take the seemingly mundane and to make it profound.

He has always stood by his words about “Presence, not presents,” and to this day, he still uses that line with his grandkids. It shows up on Father’s Day and his birthday, but it comes out far more frequently than any other time at Christmas. This year, being no exception, as a present, he gave me a book of short stories titled Christmas Presence, and it got me thinking about Presence at Prep—in who we are, what we do, and how we interact with the boys and with one another.

So, as we move out of the Christmas season and into the new year, having received in Jesus not a present but a Presence, we are invited to slow down and notice where we are and who is with us. Christ gives us not a present to take away and save for later, but His Presence to remain with us. And as I sat down to think about this reflection, with Christmas and my dad’s “Presence, not presents” line still fresh in my mind, I am struck by how deeply Presence is at the heart of our call as Ignatian educators.

We live in a culture overflowing with presents: rewards, achievements, distractions, and noise—but often coming up short when it comes to Presence. We are all constantly stimulated, yet we so rarely find the time to reflect, to be present with ourselves. We move from one thing to the next without space to notice what is happening within or around us. Too frequently, we are distracted by our phones and the constant flow of information from around the world that is available to us 24 hours a day, and we fail to take stock of where our attention and Presence are needed right in front of us. We walk past one another without a “hello.” We sit together at meals, not in conversation, but lost in our own worlds, distracted and preoccupied. We know that we should be Present to one another, but we are human, and sometimes we fail to recognize those moments when they present themselves. We forget who we are called to be for and with one another.

When I look honestly at our community, though, I see, and more importantly, feel its Presence. We already invite our students to pause, to reflect, to make sense of their experiences. We build in both formal and informal moments where they are encouraged to think about how they are doing, who they are becoming, and where God might be present in their lives.

Every time we ask students to reflect on their day, their choices, or their relationships, we are forming them in the habits of the Examen, which calls us to recognize God’s Presence in our lives. When we sit with them in conversation, help them process a success or a setback, or encourage them to learn from a mistake rather than rush past it, we are teaching them how to take notice. Our Presence creates the space where reflection becomes possible. Many of our students first learn how to be present to themselves because we are present to them. In many ways, when we choose Presence with our students, we are teaching them the Examen without ever naming it.

Presence can so often be found just in the willingness to stay. To remain. To accompany. Presence is at the heart of cura personalis, which plays out, often, in quiet, still, and unseen ways. It isn’t always easy. Presence asks something of us: our time, our attention, our patience, and sometimes our emotional energy when we feel we have little left to give.

Think of the moments in your own life when someone’s presence made all the difference—not because they fixed a problem or offered the perfect advice, but just because they stayed. They sat with you. They didn’t rush to the next thing. For those of us at Prep, those moments may happen in hallways, in the quad, on the sidelines of a game, in the dorm, or in a brief check-in that lasts just a minute or two longer than planned. Presence may look inefficient, and it rarely fits neatly into a schedule. And yet, it is often exactly what we all need, even if we can’t put words to what it is that we are feeling.

Our students are watching us closely—not only what we teach, but how we are with them and with one another. They notice when we are distracted, when we are rushed, when we are physically present but emotionally elsewhere. They also notice when we slow down, when we remember something they shared weeks ago, when we choose relationships over convenience. In those moments, we mirror for them the God who is always attentive and listening, even when they struggle to believe it.

Presence also matters deeply in how we live and work together as colleagues. Faculty rooms and meeting spaces can easily begin to feel transactional rather than communal. Yet the same call that invites us to be present to our students invites us to be present to one another: to listen generously, to assume goodwill from all those around us, to notice when a colleague is carrying more than usual and to offer quiet support. The Magis isn’t always found in doing more. Sometimes it is found in simply being with the people right in front of us.

This is not easy work. We’re tired. We’re pulled in many directions. The demands of our roles are real, and the pace can be relentless. We all have lives, loved ones, hobbies, and competing interests outside of school. That’s what makes it so difficult, and yet so, so important that we continue to choose Presence with one another. Not perfectly and not constantly, but intentionally. Again and again. Even when it costs us something.

As Ignatian educators, we know that God is already at work in the lives of our students and in our community. Our role is not to manufacture change in our students, but to accompany them as it happens. Presence is how we notice where God is moving. It is how we help students make meaning of their experiences. It is how trust, faith, and community are built.

So as we move out of the Christmas season and into the ebb and flow of our daily lives, let us ask for the grace to be people of Presence. The grace to put down what is distracting us, to resist the urge to rush. The grace to offer our full selves to the people entrusted to us. May we remember that long after the presents are forgotten, after grades fade, after school years end, and accolades pass, it is Presence that remains.