Monthly Archives: April 2018

Men and Women with Hope to Bring

May 2018, ,

Mike Urbaniak, Assistant Director of Leadership Formation

As I look out my Coleman-Morse window, out on to South Quad here at Notre Dame, the winter white has finally turned into budding green. The trudging and scurrying through snow and cold has given way to frisbees, Spike-ball, and soaking up the warmth of the sun. It is this transformation each year that signals the end of another academic year and the departure of another decorated class of graduates. In Campus Ministry, it means that we must say farewell to another year of Anchor Senior Interns, thankful for the incredible work they have done and excited for what they have to offer the world beyond zip code 46556.

Being the director of the Anchor Senior Internship in Campus Ministry, I have the unique privilege of walking alongside these eleven students on their yearlong journey as student and minister. I have seen their exaltation in the execution of a great event. I have heard the challenge of cancellations and misunderstandings in communication. I have sat with the tears of stress, anxiety, and grief. I have witnessed the breakthroughs in discipleship. I have celebrated the accomplishments of the present and the acceptance of future opportunities. It is bittersweet to see this time come to an end. Mostly, however, I’m simply proud. I’m proud to have been a part of shaping this year with them, doing what I could to help them grow, but mostly relying on the Holy Spirit to guide their formation into the likeness of Christ.

Part of journeying with these men and women is to share life with them. This is when they came over to our house and shared in our family dinner.

I imagine Jesus might have felt this somewhat as he sent his disciples out at the end of the Gospel of Matthew:

All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.

Jesus sends them out with purpose and pretty clear direction. I don’t believe he would do that if he wasn’t proud of them or believed that they couldn’t do the job. Those disciples were sent out to change the world. And, they aren’t sent out on their own, but Jesus reminds them that he is always with them.

I am proud to send out our interns because I too know that they can change the world. They are capable and skilled. They are gritty and resilient. They are compassionate and empathetic. Most importantly, they have Jesus with them, always. I have seen their growth in relationship with Him this year and that makes the “bittersweet”-ness of sending them out more sweet than bitter.

Anchor Interns, Class of 2018!

As I’ve stated before, these students are called our Anchor Senior Interns, and as I close out my reflection I’d like to make one last note for anyone reading this. Many of you will know that the anchor is an ancient sign of Christian hope. This is also seen in the cross and anchors present on campus, a symbol of the Congregation of Holy Cross, the founders of Notre Dame, whose motto is “Hail the Cross, our only hope”. If you ever have any doubt about the future of our world or our Church, I’d be happy to set you up to have coffee with one of these fine young men and women. They are my hope. By no means are they perfect (neither am I!). But, they are men and women who think deeply, pray fiercely, and care compassionately. They are doing their best to live lives integrated with the Gospel. They seek justice and mercy. They care about those who are most vulnerable and constantly ask how to serve them better. We are so fortunate to have them officially with us for a year, but even more fortunate that they are heading out beyond our campus into the world to glorify God with their lives as ministers, doctors, consultants, teachers, engineers, business people, and more. I give thanks to God for them especially this day and pray for God’s Spirit to continue to guide them, to make disciples of all nations.

 

Prayer: An Act of Thanksgiving

April 2018, , ,

Meghan Kozal, 2018-2019 Anchor Intern

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, I guess…”

“Did you just say and these, I guess?”

“Of course, that’s what the prayer is, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s thy gifts!  Not I guess!”

The traditional Catholic prayer before meals can sometimes get a little lost on us in its ritual nature, as the Old English terminology had for my sister when she was younger.  My own prayer before meals can often be hurried in my busy day-to day-life and even at times apathetic, as if I were actually praying “and these, I guess”. Recently, though, I was given the opportunity to be drawn out of the ritual motions and words of the prayer at the dinner table in Rungsted Kyst, Denmark.  

This past semester I lived with a wonderful host family in the small coastal suburb of the capital, Copenhagen.  My family included several host siblings: 10 and 14 year old sisters (Amalie and Victoria), 17 year old brother (Gustav) and, arguably my favorite, the small dog (Luna).  One of my favorite parts of living with them was our hyggeligt nightly family dinner.  

Gustav, Victoria, Amalie, and Meghan after dinner

I was used to praying before meals, as I had always been taught to by my family, and it was something that I had continued to do at Notre Dame.  My host family, though Christian, were not particularly religious and did not pray before meals. Being a guest in their house, I did not want to seem overly religious and make them uncomfortable, so I snuck in my prayer before our dinners while no one was looking.  My secretive prayers continued for some time until my youngest host sister, Amalie, noticed and asked my host mom what I was doing, though she said it in Danish. My host mom asked me if I was in fact praying, laughing a bit at my shyness, and was surprised that so much time had passed with no one having noticed.  After my host family found out that I always prayed before meals they would pause in serving the food when they saw me begin to make the sign of the cross. It was occasionally rather uncomfortable, as they stared at me in a bit of wonder and waited to continue what they were doing until I was done. I was happy, though, that I no longer had to sneak in my prayer and it really made me stop and think about the prayer I was saying, as well as make sure I remembered to pray it.

Nearing my last week with my host family in December, after I finished praying, Gustav asked me why I prayed before meals.  I hadn’t realized what a mysterious thing prayer could be to someone who had never really experienced it in this way, as it had always been a part of my mealtime ritual.  I told him that it was an act of thanksgiving. It was a recognition that I am blessed to have the meal sitting before me as well as the family surrounding me. In praying I am showing gratitude for all those whose labor went into the food reaching my plate while also praying that those who were not as lucky as me would be fed.  Gustav’s response struck me in his immediate acceptance, as he said that he thought the whole family should begin to pray before meals along with me if that is what it meant.

I, like I think many Christians do, heard about missionaries converting people in foreign lands and had a longing to go out into the world and do these awesome deeds, but I hadn’t realized that in praying before meals in the tiny suburb of Copenhagen, Denmark, I truly was a missionary.  Although I did not directly preach the words of the Gospels or bring my host family to Mass with me, in modeling a way that faith had moved me to reconsider a part of my daily life, the meal, I believe that I was able to show how my faith is one of gratitude and thanksgiving.

I realize now, though, that I left out an important part in my description of my prayer- that I was also praying with the gratitude for the space to be able to show my faith and for having been raised in a family and community that taught me the very faith I was able to demonstrate. I regret not having been more upfront about my faith from the beginning to my host family, as I might have been able to have the conversation about prayer and more with my host brother long before the eve of my departure.

Nyhavn, Copenhagen

I don’t think that I will ever fully be able to see my mealtime prayer without this new lens of mission and purposeful gratitude, and I hope I continue to often find myself sitting at a dinner table with the choice to pray in secret or to profess my faith so that I do not forget the great blessing that is prayer.  

Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we continue to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

The World’s Best Teachers

April 2018, , , ,

Joe Tenaglia, Senior Anchor Intern

“When it comes to life, the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.” – G.K. Chesterton

The last month of my senior year seems like the perfect moment to reflect on the people and experiences that have shaped my time on Our Lady’s campus. Especially in light of uncertainty about what comes next, it is comforting to look back on the moments of peace and joy that have marked my past four years.

In this process of reflection, I can’t help but return to the people who have shaped my experience the most by making it possible: the people who have helped me get here and have been with me through all of my ups and downs. Of course, I am talking about my parents.

Simply put, I would not be the person I am and I would not be at Notre Dame if it weren’t for my parents. From a purely rational standpoint, this is obvious. In the context of our modern society, which values individualism and seems to preach that we belong to no one but ourselves, it might just be a radical statement of gratitude and love. We know that our parents are the most important people in our lives, but how often do we actually acknowledge them as such? How often do we adopt a posture of gratitude to those who have sacrificed and suffered for us to flourish? I know that I don’t do it enough. So allow me please to use this space to do so.

My parents, Maura and Dan, are and always will be the most important people in my life. They not only gave life to me, but have also paved the path for me to not just exist, but to prosper. My parents, both being devout Catholics, made the all-important decision to bring me into the Church. They proudly walked into the church at my baptism to give me over to God; to declare that I do not belong to them, but to the one who is Father of all. This act of submission, humility, and self-sacrificial love set the tone for the way my parents would raise me.

 

Joe’s Baptism Day

 

From birth, my parents took me, along with my older brother Sean, to mass every weekend, instilling in me the importance of relying on God to weather any storm that might blow my way. They helped give my faith space to grow by making the sacrifice to send me to Catholic school: a sacrifice they continued to make in sending me to a Catholic high school, and again in sending me here to Notre Dame.

As I look back on my educational career in these places, I am filled with gratitude to all of my teachers who have helped me get to where I am now. I have been blessed with a number of wonderfully committed teachers, but none have taught me more than my first and greatest teachers: mom and dad.

At each step along my life, my parents have served as beautiful examples of how to live in the light of God’s love, trusting in Him through hardships and giving praise to Him for countless blessings. And all the while, they have poured out more love from their hearts than I thought was possible.

My parents have taught me about God and about how to be a person of faith by living with God at the forefront. They have taught me what love is by showing it to me every single day of my life. They have taught me how to forgive by putting up with me and all my failings. If I continued, I don’t know how long the final list would be. These will suffice though to show that despite all of the things I have learned in classrooms over the years, all of the most important things that I’ve learned in life, I have learned from my parents.

It is common for children to chafe against schoolwork by asking what good it will serve in real life. This has never been a problem when it comes to my parents’ lessons. I’ve never had to parse out what is important to remember. All that my parents have ever taught me has applied to my life. To rephrase it sightly, my parents have taught me how to live. And I am far from done learning.

Joe’s First Holy Communion

While my time in formal classrooms is coming to a close, my education will continue. As I alluded to earlier, I still do not know what I will be doing after graduation. It is an unnerving feeling to live with that uncertainty, but at least I know there is one thing – or better put, two people – that I can rely on. I plan to move back home with my parents, and honestly, I couldn’t be more excited. I have so much still to learn, and while our modern world might look at moving back in with your parents as a step back, I see it as a step forward in my continuing education of life. What better way could there be to grow into adulthood?

The Book of Proverbs tells us that parents are “a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck” (Proverbs 1:8). For most of my life, I haven’t necessarily taken this to heart. I have taken my parents for granted again and again, and yet they still pour out all of their love for me. I can never thank them enough for all that they have done and continue to do for me. It is my sincerest hope, however, to offer all the gratitude that I can to these two remarkable people. They are the manifestation of the living God to me, and the more I know of and from them, the more I know of Him. May I never stop learning.

Why I Still Believe

April 2018, , ,

Flora Tang, Senior Anchor Intern

This past Easter Vigil, I stood beside the baptismal font as 11 beloved members of the Notre Dame community were received into the family of Christ through Baptism, Confirmation, and first Eucharist here at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. Whereas this time, I stood by them at Easter Vigil Mass as the intern for Sacramental Preparation, two and a half years ago, I, too, stood in front of this same Basilica and professed before the congregation that I did believe that “all the holy Catholic Church believes, teaches, and proclaims to be revealed by God.” Somehow, back in the chaotic busyness of sophomore year, I became Catholic.

Whenever I mention to friends and professors that I had only recently become Catholic, the question of “why did you become Catholic?” inevitably comes up: a question to which I have since then recited a 1-minute elevator pitch-length answer, a 5-minute long answer, and an hour-long answer. As I renewed my baptismal promises this Easter Vigil along with my RCIA neophytes, I asked myself again why I became Catholic, and why, two and a half years later, I still believe.

Flora at her Confirmation sophomore year in the Basilica.

Why do I still believe, when I, just this spring break on a pilgrimage, had stepped foot on what was once massacre sites where children were killed during the El Salvador Civil War? Why do I still believe, when I walked through the now-permanent refugee camps outside Bethlehem, where hope or even God seemed absent? Or when the question of theodicy– of why a God who is mercy and resurrection allows for suffering in the world– remains no longer a philosophical question but the heart of stories I hear from people I encounter around the world? Or, on the other hand, why do I still believe, when theological and philosophical arguments tug at the core of what I hold as religious truth? When my political science and peace studies classes reveal more and more the structural violence in the world caused or justified by religious doctrines, including those of my own? When faith, by definition, means that what I hold to be true may not always be substantiated by empirical evidence?

Yet above the altar of almost every Catholic church lies my path to faith every time despair seems to have the last word: a crucified Christ, who unites himself with the bleeding and suffering of God’s beloved world. This crucifix reminds me that beyond all the suffering I see in the world, there is a God whose love is so profound that He comes to walk in solidarity with our suffering. Here on this crucifix, hope lives because the agony of Christ does not have the last word: love and resurrection does.

But just as the Eucharist re-presents the self-giving love of Christ each day, the Resurrection is likewise not just a 1st century event involving earthquakes and blinding lights, but an event I– even during my greatest times of despair– see with my own eyes here and now.

RCIA neophytes share the candlelight during the Easter Vigil

Perhaps I still believe because my eyes have seen the resurrection.

I see the resurrection at the Catholic Worker house downtown, where students and the homeless come together to share meals in dignity and peace. I see the resurrection in the faith of the Salvadoran mother, who remains in hope and fights for the lives of Salvadoran migrants since the loss of her own migrant son ten years ago. I see the resurrection in the student clubs on campus that boldly serve as voices for the voiceless ones at this university; in each friend who lifted me up during my own times of despair and doubt; and in each of the 11 neophytes, who by their baptism, chose a life of hope and discipleship.

I became Catholic, and today still believe in the Catholic faith, because it is ultimately a faith that clings onto the crucifix as well as the hope of the resurrection– the hope that through the life-giving power of love and mercy, redemption can triumph over a world that appears to be plagued by injustice and death. If the resurrection of Christ witnessed by the Jerusalem women on that very first Easter Sunday prompted them to a life of discipleship and faith, so did the everyday resurrection– the everyday acts of unceasing love and hope that continues despite the darkness around them– which I witness with my own eyes strengthened me to become Catholic two-and-a-half years ago, and today, to say: yes, I still believe.

A Lenten Journey

April 2018, , ,

Elizabeth Hascher, Senior Anchor Intern

As a political science and peace studies student, it can sometimes be difficult to make sense of how God works in my life. I spend a lot of time having discussions of heavy topics — genocide, racism, poverty, mass incarceration, and so on. When I’m not talking about these things in class, I’m talking about them with my friends, reading authors like Ta-Nehisi Coates and Roxane Gay, and watching documentaries.

I have developed a fairly good sense of how to balance reflection on serious topics with fun and relaxation. However, there are still plenty of moments when it all just feels like it’s too much. The world is full of suffering and violence, and as just one person, I know I cannot do it all.

This Lent, I challenged myself to journal twice a day: in the morning, and again at night. My hope in doing so was that by taking the time to intentionally reflect on my experiences, I could be more attentive to encounters with Christ and the influence of faith in my life. I wasn’t always successful at making time for journaling, but this practice did illuminate some unique thoughts and patterns that I would not have otherwise noticed.

Elizabeth’s reading and journaling materials

One of the most meaningful insights gleaned through my process of journaling was the influence of one particular reading I did for a peace studies course. As I read through a workbook on conflict negotiation, a short passage from John Paul Lederach, a former Notre Dame professor and well-known peacebuilding practitioner, caught my eye.

In this piece, Lederach writes about his work pursuing reconciliation after violence in various Central American countries. He found one Bible verse to have particular resonance in this setting: Psalm 85:10. Lederach says it is most beautiful in Spanish, but it roughly translates to, “Truth and mercy have met together; peace and justice have kissed.” This place of meeting, he writes, is reconciliation.

As Lent went on, I noticed myself coming back to this verse again and again. It would resurface as I thought about my classes, my conversations with friends, my job search, and my extracurriculars. I have started to see this as something that will serve as a guiding framework for my vocational discernment and call to discipleship. What I study and what I do with the knowledge I have is oriented toward seeking peace, justice, and reconciliation. Furthermore, this meeting of truth, mercy, peace, and justice is an idea which holds great meaning for us all in the celebration of Easter.

During Holy Week, we witnessed how truth and justice, when warped and unchecked, can destroy us. On Easter Sunday, we come to understand how mercy and peace are necessary for our salvation. The Resurrection ultimately only makes sense as the greatest moment of reconciliation, as a place where truth and mercy meet, and peace and justice unite.

Easter Vigil 2018

If we are to live our lives in the hope of the Resurrection and not in Holy Saturday, we should always be seeking this place of reconciliation. As we journey forward through the rest of the liturgical year, may we continue to strive toward this balance of truth, mercy, peace, and justice, in everything we do.