Certainty in Something Greater

April 2017, , , ,

Emily David, Senior Anchor Intern

We all know the feeling of being overwhelmed. We have lived this pattern of trying to get everything done in a day to get to bed at a decent hour, working right up to deadlines, and then only being able to relax for a bit… repeat. We say we’ll get ahead over the weekend -which probably only happens 5% of the time for me- and then Sunday 10 PM rolls around, and we’re frustrated that we’ve paradoxically neither been “productive” nor honored the Lord’s day of rest. In moments of overwhelming busyness, I tend to remind myself, “OK, this has happened countless times before. You’ve got a few late nights ahead. But it’s all going to get done. It always does. Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good… or done… just get past these papers due Friday… the weekend is almost here…” and so on.

Photo by Barbara Johnston

How many times have we found hope in the next thing? To what extent does having something to look forward to fill us with some consolation in the present moment? Reflecting on this has taught me two things: 1) I seek hope in something beyond myself, and 2) I want joy and consolation now. “Once I make it to Thursday after this exam, I’ll be OK.” But don’t we want to be OK now, on Tuesday? Don’t we want to live now? Something so much greater, something beyond ourselves promises life now.

I just returned from Rome where I led the Holy Week Pilgrimage for ND students studying abroad. It was a week of pure joy, which I carry with me now, despite the work left to do as the semester wraps up. Closing his homily on Easter Sunday in St. Peter’s Square, Pope Francis encouraged us to think about the everyday problems of life and say, “with a humble voice…to God who’s in front of us: ‘I don’t know how this is going, but I’m sure that Christ has risen.’” I could see that Papa Frank was hurting for the world. Yet, there was a peaceful serenity about him: he accepts reality because he is certain of something greater that fills the present reality with hope.

This “something greater” is the resurrection. My certainty is in God’s mercy incarnated in the life, death, and resurrection of His Son. My certainty is in a past event of 2,000 years ago, because the Mystery present then continues to change everything now. We need a yearly reminder at Easter of the daily reality of the resurrection. Similarly, I have certainty that I will make it through my busy weeks and exams because my past experience reminds me that everything will be OK no matter how hard it seems right now. Our remembrance of Good Friday reminds us to acknowledge the real feelings of hopelessness surrounding Christ’s death but to keep our hearts set on the hope of the resurrection that we know will be realized two days later. That one day is meant to help us acknowledge our own suffering while reminding us to seek hope in prayer through our personal “Good Fridays” throughout the year.

Easter at Basilica of the Sacred Heart // Photo by Matt Cashore

Don’t get me wrong, reminding myself that the papers will get done and that the weekend is almost here does help me chug through everything. Additionally, in moments of overwhelming busyness, let’s remember to pray. Just a short, simple prayer: God, please help me to get through this. I place myself and this work into your hands. I know that after praying, I still have work that needs to get done, choices I need to make, and consequences to accept. I may not feel a surge of peace after prayer, but even the simplest prayer is an act of trust that fills my soul with a deeper peace beyond emotions, with strength despite my sleep deprivation. Prayer is a powerful acknowledgment of the One who promises us life right now, of which we are reminded during our Easter celebration. God, “I don’t know how this is going, but I’m sure that Christ has risen.”

God’s Plan for my Lenten Season

Uncategorized

Kate Walsh, Senior Anchor Intern

I remember a certain Lent during my high school years where I stuck to my Lenten sacrifice like glue. I had given up gluten, for several reasons. For one thing, I really love bread, pasta, and baked goods, and knew this would be a tough sacrifice. My other motivation, however, was that my mom had celiac disease, and I wanted to have a greater understanding of her daily sacrifice. God helped me be really consistent that year, and I had a grace-filled Lent that prepared me to welcome Easter with more joy and anticipation than I had ever experienced before! Talk about a shot in the arm for my faith life.

Fast-forward to this year, where I am a busy college senior trying to figure out, among many things, how I want to claim my faith life as my own once I leave this wonderful place. As I prayed about what I wanted to do for Lent this year, I kept feeling a pull to get to know Jesus in a more personal way; I craved to grow in deeper relationship with Him. Because of this, someone suggested to me that I engage in Lectio Divinia every day in Lent. Lectio Divina is a way to read Scripture that involves more meditation and trying to listen to what God wants to say to you through His Word. I made my checklist of which readings to do each day, and was ready to go!

Via Dolorosa // David Swenson

Well, unlike that year in high school, this Lent did not go so perfectly. I fell a little behind on my list of readings, and though I did feel like I was growing in my faith life, sometimes feelings of failure (which should not be what Lent is all about) started to creep in. As I sit here reflecting on the second half of Lent, however, I am realizing that during this time, God was just providing for me in an unexpected yet huge way.

I fell behind on my agenda for Lent in part due to my pilgrimage to the Holy Land. As a campus ministry intern, this trip was my main focus all semester, and going on the pilgrimage itself was an incredible experience. Though the busyness of our days and my jet lag-induced tiredness at night hindered me from sticking to my mapped out reading plan, God was allowing his Word to come alive in my heart in a new way by allowing me to walk the paths of the Gospels. We had the chance to walk the Via Dolorosa, the way of the Cross. At the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu on Mount Zion, we entered into the events of Holy Thursday by praying in the underground caves where Jesus was held and abused by Caiaphas and his guards. At Calvary, when I was too overwhelmed to know what to do or say, God gave me the time and space to sit and listen to Him. And now, each time I open my Bible or listen to the readings at Mass, my experience of Scripture has been transformed by the gift of my time in Israel.

Church of St. Peter, Gallicantu // David Swenson

So whether you feel that your Lent was a rich time of spiritual growth, or if you fell off the bandwagon several times, do not worry. Jesus has risen from the dead, and never stops wanting you to grow closer to Him! I encourage you, much like you do in Lectio Divina, to just spend time with God and be open to whatever He has in store for you. God’s plan for my season of Lent this year was more incredible than anything I could have planned myself, and for that I am so grateful! As it is written in Constitution #119 of the Congregation of Holy Cross, “Resurrection for us is a daily event…We know that we walk by Easter’s first light, and it makes us long for its fullness.” I will be praying that you have a blessed Easter season and experience the joy of God’s daily Resurrection!

God’s Call to Prayer

April 2017, , ,

Ben Swanson, Anchor Senior Intern 

I returned to campus after spring break with a sense that I had been gone for a very long time. I was on tour with the Glee Club and as we traveled through the American Southwest (enjoying every moment of it) I was left with very little time to pray. During the day we were either exploring a city or on the bus, and anyone who has been on such a bus for an extended period of time knows that it isn’t the best place for silent reflection or prayer. It is noisy and busy and exhausting. In the evening we would have a concert, visit with those who were hosting us, and then promptly collapse exhausted into sleep. Overall it was a week that did not lend itself to a consistent prayer life. And I felt it. When I returned I knew that I needed to pick up where I left off. I knew that I should go to Adoration in the CoMo chapel, or at least set aside some time to pray and center myself back into an awareness of God. The problem is that I really didn’t want to. I felt just a little bit lost and something kept convincing me to go do other things. This continued on for a week where some voice kept calling me to prayer but I kept myself away.

 

Photo by Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame

Eventually, I made my way into a chapel by overriding strong hesitation and forcing myself to make an effort. I sat down and began to pray. I knew that something was different. I felt foreign and distant from my prayer. It was like seeing a very old friend again and not knowing what to say because there is simply too much to say. I didn’t know whether I should apologize for my absence or be angry that God didn’t do more to pull me in sooner. It was in that chapel, in that moment of ambiguity in prayer, that I realized something remarkable. God didn’t feel distant from me. He felt as close as ever. I looked back across this week of hesitation and I realized that God had been pulling on my sleeve, flicking my ear, and reminding me constantly that I should be praying. At the time I thought it was just annoying. I was angry with God for not calling me back to prayer while at the same time I was annoyed that a little voice in my head wouldn’t let me just go my own way in peace. I didn’t realize until later that God was that little voice. I realized that I had been talking to God all week. I had been telling him: “I know that I should be praying, but just give me a day or two.” I asked God to wait for me, that I would be back soon.

Photo by Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame

God did wait for me. He was there waiting to hear everything I had to say or to sit with me in silence whenever I was ready. But God wasn’t going to just let me wallow until I happened to find my way back. He was constantly pulling and calling out to me. He told me time and time again that I would find joy in coming to Him. I couldn’t find my way back to prayer except through prayer. Only God could be the source of a relationship with God. I wasn’t going to find that through ignoring him. I have often had long periods of time where I cannot hear God or it seems as though God cannot hear me, and I know that I am not unique in this. In these moments we are filled with the temptation to run and hide. We think that wherever God is he doesn’t want to hear about our problems. He’s probably angry with us and we need to fix things before presenting ourselves before Him again. The beauty is that God, whether we feel close to Him or not, is always with us. He is always calling us to Himself. We hide ourselves from Him and dress Him up in all sorts of disguises so that we may ignore his call for a moment. But God does not ignore us, even for a moment. He hears us and sees us in every moment of our lives. He waits for us to hear His call so that He may welcome us with open arms into the joy of His love. In a little over a month I will be leaving Notre Dame and I know that I will encounter more “tour bus times”, those periods when prayer is neglected for a while. I know that I can take hope in the fact that God will always be calling me back to him and waiting for me with open arms.

I Don’t Know How Big a Mustard Tree Is

April 2017, , , , ,

Thomas Wheeler, Anchor Senior Intern

“By this is my Father glorified, that you bear great fruit, and so prove to be my disciples.” (John 15:8).

Evangelization is a word that a lot of Christians get super excited about. Spreading the gospel! That’s what Jesus wants me to do, and that’s what St. Paul did, right? Sign me right up for that! But what do we often think we would do to achieve this high aim of preaching the gospel to all the nations? We look to the great saints like John Paul II and Mother Teresa whom God has blessed us with in this generation, who look like superheroes of love in a postmodern and anti-religious world. We see some of our fantastic theology teachers here at Notre Dame who live out their faith and inspire us through their brilliant minds and lectures. We look back to our times at conferences and retreats, where the talks and sessions, combined with powerful experiences of prayer, fill us with the zeal to go forth and proclaim the gospel to all nations.

Here at Notre Dame, many people who dream of using their education and talents to make drastic impacts on our society, our nation, and the world. Studying with engineers, I run into a lot of people who want to help design more efficient and innovative structures, compounds, and methods within their respective fields. And yet, the majority of people do not end up producing “game-changing” technologies and “never before seen” machines that will live up the expectation of making the world a better place.

Within the realm of evangelization, I know I have definitely fallen into this temptation as well. I sometimes find myself desiring to be the new prophet to the nations that will bring the whole world to understand God’s love for them. I want to be the one to convert droves of high schoolers to Christ through my passionate talks and dulcet tones as a worship leader. I want to be the one who knows all the apologetic responses to the pagans and non-believers who do not see the God who sits right before their eyes. I want to be the one people know because of the great parish mission or retreat that I put on that caused them to drop their nets and surrender their life to Christ. I want to be the one who writes that great book on the spiritual life that people will continue to read until the Second Coming. I fall into thinking that evangelization is all about the big things: giving talks, fighting off false prophets, teaching classes, and writing books.

But looking at my life, I know that this is not even the norm for evangelization or how people come to know the gospel. Speakers, theology professors, and other Christian “celebrities” are all great people and have shaped my life. However, my faith did not sprout from a single prophetic message, but from discipleship.

In his book, Set All Afire, Louis deWohl depicts the life of St. Francis Xavier, including his time in university before his conversion. Francis and his college roommate, now St. Peter Faber, are described as typical party-goers, good at athletics, and thriving in the successes of their academic life. One day, they are forced to add another roommate to their living quarters: an older student who would later take the name of Ignatius (of Loyola). At first, Francis and Peter despise the pious Ignatius, who always seems to be at peace, no matter what sort of drama and stress their school-life is putting them through. However, eventually, the two of them begin to question Ignatius and have conversations with him about where his joy and peace comes from. Thus begins the relationship and discipleship through which Ignatius, over the course of many years, leads them to know Christ. Peter Faber later becomes the great Christian teacher and the first priest of the Society of Jesus; and Francis Xavier becomes the first Christian missionary to successfully bring the Gospel to East Asia, impacting countless lives.

Simple discipleship and relationship is the norm of evangelization, and Jesus even demonstrates this in the Gospels. He gives great sermons and heals many lives, but he spent even more time investing in his closest disciples, who would become the foundation for the Church he planned to build here on Earth. Jesus still works to spread his message through the people who have mentored us and invited us into discipleship. Through the Life Teen missionary that led my friends and I through Bible Study during my senior year of high school, Jesus showed himself to me in a simple relationship, but has profoundly worked in my heart to continue to lead others to Christ in the same way.

I am reminded of the parable of the mustard seed, which we have all heard and read so many times before:

“The kingdom of God… is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.” (Mark 4:30-32).

It is easy to discard relational ministry and discipleship as something too simple to affect enough people to actually make an impact on the world around us. We would much rather seek our vocation in ways that directly impact large masses of people, but in fact, we can never know the gravity of leading a single person to Christ through relationship. Most people are called to married life, and even the conversion of a future father or mother impacts the entire line of their descendants, who will likely be raised in a household where faith and love of God comes first. Ignatius could not have known how the relationship he had with Francis Xavier could have born fruit in the conversion of entire islands in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. But Jesus knew the importance of spending time discipling the Apostles, teaching them not only by his words, but with his entire life. If we want to change the world and set it ablaze with the love of God, we must imitate Christ’s example and commit to a life of discipleship, both in following him, and in leading our friends to him.

The Tomb: Where Jesus isn’t.

March 2017, , , , , , , ,

Erica Pereira, Anchor Senior Intern

This spring break, I was lucky enough to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land with Campus Ministry. I was so excited for this trip because we were going to the place where Jesus was! Where he ate, walked, talked, died and rose. I went to the Holy Land expecting to grow in intimacy with Jesus. I certainly did, but not in the way that I expected.

At the end of our trip, we had the opportunity to participate in an all-night Vigil at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The Holy Sepulcher is the church that contains both Calvary and the stone where Jesus was laid and rose. We celebrated Mass in preparation for our vigil and the priest helping to lead our pilgrimage reminded us in his homily that at the Holy Sepulcher we would be visiting the place where Jesus isn’t. I sat there for a minute to try and really understand these words. But wait; didn’t I fly thousands of miles to be closer to Jesus? To be in the place where he was?

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher / David Swenson

Once we arrived at the Holy Sepulcher, my friend Marissa and I decided to wait in line to see if we could enter the tomb. As we inched closer and closer to the small and low entrance to the tomb, my heart began to race as I approached the place where Jesus isn’t. We entered the small, dark space, and we were with the stone where Jesus was laid. Then I deeply understood. He isn’t here. He is alive! My heart was like fire burning within me as I was filled with the joy of the Resurrection. Seeing the empty tomb made the Resurrection even more of a reality, and my joy overflowed. I could hear the angels saying, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen!” (Luke 24:5).

I came to the Holy Land thinking that I would be moved by seeing the places that Jesus was and is. But the place that most struck me was where he isn’t: the empty tomb.

The Tomb / David Swenson

Since I saw where Jesus is not, I have a desire to see where he is. Throughout my pilgrimage, I continuously saw and continue to see where Jesus is. Jesus is in the multitudes of people that passed by us in the busy streets of Jerusalem. Jesus is in my fellow pilgrims who prayed alongside me. Jesus was in every Eucharist that I ate and every Blessed Sacrament chapel that I encountered. And he is there because of the empty tomb, because of the Resurrection.

I don’t have to go to the Holy Land to encounter Christ. I am already where he is: in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and among his people. At Mass, I receive the living Christ and he is alive in me. The life of each individual is witness to the Resurrection. We are to live as Christ lived: not in the tomb, but alive in him.

Jesus, I Trust in You

February 2017, , , , ,

Bridgid Smith, Anchor Senior Intern

As an Arts and Letters major I take great delight in reading hundreds of pages by multiple authors that cover a variety of topics, finding the common threads in all of them, synthesizing the most important points and finally focusing in on crucial themes. Though it can be a somewhat taxing process – one that a person might be tempted to skirt by seeking summaries – it does involve an element of excitement and discovery when that “light bulb” moment comes and things just begin to make sense and fit together.

Carrying over this practice of finding common themes over to my life in relationship with Christ I’ve noticed that trust has been coming up over and over again. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’m a second semester senior and really have no idea what I’m doing next year.  It’s comforting, I guess, to say “I trust that something will work out,” but stopping there would be selling trust much too short. The simple prayer, the mere five words Jesus, I trust in you have kept me rooted in faith despite all of the heartache, uncertainty, restlessness, and doubt that comes in college. Though sometimes I believed it and other times I struggled to do so, I’m learning more and more that cultivating trust in Jesus has impacted my time at Notre Dame more than I will probably ever know.

When I felt lonely and isolated and absolutely overwhelmed as a freshman who didn’t know anyone, I prayed Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that you have brought me to this place and you will not abandon me.

When I was rejected or things didn’t go according to my plans, I surrendered and said, Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that your plans are greater than my own.

When I felt heartache and hurt I turned to Jesus and cried, Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that You will bring healing and peace in your perfect time.

In schoolwork, in summer experiences, in community, in friendships, Jesus has asked me to trust in Him, to trust in His plan, to trust that He is who He says He is and works all things for my good (Romans 8:28).

And He has shown me that this trust, this hope in Him does not disappoint (Romans 5:5). He has opened windows when doors closed. He has led me to friends that make me more of who He created me to be. He has healed brokenness I never thought possible. He has helped me find a community I feel so blessed to be part of. Cultivating trust has not meant my life is somehow magically easy and smooth: I still have lonely moments; I feel uncertain; I definitely haven’t learned to avoid hurt or heartache.  And yet cultivating trust has transformed these things from being mere obstacles in faith to occasions for my faith to grow stronger. Taking trust in Jesus seriously has been one of the most painful things I have ever opened myself up to but it has also given rise to a peace and joy and confidence in knowing that I am loved, protected, and never left alone.

The theme of trust in my life is very much a daily endeavor, a work in a progress.  I must constantly remind myself to trust in Jesus. The following prayer has helped me to nourish this trust, to make it more and more a part of my life. I pray that in some way it might do the same for you.

 

The Litany of Trust

From the belief that I have to earn your love

Deliver me, Jesus

From the fear that I am unlovable

Deliver me, Jesus

From the false security that I have what it takes

Deliver me, Jesus

From the fear that trusting You will leave me destitute

Deliver me, Jesus

From all suspicion of Your words and promises

Deliver me, Jesus

From the rebellion against childlike dependency on You

Deliver me, Jesus

From refusals and reluctances in accepting Your Will

Deliver me, Jesus

From anxiety about the future

Deliver me, Jesus

From resentment or excessive preoccupation with the past

Deliver me, Jesus

From restless self-seeking in the present moment

Deliver me, Jesus

From disbelief in Your love and presence

Deliver me, Jesus

From the fear of being asked to give more than I have

Deliver me, Jesus

From the belief that my life has no meaning or worth

Deliver me, Jesus

From the fear of what love demands

Deliver me, Jesus

From discouragement

Deliver me, Jesus

That You are continually holding me, sustaining me, loving me

Jesus, I trust in you

That Your love goes deeper than my sins and failings, and transforms me

Jesus, I trust in you

That not knowing what tomorrow brings is an invitation to lean on You

Jesus, I trust in you

That You are with me in my suffering

Jesus, I trust in you

That my suffering, united to Your own, will bear fruit in this life and the next

Jesus, I trust in you

That You will not leave me orphan, that You are present in Your Church

Jesus, I trust in you

That Your plan is better that anything else

Jesus, I trust in you

That You always hear me and in your goodness always respond to me

Jesus, I trust in you

That You give me the grace to accept forgiveness and to forgive others

Jesus, I trust in you

That You give me all the strength I need for what is asked

Jesus, I trust in you

That my life is a gift

Jesus, I trust in you

That You will teach me to trust You

Jesus, I trust in you

That You are my Lord and my God

Jesus, I trust in you

That I am Your beloved one

Jesus, I trust in you. Amen.

~ Sr. Faustina Maria Pia, SV

Food for the Way

February 2017, Uncategorized, , , ,

Brianna Casey, Senior Anchor Intern

I think a lot about God. I talk about Him a lot, too. But sometimes, I feel that I forget to spend enough time praying with God.

When it comes to ministry, I would say that my approach is primarily a relational one—I try to have conversations with people that may help them to see God in light of their own experiences, in terms that make sense to them. This comes pretty naturally thanks to my tendency to search for connections between everything, including seemingly opposing modes of belief. Similarly, the way I approach my faith is intensely holistic. I feel the need to be able to connect what I read in Scripture with what I’m learning in my biology and neuroscience classes, and to let what I learn from traveling and having conversations with others inspire my prayers.

Most of the time, this approach to faith and ministry proves itself to be extremely fulfilling. Guided by the belief that God is found anywhere there is truth, I have been able to find what connects me to others and what connects us all to Christ. Still, sometimes conversations and internal dialogue like this can leave me feeling mentally and spiritually drained. Inevitably, there are times when the constant questioning and casting my beliefs in new light in search of deeper truth will overwhelm me with how little I really understand. Oddly enough, sometimes my efforts to increase my faith will leave me with more questions and doubts than when I started. However, maybe these feelings are more related to how fatigue at the end of a workout is a precursor to growing stronger, rather than a sign of getting weaker.

Still, at times I think I make the mistake of doing too much talking about God and not enough praying. It makes sense that despite the time I spend learning about God, I can still feel distant if I fail to spend time with Him. The beautiful thing is that once I realize this, all it takes is to spend time with God to intentionally slow down, thank God for what He’s shown me, and ask Him to fill me with His peace. Whenever I am surprised by feelings of spiritual exhaustion, I try to determine if my prayer life has fallen short, and I renew my conviction to spend more time in intentional prayer.

This is also why the Eucharist has been so important in my journey with Christ. Coming to Mass and receiving the Eucharist makes me whole when I feel like I’ve been spread too thin, and centers me back on what is most important. The spiritual filling I’ve experienced through Mass serves as a reminder that, for me, it’s not enough to know about God; I need His presence in order to be refueled and renewed.

While one’s faith journey may be marked by a series of “landmarks”—significant moments of clarity and encounter with Christ that are easy to look back on as shaping one’s relationship with Him—I have learned that the small moments with God are no less important. It is for this reason that Mass and consistent prayer are essential for the active Christian life—for when we encounter Christ in this way, He offers us food to sustain us on our way, allowing us to continue His work on Earth and ensure that we always remain close to Him.

Hope to Bring

February 2017, Uncategorized, , ,

Adam Wood, Senior

“We must be men [and women] with hope to bring.”

I think about these words from Constitution 8 of the Congregation of Holy Cross every day as I drive onto campus and begin my search for a parking spot. Statistically speaking, there won’t be an open spot for me at the front-most part of the lot.  Considering it’s already 1 p.m. and I’m just getting to campus for my first class, I probably don’t deserve one. But this is a Holy Cross institution, and I’m a man of hope! So you better believe I make a pass through the section with the best spots, even if prior experience says I’m wasting my time.

As Notre Dame students, we hope for a wide variety of things. We hope for a seat near an outlet at the library, we hope the line at Starbucks is short, and we hope to win a coveted RecSports championship tee shirt. We hope that we can score a ticket to the Keenan Revue, a date to a Dome Dance, or a part in the PEMCo show. We hope that our duct tape and plywood vessels don’t sink in the middle of the Fisher Regatta. We hope that the Irish will do better than 4-8 next season. We hope we can manage to finish two problem sets, an essay, and an exam by the end of the week. We hope for good grades, good internships, and good jobs when we graduate. We hope that we can find the time to enjoy all of the things this great university has to offer us.

But sometimes, I think, I have hoped for so many things at once that I started to lose hope altogether. I allowed my hopes to transform into stress, and forgot to have hope in the most important thing, or rather, person. All these things that a Notre Dame student hopes for are good things, but the men who wrote the Constitutions of Holy Cross weren’t talking about hope in tee shirts or tickets or even parking spots. They were speaking of hope in the person, Jesus Christ, who transcends and fulfills all of our hopes.

The Cross and Anchors is the symbol of the Congregation of Holy Cross. It represents hope in the Cross of Jesus Christ as our one true hope.

Many times in my four years here I have let stress overwhelm me to a point of despair. Over time, however, I learned to cultivate hope in Christ and his love for me. I invited him into these moments, and was able to see my burdens more as opportunities for victory. I came to see more of what the Congregation of Holy Cross means by finding hope in the Cross, both the Cross of Christ and the smaller crosses that I bear in my own life. In a student’s life, stressful times are all but guaranteed. We can’t avoid them.  Most importantly, we can respond in the best way possible by having hope in the great gifts we have been given. Take a little inspiration from Constitution 8 of the Congregation that founded Notre Dame:

“There is no failure the Lord’s love cannot reverse, no humiliation He cannot exchange for blessing, no anger He cannot dissolve, no routine He cannot transfigure. All is swallowed up in victory.”

I’ll put my hope in that!

 

With God, There is Peace

January 2017, , , ,

Imanne Mondane, Senior, Anthopology major and African Studies minor

In deciding how to center this blog post, I found myself torn between many different topics. However, after debating with myself for long hours, I realized that as a student at Notre Dame (as rewarding as it may be) I am well-versed on a familiar topic: struggle. Most – if not all – Notre Dame students have experienced the universal hardships of living and studying at this top tier university. Whether a failed exam, empty pockets, financial struggles, familial issues, social awkwardness, depression, racism, roommate quarrels, lack of a social life, endless drama, lack of motivation, illness or health issues, we have each been blessed with our own, unique cross to bear. Notice that I said BLESSED. Yes, as hard as it may seem, struggle, strain, tears, hardship, pain, and storms are a part of our life’s blessings. Such moments of great challenge present us with the opportunity to obtain and share our testimony. In these occurrences we experience God’s love, grace, and mercy the most.  Through the storms he is already pulling us out of, we should give him the honor and glory he deserves.

Barbara Johnston/University of Notre Dame

A friend of mine gave me a brief, priceless piece of advice, which motivated me throughout what I consider to be the most difficult week of my entire 21 years of life. After facing disappointment and heartbreak, and shedding a countless amount of tears, I felt that I was in an eternal place of darkness.  I had lost hope for change and deliverance. As I shared this news with my friend, she told me the following: “Christ bore the cross for us. And although things may be hard now and the pain seems endless, there is still beauty in suffering. We cannot reject the tests and trials that God blesses us with. We have to embrace them just as Christ did. We have to embrace our cross because once we embrace it, we are also acknowledging that God is still in control and that our faith and trust in him enables us to hold out hope for the light that always follows darkness.” These words meant the world to me. They not only enlightened me, but they reminded me of the ways in which I had given up on God’s authority and mercy. I had forgotten that his will is greater than anything I can will for myself. Although the situations and feelings of sorrow that I was facing did not end immediately, this reminded me that God is Lord over my life and was enough to fill me with hope and faith in my Savior.  I could worship him through the rough times just as I worship him through my triumphs. Hearing this from my friend, as well as words from my mother reminding me of the victories that God has declared over my life, encouraged me that day and every day to come, and I hope they are able to do the same for you.

Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame

Always remember that we serve a God who has already declared victory over our lives. There is no mountain that he has not conquered, and no obstacle that he has not overcome. He placed within each of us the will to fight, to persevere, and the strength to defeat the enemy. He has equipped us with the tools to tackle each test and turn it into a testimony. We serve a God who has conquered the world; thus, when you’ve reached your lowest of lows, and the stream of darkness seems never ending, I encourage you to remind yourselves of the following:

“We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us” (Romans 5: 2-5).

Cultivating an Intense Look

December 2016, , , , ,

Brigid Smith, Senior

Excitement was not necessarily bubbling up within me as I ventured down to the lower level of the Snite Museum to “get to know” a piece of art. With each step I took towards the Medieval Gallery, the silence got deeper and the lights became dimmer giving me a simultaneous feeling of sophisticated studiousness and an inward longing to take a nap. I set up my artist’s stool, opened my notebook, and perched myself expectantly in front of a painting titled, Madonna and Child with a Pomegranate from the Italian School of Botticelli. With wide and intent eyes I looked at the painting and said, “Now, please do tell me all about yourself.” For the next three hours, I “intensely looked” (as my professor called it) at the painting trying to become acquainted, to begin to see it, to allow the image to tell me its story and make its mark on my own.

Jul. 2, 2014; Snite Museum of Art, University of Notre Dame. Photo by Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame
Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame

Realizing it probably wouldn’t tell me anything unless I at least became more open and engaged, I turned my passive gaze into an active inquiry. I looked at the colors, the objects, and the basic elements of the piece. I noted the use of light, the incorporation of symbols, the postures of the subjects. I squinted painstakingly at each fold of fabric, wrinkle of skin, and strand of hair until I was sure I hadn’t missed a detail. After a considerable amount of this closed off, surface level, viewing, I began to notice what the painting was actually depicting: Mother Mary and the Christ Child. Suddenly, the particular details I had spent time taking in didn’t seem meaningless. Rather, I realized that they contributed to a story; they helped me form an image of Mary and Jesus in their ordinary life, and I began to reflect on how this might relate to or effect my own. Contrary to my initial expectations, I found myself completely engrossed in the contemplation of the Holy Family and almost excited about what I might see or think about next.

As I look forward to Advent this year, I am reminded of my “intense look” assignment and how it’s a little like Mother Mary and a mindset that can help me approach Advent more intentionally.

When Gabriel came to Mary and told her she would bear Christ in her womb, she didn’t receive all of the answers right away. I can imagine there were times throughout her pregnancy and even Jesus’s childhood when she wondered what was to come or questioned the details and simply had to wait with openness and trust to see what God would bring. She, in a sense, with her incredible Fiat, placed herself permanently at the feet of the Lord, even on the Cross, looking at Him with love and expectantly waiting to see how He would manifest His love for the world. We are told Mary observed, listened, and received all while continuing to “ponder these things in her heart”. Patiently, humbly, and with great perseverance, Mary believed that “nothing would be impossible with God” if she continued to be present and say yes.

Though I wish I could say I always responded to the Lord like Mary, more often than not I don’t. Maybe you’ve felt the way I felt in front of the Botticelli masterpiece about Advent, or Adoration, or even prayer in general. Maybe it seems like you go into a chapel and you just sit and wait and nothing seems to happen. Maybe you’ve had times when you’re down on your knees waiting and all that seems to change is the increasing awareness of how much they hurt. In this season of Advent, we are reminded with Mary that such expectant waiting and availability is not useless, it’s not for nothing but it’s preparing and shaping us for something far beyond our wildest imaginings. Though it might seem slow and at times “pointless,” the process of returning to the Lord, of sitting at His feet and looking at Him expectantly, inevitably transforms us, strengthens us, and makes us ever more ready to receive Him.

Dec. 6, 2015; Advent Lessons and Carols in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. (Photo by Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame)
Matt Cashore/University of Notre Dame

I did not leave the Snite equipped with all of the answers or in perfect knowledge of my painting, I didn’t feel like I had conquered my fear of encountering something unknown, nor did I think it was an exercise I would want to do again. But, I did leave more at peace than when I arrived. I did find the time of expectant waiting important and necessary and strangely fulfilling because it prepared me to receive and appreciate more from the painting than I ever could have at first.

I invite you this Advent to take the opportunity to, with Mary, cultivate an “intense look” mindset. Embrace the active waiting, the journey, the small steps and tasks that lead us closer to becoming who we were created to be. Take note of the details, the smallest movements of your heart – both those that bring you joy and those that might ask you to grow – and just spend time sitting with the Lord. Then, allow yourself to be changed by the intense look of love with which Christ looks at you. Ask Jesus to reveal Himself to you in this time of hopeful waiting. For Christ too is waiting. He wants to enter into our lives and help us see more clearly the way of peace, of love, of hope. If we truly begin to adopt this posture of receptivity and openness like Mary did, a posture I learned just a little bit more from my lovely homework assignment, we will not be disappointed for Christ is Emmanuel, He is always with us.