The Holiest of Weeks

I can’t remember back to a Holy Week when my brothers, John and David, and I didn’t identify with titles such as Altar Server 1, Altar Server 2, Candle Bearer 1, Candle Bearer 2, Cross Bearer, or Thurifer (the “incense person”) for approximately four days in a row. We filled these positions in our home parish during the services on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil, and Easter Sunday, sometimes with reluctance early on, but later having developed a sense of the immense honor it was to contribute – in a small way – to the most important week on the Church calendar.

Photo from Our Lady of the Lake Parish website

Holy Week begins on Palm Sunday (3/29 this year). During Mass we hear about Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and we listen to one account of his Passion, or the story of his crucifixion, during the Gospel reading. We also receive palms, which I have developed a passion for folding into crosses – and I know I’m not the only one! All jokes aside, though, if we just jumped from here to Easter Sunday, when we hear the Resurrection accounts, we wouldn’t experience the whole story…

That’s where the Triduum comes in. The Triduum is made up of three days: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, but it comprises one liturgical celebration in the Church…

During the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday, we celebrate Jesus’ Last Supper, including a foot washing ceremony to recall the way Jesus humbled himself to wash his disciples' feet. This Mass also remembers the institution of the Eucharist and the Priesthood at the Last Supper. All of the consecrated Eucharist is removed from the tabernacle where it usually resides and taken to an Altar of Repose after Mass, where it is saved for the service on Good Friday. The sanctuary lamp, which indicates the presence of Christ in the Eucharist (see this post), is extinguished. This physically points to Jesus’ absence in death.

The Mass of the Lord’s Supper will be celebrated at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on 3/2/15 at 5 p.m.

Tenebrae is a prayer service on Holy Thursday that usually involves the gradual extinguishing of candles, all but one. Tenebrae is Latin for “darkness.” During this service a strepitus, or “great noise,” typically occurs in the midst of the darkness to symbolize the earthquake that occurred upon Jesus’ death on the cross.

            Tenebrae will be celebrated at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on 3/2/15

            At 11 p.m.

On Good Friday, the worldwide Church remembers and mourns Jesus’ passion and death. It is a day of fasting, penance, prayer, and silence, and is the one day out of the year on which no Masses are celebrated. There is, however, a Good Friday service. This service is composed of the Liturgy of the Word, during which John’s Passion narrative is read, Veneration of the Cross where members of the congregation kiss, touch, or simply kneel before a large wooden cross representing the one Jesus was crucified on, and a Communion service. It is not a Mass because though Communion is distributed, there is no Liturgy of the Eucharist; instead, the Eucharist that was consecrated on Holy Thursday is used. Traditionally the three hours between 12 p.m. and 3 p.m. are observed silently on Good Friday, as this was the time that Jesus suffered on the cross. He passed away at 3 p.m. after Three Hours’ Agony.

            The Celebration of the Lord’s Passion will be held at the Basilica of the

            Sacred Heart on 3/3/15 at 3 p.m. after three Silent Hours of Prayer, and

            there will be a Stations of the Cross ceremony at 7:15 p.m.

            Note: the cross venerated in the Basilica on Good Friday contains a relic

of the actual cross Christ was crucified on. It can be venerated

throughout the year in the Reliquary Chapel in the Basilica.

On Holy Saturday, the Solemn Paschal Vigil, or Easter Vigil, is held at night. It is a longer Mass, composed of a Service of Light, Liturgy of the Word, Liturgy of Baptism, and Liturgy of the Holy Eucharist. During the Service of Light, the new Paschal (Easter) Candle – the tall white pillar that stands on the altar throughout the year – is typically processed into a darkened church, reminiscent of the darkness of the Triduum and the solemn mood of Good Friday. In my home parish, light from this candle is distributed throughout the church to smaller candles that members of the congregation are holding, representing the Light of Christ returning to the world and residing in each one of us. The Easter Vigil is also the night on which new members of the Church are welcomed into the family through the sacraments of Baptism, Holy Eucharist, and Confirmation. The Easter Vigil is by far my favorite Mass of the year, as it is a time of new and renewed faith. It is a liturgy filled with hope, joy, and celebration.

Easter Vigil will be celebrated at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on 3/4/15 at 9 p.m.

At last, we have arrived at Easter Sunday, the ultimate opportunity to rejoice and sing “Alleluia” for the first time since the beginning of Lent. Jesus’ resurrection means absolutely everything to the Catholic faith. The Lord is Risen…He is Risen Indeed!

Easter Sunday Mass will be celebrated at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on 3/5/15 at 8 a.m. and 12 p.m. The Easter Student Mass will be celebrated at 9 p.m.

The Triduum takes commitment. Time. Energy. But it is absolutely worth the investment of all of these in order to experience the fullness of the culmination of salvation history: the loss, the grief, the celebration, the joy.

I am staying on campus for Easter this year, which is certainly bittersweet: it will be my first year away from my family during the Triduum and I won’t get to claim ownership of the titles Thurifer or Altar Server 2, but I will be an enthusiastic participant in all things Holy Week here on campus. There is a unique sense of understanding that accompanies participation in the Masses and services of Holy Week that simply cannot be experienced any other way. Kate Morgan, the Director of Communications for Campus Ministry, commented that the Triduum is “A way to go through every emotion that you’re supposed to.” Holy Week tells the whole story.

  

When Sins Are Forgiven

The sacrament of Reconciliation draws perhaps the widest scope of differing opinions out of the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church. The way I see it, there are typically two polarized views taken:

Reconciliation Definition One: one of the most intimidating, uncomfortable elements of the Catholic Church. It’s hard enough to admit our sins to ourselves, and harder still to confess them to someone else.

Reconciliation Definition Two: a healing, peaceful encounter with God, necessary to living a full Christian life.

Both are real. Both are reasonable. But this week, I’ve been thinking about why Reconciliation Definition Two renders Reconciliation Definition One devoid of mattering.

On the hike out of Kalaupapa on the Hawaii Pilgrimage over spring break last week (see my post on our trip), I experienced a particularly profound moment of grace. In reflecting upon it, I journaled that one of the most rewarding elements of our trip was “taking my sinful self down the cliffs into Kalaupapa, receiving Reconciliation after 5:45am Mass, and hiking back out [from Kalaupapa] with a still-heavy backpack but a light burden and heart.” This is because no matter how terrifying it was to sit down with the priest to confess my deepest regrets and most painful mistakes to another human, I was really confiding in my Creator, who desires a relationship with me untarnished by sin.

As Christians, we believe – basically – in a loving God who forgives our sins when we repent for them. So why go to Reconciliation? A sacrament is an external sign instituted by Christ to give grace. Let’s break it down in the context of Reconciliation to unpack this important question.

Reconciliation is…

            An external sign: The sacrament of Reconciliation does not consist of simply

            praying to God and asking for forgiveness in a solitary setting. It involves

            something outside of the self, something witnessed by the Church. See this page

            for the format of the sacrament.

The fact that Reconciliation is an external sign is significant because it provides healing both for this world and for eternal life. In Matthew 9, Jesus heals a paralytic, saying “Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven.” The scribes standing by accuse him of blaspheming, so Jesus then asks, “Which is easier to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or ‘Stand up and walk?’.” The physical healing leads to a spiritual healing, whereby humanity can come to believe in Jesus’ power to forgive sins. This ministry of healing has not stopped, but has been carried down in the form of Reconciliation.

            Instituted by Christ: In Matthew 16, Jesus breathes on his disciples,

            extending the power to forgive sins to Peter and then to all of his apostles. This

            power to forgive sins has been passed down from Christ to the priests with whom

we participate in the sacrament of Reconciliation today.

            The priests’ role in the sacrament is twofold: they represent Christ (they operate

            in persona Christi, or “in the person of Christ”), and they represent the wider

            Church. When we sin, we commit that sin not only against God but also against

            our neighbors. Individual sins weaken us as a body of believers, because it’s

            harder for us to be our best selves in community with others when we are

            dwelling in a sin-saturated state. Think about a friendship – if you’ve done

            something to hurt a friend, talking about it with them, repenting and saying “I’m

            sorry,” and then coming up with a plan of action will always lead to a degree of

            healing in the relationship. So by confessing our sins to a priest in Reconciliation

            – both in persona Christi and representing our community – we rebuild right

relationships with ourselves, with others, and with God…all in one event. Now

that sounds like a worthwhile activity.

            To give grace: God constantly pours his grace out to us, wooing us into perfect

            relationship with Him. His love is a love that is incomprehensible to the human

            mind, but in receiving Reconciliation we humble our hearts before our God and

            before our community to admit that we are imperfect beings in need of

            forgiveness. In doing so we acknowledge God’s grace, which has already been

            there, but which we have not put a priority on receiving in our state of sin. The

            forgiveness experienced in Reconciliation when the priest says, “Through the

            ministry of the Church I absolve you from your sins” allows us to see and accept
            God’s grace in a renewed way.

In high school, my parish pastor told me that Reconciliation is important to us humans because hearing the words of forgiveness that are spoken is extremely important. God forgives unceasingly, so the Sacrament of Reconciliation isn’t necessary to attain His forgiveness, but it is necessary to restore right relationship between us and Him and between us and our neighbors.

Lent is a wonderful time to receive the sacrament of Reconciliation, whether it has been forty days or forty years since we last confessed our sins. There are lots of opportunities to do so on campus – see the Basilica schedule here – or you can ask a priest to meet with you privately. Let’s prepare for Christ’s arrival as a community by accepting the forgiveness offered in the gift of the sacrament that Christ instituted in our world.

  

And to Dust You Shall Return: Hawaii Pilgrimage 2015

In Genesis 3:19 God asserts, “you are dust, and to dust you shall return” at the conclusion of His rebuke of Adam and Eve for eating of the fruit in the Garden of Eden. I will be the first to admit that this is a challenging passage, no matter how many times I hear it or study it in class. On the Hawaii Pilgrimage this spring break, though, God transformed my way of seeing these potentially oppressive- and hopeless-sounding words into a beautiful, hope-filled perspective during my time on the island of Molokai.

We did A LOT on the Hawaii Pilgrimage. My favorite part by far, though, was our time on a peninsula off Molokai called Kalaupapa. Kalaupapa is the site of a settlement where people suffering from Hansen’s Disease – commonly known as leprosy - were separated from families and isolated from 1866 to 1969. Over 8,000 people died there during this time. Saint Damien arrived in 1873 and served the people of Kalaupapa as priest, carpenter, doctor, disciplinarian, friend, father, and confidant until he died from the effects of leprosy himself in 1889. His life was one of Christ-like self-gift, as was that of Saint Marianne, who arrived shortly before Saint Damien’s death to continue caring for the people of the settlement. Read more about Kalaupapa and its holy people here.

The view of Kalaupapa and the sea cliffs we hiked down to get there the morning of our journey

Pre-hike pilgrims 

One of many cemeteries in Kalaupapa - this one is the site of Father Damien's grave

The Kalaupapa peninsula is completely isolated from the rest of Molokai (and the rest of the world, for that matter) by 2,000 foot high sea cliffs – some of the highest on earth – and a seemingly endless expanse of the brightest blue ocean I have ever seen. It is a place of sheer beauty, but also the perfect natural prison. There is a certain eeriness to the peninsula that is hard to place, and yet a prevailing sense of peace. This holy land is a place of utter contradiction.

While breathtakingly majestic cliffs tower overhead and powerful currents crash against it’s shoreline, Kalaupapa is in a constant state of transition. Buildings show extreme wear from time and saltwater and have had to be refurbished, graves are falling apart, appliances are out of date, and things are used and reused and eventually sometimes left and forgotten. Nature has taken over in many of these situations.

The smaller segment of Saint Philomena Church closest to us is the part Saint Damien built with his own hands. The rest was an addition he planned but was not strong enough to build himself near the end of his life. Both parts have been restored over the years.

A traffic cone has become a home for vegetation, and a plant reaches tendrils out to grasp the cone and the fire hose.

A tree growing around another tree

At first, I found these sights disheartening. But the more I noticed them, the more I fell deeper in love with this beautiful place. In Molokai, more than anywhere else I have ever encountered, the material world interacts with and becomes a part of nature. The stop sign is still a functional inanimate object, but now it is adorned by a living plant. The school bus makes a sweet picture and is a monument to those who traveled in it before us. The building covered in license plates is a collector’s and photographer’s dream: art. Everything could be viewed in two opposing ways, either with great despair or great hope.

Even the island itself is in transition. The peninsula was formed much later than the rest of Molokai by a volcanic eruption; gazing down into the crater that formed the peninsula aroused the thought that this place practically came about by chance. The beautiful cliffs we hiked and gazed up at in wonder during our time on the peninsula were chiseled into their striking shape by water long ago. The sea is gradually wearing away at the shore around the border of the peninsula, so on some elevated parts the island has literally begun the process of collapsing into the ocean.

The crater of the volcano that formed the island. The lake at the bottom is 800 ft deep.

It wasn’t until a key group conversation that I recognized the new way of seeing that was being formed in me. One of the other girls on the trip posed a question that hit me and kept resonating with the things I had already witnessed and would experience: “How do you see the idea of returning to dust manifested on this island?” So simple. So, so, challenging.

On Kalaupapa, the reality of the delicacy of life becomes painfully apparent. And yet it became less about dwelling in the suffering and much more about valuing the life one is given upon the arrival of Saint Damien, who fiercely insisted upon recognizing the dignity and humanity of each person he encountered. We explored the idea of praying without ceasing a lot as a group – see my blog post on this idea – and realized that Saint Damien must have valued even the smallest of actions and expressions of love for and by the people he cared for in the holy place called Kalaupapa. My fellow pilgrim was exactly right in the question she asked: the peninsula is a perfect manifestation of the life, building, death, change, and rebuilding that occurred and continues to occur there.

Buildings must be rebuilt. Graves require restoration. Plants are allowed to grow in places we on the mainland would never allow. But the beauty of change under the care of the Lord is so apparent in Kalaupapa. This is not to say that it is by any means easy to reflect on the past events that occurred there, and it is not intended to discount the lives of the thousands of people who lived and died there. Quite oppositely, the state of transition on the peninsula allowed me to see clearly that God is active in His creation and in His remembrance, and that even – and especially – in the places that the entire world forgets, He is there. Loving.

There was not a reconciling to be done between the history of immense suffering on Kalaupapa and the sheer beauty of God’s creation there, as my fellow pilgrims and I originally assumed. Rather, there was and is a truth to be sought out, discovered, grappled with, and eventually loved:

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Thank You, Father Ted.

Father Theodore Hesburgh passed away at 11:26p.m. on Thursday, February 26, 2015 at age 97. The world lost an advocate for peace and justice, Notre Dame lost a hero, and heaven gained a saint.

Photo from mynotredame.nd.edu.

Father Theodore Hesburgh was and is so many things to the University of Notre Dame community and to the world as a whole. Beyond the 150 commissions he served on, beyond working with popes and presidents and policy makers and activists, he walked the talk: he cared for and ministered to the individual. He himself was a trailblazer, a leader, and an icon, but he viewed himself first and foremost as a priest. A servant. A person. See hesburgh.nd.edu to explore the extraordinary life of Father Ted beyond the simple scope of this post.

Photo from commonwealmagazine.com.

Part of Father Hesburgh's daily prayer routine was saying Mass. He only missed one or two Masses throughout his time as a priest. He said Mass on Thursday, his last day on earth.

Photo from ndsmcobserver.com.

Father Ted quite literally made Notre Dame the place that it is today during his 35 years as president; see this page for some of his contributions to his beloved Our Lady’s University. Beyond the more well-known feats he accomplished, he made time for individual people. There are countless stories told of him accepting students into his office in Main Building at all hours of the evening. These late-night chats have become something like campus legends. After his presidency in his later years, Father Hesburgh became blind. Rather than treat it like a disability, he embraced this new phase of life like he had all the others: as a gift. He transformed a limitation into an opportunity to have personal encounters with undergraduate students by inviting them into his office to read the newspaper to him. Father Ted was a real person, who treated each student like they mattered, because they did.

I grew up hearing Father Ted stories, as my parents were blessed to attend Our Lady’s University under his leadership from 1981-1985. One of my dad’s most cherished memories from his time at ND was serving as Father Ted’s altar boy for the Stations of the Cross in the Basilica during Lent. The president of the University made him feel valued in this role. Similarly, a couple months after Christmas break of junior year, my mom’s landline in Lewis Hall rang. My dad was in the room and answered. “It’s Father Hesburgh,” he whispered, holding out the phone. My mom thought it was a prank. It was Father Hesburgh. “Julie?” “Hello, Father Hesburgh.” “I’m sorry I’m so late getting back to you, Julie, but I wanted to thank you for the lovely Christmas card you sent me this year.” That’s just the kind of person he was.

In addition to the Christmas card phone call story, I have heard my mom speak several times about Father Ted’s devotion to the Holy Spirit. He was complex and accomplished and established in the world in a way not many people have ever been or ever will be, and yet he was still so simple. His favorite prayer was, “Come, Holy Spirit.” So many, including myself, have adopted this mantra of his as their own. 

After growing up amidst stories of this legendary man, I was blessed with the opportunity to meet him at the conclusion of my freshman year at Notre Dame. It was an uncannily special experience being in Father Ted’s thirteenth floor office with him and Father Monk Malloy, his successor, at the same time. At ninety-six years, Father Hesburgh was witty and articulate. He spoke especially highly of women, informing us that he wanted one of us girls in the room to become president someday. “I want to see you women make this place your own. You bring a loveliness to Notre Dame that, let’s be honest, most men cannot and will not bring.” He had wonderful things to say about the men in the room, too, but has a special place in his heart for women, whom he began admitting to the University in 1972. Father Ted repeatedly insisted that Notre Dame women, and all women, for that matter, must “stand tall.” I will always carry this with me.

It’s no accident that the window of Father Hesburgh’s office is at eye level with Mary atop the Golden Dome. He had a particularly special devotion to Mary, which was evident in the way he spoke of the Blessed Virgin and about women in general. He got a particular twinkle in his eye when he glanced out the window in her direction as he looked over her University.

The last several days have marked a unique moment in history. Our campus has been engaged in mourning, honoring, and celebrating the life of Father Hesburgh. As we prepare to celebrate Father Ted's life in a particularly focused way in the upcoming days through various prayer services, his wake, his funeral, and a memorial ceremony, I am struck with the realization that while we have lost a hero here on earth, he has finally been united with Our Father and Our Lady in heaven. This is a peaceful thought, and a joyous reality.

When I had the opportunity to cross paths even for a mere hour with this man, one thing he said stood out to me in particular. I would like to close with it, as I think it says so much about who he was and who he continues to be for our community. "I figure when I get to the pearly gates," he mused as he gazed across at the dome from his 13th floor office last spring, "I will say, 'I worked for the boss's mother, so I think I can get in.'" Father Ted is the heart and soul of Notre Dame. I am personally forever indebted to him as a woman who calls his beloved Our Lady's University home, and we have all been affected by his life's work in countless ways. I hope he enjoyed saying his bit about the boss’s mother on Thursday evening. My guess is the pearly gates were already flung wide open in anticipation, ready to welcome this saint of a man home.

Photo from pinterest.com.

Thank you, Father Ted.