Spotlight: Fr. David Scheidler, C.S.C.

Last year, my friend Megan and I collaborated to create a post called “Religious: They’re Just LikeUs!”, which points out that people called to religious vocations are still that: people! I had the incredibly fun job of photographing religious on campus doing totally normal things, from casually riding their bikes on DeBart Quad to waiting in line at Starbucks in LaFun.

In the wake of that project, I have found myself curious about life as a priest. They’re just like us, in that they are human. But they also have a particular set of stories to share that aren’t the same as those of lay men and women. What did their calls to priesthood sound like? Did many of them date before entering the seminary? Were their family and friends supportive of their vocations? How often do they receive the sacrament of Reconciliation?

In the top left corner of my collage for the “Religious: They’re Just Like Us!” post, I included a picture of Fr. David Scheidler, C.S.C. dressed in an orange sweater (his favorite color) and dropping a bag of oranges down a flight of stairs (i.e. “Religious – They Drop Oranges Down Stairs in Orange Sweaters – They’re Just Like Us!”). This week, I had the privilege of chatting with Fr. David, the infamous orange-dropper and the Assistant Rector of the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, about some of the particular elements of his experience as a priest.

Childhood

Fr. David’s call was like a “slow but very powerfully moving train,” which began to enter his consciousness around age ten. David was not one to “play Mass” with his friends or siblings when he was young, nor did he entertain daydreams of crafting the greatest, most engaging homily ever. Rather, he did quite the opposite for a long time, insisting that he did not want to be a priest and almost looking for things that would contradict the presence of that train.

Dating

Throughout high school and college, David’s main mission was to “find himself” and his way. He attended dances with female classmates as just friends, but admittedly did keep trying to contradict the slow but powerful call to priesthood by seeing if the call to marriage would be greater. It never was. But his dating experiences from early in his life have been useful in his ministry: whenever students come to him for advice about dating, especially about whether to take the risk of pursuing romance in a friendship, he says, “always risk the friendship. Go for it.” You will never know unless you try.

Entering the seminary

After college, David was hired in New York, where he worked 60-80 hour weeks. During a year of keeping up this tough schedule, attending daily Mass kept David “sane.” The frequency with which he celebrated Mass helped him not to be so afraid of being honest about God’s working in his life. He entered the seminary the next year.

Family and friends

I asked Fr. David whether his family and friends were supportive of his choice to enter the seminary. He said one of his religion teachers had been instrumental in encouraging him in theology classes, and when he informed her about his decision, she simply said, “It’s about time.” Some of his family had similar reactions. It was almost as if he was the last one to accept his call, and that people who knew him best had already hopped aboard the slow, powerfully moving train.

Fr. David shared a story that gave me chills: at the vocational fair at his home parish the year previous to his decision to enter the seminary, both of his parents had individually written down his name as someone they wanted the parish to keep in their prayers regarding vocations. Their prayers had been answered. While many of his friends were surprised when he announced his decision to enter the seminary and a few of his siblings were at first taken aback at how differently their sibling relationships would look in adulthood due to his choice, everyone was ultimately extremely supportive.

Being one of eight siblings, Fr. David has 43 nieces and nephews. Even though he does not have children of his own to raise alongside those of his siblings (the Scheidlers grew up knowing their cousins as almost another set of siblings, so this had been a long-anticipated family experience), he has had the unique privilege of playing a special part in the life of his family due to his priesthood in ways he would not otherwise be able to. He has been the celebrant at six weddings for his siblings and has ministered the vast majority of the 43 baptisms of his nieces and nephews. He is affectionately known as “Uncle David” to the 43, not as “Fr. David,” as he is to the rest of us. He explained how neat it is to watch the wonder on the youngest faces of the clan as they watch him say Mass and try to put together the pieces. Recently, one three-year-old niece chanted his name over and over again during Mass, as if cheering him on while he led the congregation in the celebration of the Word and the Eucharist.

The privilege of priesthood

“If you tried to deny your call for a while when you were younger,” I wondered out loud to Fr. David during our conversation, “when was it that you discovered that you wanted to be a priest?”

“The day after my ordination,” he laughed.

After accepting his call to priesthood, David obediently followed it, knowing that his vocation was to religious life. And while in the seminary, he continually prayed for the grace to eventually want to be a priest himself.

It was during the first mass he said, an 11:45am Folk Choir Mass at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart the day after he was ordained, that his prayer was answered. He realized the people in the congregation were looking to him, but not at him. “It’s not me they’re looking at. They want to see Christ.” Fr. David explained that he is “so grateful that [he] didn’t let [his] own ego and fears and pride stand in the way of God’s call,” and remarked that he views priesthood as a “profound privilege.”

God’s presence

“What does God’s voice sound like? Is Morgan Freeman an accurate representation?”

Fr. David explained that he does not hear God’s voice as a physical sound, but rather feels His presence. This presence is akin to a warm blanket being hugged around his shoulders from behind. What a beautiful image. The feeling of being wrapped up in God’s presence arrives as a comforting confirmation in Fr. David’s life.

“If I had to assign a voice to God, though,” Fr. David explained, “it would be my grandmother’s voice.” Sweet, cozy, and comforting. Kind of like a warm blanket. And what does Fr. David have draped over the chair at his desk? A Notre Dame blanket.

Reconciliation

Fr. David hears confessions at least once a week at the Basilica, if not more. I was curious about how often he got to receive the sacrament of Reconciliation himself. According to the constitution of the Holy Cross order, Holy Cross priests are to engage in “lifelong examination” and “lifelong growth,” receiving the sacrament themselves an “appropriately frequent” amount. For Fr. David, an ideal amount would be once a month. In reality, he goes about every three months.

Interestingly, Fr. David shared that he feels it is in fact possible to go to confession too frequently. For some individuals, going to confession too often shifts their focus to the force of sin in their lives, rather than focusing on God’s grace and mercy. It is key for each individual to find a healthy balance when it comes to this sacrament.

Why Holy Cross?

My final question to Fr. David was simple. Why did he choose the Holy Cross order?

After hearing some background about his family life growing up, it is not surprising that the community element of the Holy Cross order was extremely attractive to him.

The first saint from the Congregation of Holy Cross, Brother Andre Bessette, was the humble doorkeeper at Notre Dame College in Montreal for 40 years. His vocation was to welcome and love others. St. Andre’s welcoming disposition is indicative of those of so many other Holy Cross brothers, which is what first appealed to Fr. David.

                 

And, he smiled, his brothers are “so consistently wise, insightful, and happy.”

Images of a Communion

I don’t think I really began to understand the concept of the communion of saints until second semester of sophomore year. I knew saints were models of faith, and they have lived at various points throughout history, and we could ask them to pray for us. But they often seemed obscure, distant, and inaccessible to me. Until last year.

During the second semester of sophomore year, I took a class called The Christian Imagination that served as educational background for my role as a Mentor-In-Faith at a summer conference for high school students called Notre Dame Vision. The professors of my class led a tour of the Basilica of the Sacred Heart about halfway through the semester. They gave us forty-five minutes to wander and explore the overwhelmingly stunning artwork that adorns the windows, walls, and ceiling of that sacred space. I studied the prayerful facial expressions and bodily postures of the men and women depicted all over the building, and noticed stories I recognized. Saint Bernadette’s vision of Mary (a scene similarly depicted at the Grotto). The death of Saint Joseph (what better way to die than in Mary and Jesus’ arms?). Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.

Image from an upload on wikimedia.org.

Our time of wandering amidst these images in the Basilica prompted my mind to wander back to my own summer participating in Notre Dame Vision as a high school student, during which our college-aged mentors (now my upcoming role) had challenged us with the question: “Their gifts changed the world. How will yours?” Their, meaning the saints’, gifts had certainly changed the world. That’s why their images were all over the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. But how could my life and my gifts be compared to people whose lives were remembered in such a way that they had been turned into art in my primary worship space? I wanted so badly to understand. 

I snapped out of my reverie when our professors called us to gather as a class near the gleaming golden tabernacle at the front of the Basilica. We took turns sharing our various observations about the sacred artwork we had been reflecting upon, knowing that our professors probably had a bigger point to make that was about to be revealed. They did.

They had us turn and face the entirety of the main worship space in the Basilica. Look at the walls. The windows. The towering ceiling. All covered in images of holy men and women who have gone before us. Look at the pews, where we are invited to sit upon and kneel and stand near while celebrating the Eucharist. Look at the huge empty space in between the pews and those walls, windows, and ceilings. Waiting to be filled with song and praise.

When we celebrate Mass, our professors explained, we join up our prayers with those of holy men and women, not the other way around. We do not ask the communion of saints to join us in our prayers, but rather enter into the communion of saints ourselves when we celebrate the Mass. It's a taste of heaven. The Basilica of the Sacred Heart (and other similar holy spaces) is a gift that invites us to more fully enter into this reality by visualizing the communion which we enter into: the sound waves of our song and praise literally expand as they fill up the physical space in the Basilica, while our prayers join up with the prayer of the communion of saints above and beyond the walls and ceilings of the church itself.

Image from blogs.nd.edu.

This image of my prayers being joined up with those of the communion of saints has become a primary one for me in my worship and prayer, both when I celebrate Mass at the Basilica on campus and when I am in other worship spaces.

For example, while at home this past week for fall break I had the privilege of attending Mass at my high school. We were certainly not in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart: a high school gymnasium is a bit of a drastic shift. But the imagery stays the same; I was seated on the ground floor, with bleachers packed full of students rising up on either side of me. Throughout Mass, I realized another image of the communion of saints was being presented here, as we are all called to use our gifts in the world as the saints who came before us did.

Yes, we are all called to be saints. Today. And Mass at Jesuit High School, with packed bleachers reaching toward the expansive ceiling, and prayers lifted up far beyond, presented me with yet another image of that call.

  

Asking saints to pray for us outside of Mass connects us to these holy men and women, too, and utilizes their special holy capacity for prayer and closeness to Our Father. This practice is a fantastic one to learn how to follow the call to be the saints we were created to be, too. One of my favorite images of the act of asking for the intercession of saints came from a friend at the conclusion of the summer at Notre Dame Vision. “This might be sacreligious,” he laughed, “but sometimes when I ask a saint to pray for me, I imagine them up there saying, ‘Duh…what do you think we’re doing?!’” 

As we lift our prayers up, they enter into a community of constant prayer and praise. This community is called the communion of saints, imaged on the walls and ceiling of the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. Imaged by the people making up the Body of Christ at Mass at my high school. Imaged when we live our lives as the walking, breathing, dynamic saints we are called to be.

Image from dailydomer.nd.edu.

We celebrate All Saints' Day on November 1^st. Read more here.

Go Irish! Beat Midterms (Prayerfully)!

This week is anything but ordinary on the Notre Dame campus. Each time the question “How is your week looking?” is uttered this week, it is done so with great trepidation. Typical responses are tossed out and accompanied by wearied looks: “Crazy.” “Stressful.” I have assigned these words to my week in various conversations, too; after all, three exams and several papers do not fit my concept of an ideal week.

BUT, there is great hope…

Last November, I published a post on praying without ceasing in which I discussed how ordinary actions can be offered as prayers of thanksgiving. Something as mundane as washing dishes after hosting friends in my dorm room for tea became an act of prayer for me.

Reflecting on this piece got me thinking about how we can view midterms week and other times of academic stress through this lens, as well. That five-hour chunk spent at the library can be offered up to God in a prayer of gratitude for the gift of education. The effort of hand-crafting an essay can be used to praise God for His creative power. Working hard to chip away at a problem set may not seem prayerful at the surface level, but it can be made so by putting away our phones and other distractions and offering our focused, hard work in prayer.

In fact, the act of focusing, the act of paying attention, can help us cultivate better prayer lives.

Simone Weil, French philosopher and teacher, reflects on the refinement of such attention in Waiting for God. She writes that “school exercises…are extremely effective in increasing the power of attention that will be available at the time of prayer” if students actively engage in their schoolwork with the intention of prayerful attention. I find her reflection on long hours of studying hopeful: “Never in any case whatever is a genuine effort of the attention wasted.” Simone also comments on finding joy in schoolwork:

“The intelligence can only be led by desire. For there to be desire, there must be pleasure and joy in the work. The intelligence only grows and bears fruit in joy. The joy of learning is as indispensable in study as breathing is in running.”

Approaching schoolwork with faithful attention, oriented toward a desire to cultivate a better prayer life through the practice of focused attention, then, yields many fruits. Including JOY!

In New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton offers this beautiful reflection on attentive work:

“To do the work carefully and well, with love and respect for the nature of my task and with due attention to its purpose, is to unite myself to God’s will in my work. In this way I become His instrument. He works through me.”

We are called to do everything for the glory of God, whether picking apples, running cross country, or studying for midterms (1 Corinthians 10:31). Being a student is a vocation. As college students, the best way we can live into our common vocation is to focus in and offer our studious efforts in prayer. Through paying attention to our studies and by intentionally offering them to God in prayer, our work will bear many fruits. We will cultivate the ability to better pay attention during our daily lives, whether in prayer (encountering God) or daily conversation (encountering others), and we will realize the full potential of the joy of learning.

Midterms week may still be “crazy” and “stressful,” but it can also be prayerful and full of joy.

Go Irish, Go!

"I Want That Bread!"

This past weekend was father-daughter weekend in my dorm, which was a joyful occasion to say the least. My dad and I went on all sorts of adventures around campus and in South Bend, from a stadium tour to meals at town establishments such as JW Chens and Chicory Café. We spent a weekend in gratitude for one another’s company and the company of other dads and daughters. The picture below sums up our time together pretty well:

Joy.

On an unrelated note – or perhaps not so far from the mark, after all – the Eucharist has been on my mind a lot recently. Just before I left home to come back to school for this semester, my parish priest told a fantastic story that highlights the Eucharist in a special way:

Several years ago as Fr. John held up the consecrated host for the assembly to see during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, a four-year-old member of the congregation pointed at the Body of Christ and yelled, “I want that bread!” A comment from a four-year-old such as this one could be rightfully deemed adorable and then written off as a typical outburst from someone who hadn't yet made it to post-Mass coffee and doughnuts. But Fr. John took the child’s comment seriously; the Gospel reading for that day included John 6:51, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever,” and John 6:53: “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink of his blood, you have no life in you.” And Fr. John gave this four-year-old girl the benefit of the doubt in assuming her exclamation was founded in her excellent listening to the Gospel.

Fr. John’s faith in one of the youngest actively participating members was well placed. When he approached the child and her mother later to ask about her comment, the girl was eager to find out whether she would get to receive the special bread next time. She couldn’t wait to eat the “living bread,” and didn’t want to lack life because of her inability to receive it. Fr. John, grinning ear to ear I am sure, explained to his young friend that her First Communion would be coming up in a couple years, and she would get to receive the “living bread” then. Until her First Communion, the blessings she received during her Baptism would sustain her. The young parishioner seemed delighted and satisfied by his answer.

What if we all displayed a similar enthusiasm for the Eucharist? What if we, too, could cultivate an attitude and a culture where the comment “I want that bread!” is not an exclamation reserved for children who don’t know any better? What if the lesson to be learned is not the child’s, to be quiet in Mass, but the rest of the congregation’s, to adopt her joyful attitude towards the Eucharist?

The other day, a couple friends and I had an awesome conversation about the Sacraments. One friend explained her approach to the Sacrament of Eucharist: during Communion, she looks around and thinks something along the lines of, “Wow. We are all receiving Jesus right now.” We decided that it would be appropriate to approach one another on Monday mornings (or any time) and excitedly announce: “You’ll never believe what happened to me yesterday! I received the Body of Christ!” In doing this, we decided we would be encouraging a more joyful appreciation for the Eucharist and for Jesus’ real presence in ourselves and in one another.

To me, an image of this treatment of the Eucharist is something like the photo of my dad and I above: joy-filled, with arms outstretched, and in community with one another.

Maybe we, too, will have the courage – or perhaps the reckless enthusiasm – or the love – to shout, “I want that bread!” with the way we live our lives. 

Being Ordinary

I would like to propose the concept of ordinariness as the avenue to happiness, and I think Pope Francis would, too.

Ordinary life entails feeling happy and excited at some times and sad and frustrated at others. It means kicking a soccer ball, or gliding down a slide, or acting in a play. It means dancing around the room when no one else is watching (which is simultaneously a relief and also everyone else’s loss). It means biting into and savoring a crispy apple or a juicy burger or a soft piece of vanilla cake. Being ordinary means noticing the breeze as the trees start to look like fall, and taking great joy in holding someone’s hand, and belly-laughing so hard it hurts. Being ordinary is being grateful. And prayerful. And real.

Being ordinary is the simple act of wonder at being alive.

In Pope Francis’ homily at the World Meeting of Families in Philadelphia on Sunday, he spoke about “little gestures” that we learn in the home. These are “quiet things done by mothers and grandmothers, by fathers and grandfathers, by children. They are little signs of tenderness, affection and compassion.” Examples of these little gestures include “the warm supper we look forward to at night, the early lunch awaiting someone who gets up early to go to work…a blessing before we go to bed, or a hug after we return from a hard day’s work.”

Little gestures are, basically, ordinary things.

He practices what he preaches. Pope Francis kissing and blessing a baby in Philadelphia.
Photo from cdn.newsday.com

Faith shows us that happiness and holiness, Pope Francis says, are “always tied to little gestures,” like Jesus’ example in Sunday’s Gospel: “Whoever gives you a cup of water in my name will not go unrewarded” (cf. Mk 9:41).

“Love is shown by little things, by attention to small daily signs which make us feel at home. Faith grows when it is lived and shaped by love,” encouraged Pope Francis. Having a spirit of hospitality is an ordinary thing, and it is a simple thing. We are called to welcome others as their ordinary selves. As the selves we are created to be, we are tasked with welcoming the selves of others.

So, when we dare to be daughters and sons and sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers and classmates and friends and neighbors who love through gifting little gestures and through, in turn, experiencing joy in little gestures, we live and shape love in community. And happiness is always caught up in this dance between faith and love. So happiness always accompanies the ordinary life, when we live it in love.

In this way, in “tak[ing] part in the feast of the Gospel,” the good Word of love, as Pope Francis urges us to do, the ordinary life takes on the properties of the extraordinary. And the extraordinary can be mediated through something as ordinary as giving someone else a cup of cold water.

Eucharistic Adoration: It's for You!

During my freshman year at Notre Dame, I remember sitting next to a non-Catholic friend during a two-hour Eucharistic Adoration and Reconciliation service at a retreat. At the end of the two-hour period, he asked me to explain “what just happened.” I was surprised at his question, since this model of Adoration was fairly common at many high school retreats I had been on. But for him, it was the first time he had encountered such a service.

Looking back on that experience, I realize that Adoration could appear strange, intimidating, or confusing, especially if encountered out of context. But the concept behind Eucharistic Adoration is simple: it is the opportunity to spend time in the presence of Jesus in the form of the Eucharist. This is done by kneeling before or sitting in the presence of a consecrated host, contained in a cross-shaped vessel called a monstrance.

Attending Adoration does not replace receiving the Eucharist while celebrating Mass, but rather is one of many ways we are invited to enrich our faith lives. What better way to encounter Christ than to sit in a chapel with Him for a while?

Photo from stbrenansatl.com

Here are my five tips about Eucharistic Adoration:

1.  There are lots of different ways by which we are invited to participate in Adoration. These include: praying individually, reading the Bible, praying the Rosary, journaling, doing other kinds of spiritual reading, or simply embracing the peaceful silence of Christ’s presence and allowing God to do the talking. This last option is my personal favorite activity during Adoration.

2.  Adoration is a great way to find peace in the midst of busy schedules. I typically leave Adoration feeling clear-minded and re-centered. At the end of rehearsals, The Notre Dame Folk Choir prays “in thanksgiving for silence when the world is loud.” Adoration is a fantastic opportunity to enter into this silence.

3.  It can be done in community, or individually. My story about Adoration from freshman year occurred at a retreat, which was a communal Adoration setting. Sitting in the presence of Jesus with friends or family can be a very powerful way to encounter the Eucharist, as is going to Adoration as an individual.

4.  It does not matter how long you stay at Adoration. Whether you sit in the presence of Christ for fifteen minutes or two hours, Adoration is like a refreshing retreat in and of itself.

5.  Adoration is for YOU! All are welcome. Adoration is not something you have to be particularly “good” at. In fact, as discussed above, there are lots of great ways to engage in Adoration. It’s not required, but offered as a gift and as an invitation to further engage our faith lives.

In honor of Pope Francis' visit to the United States this week…
Photo from saltandlighttv.org

Many find it particularly helpful to schedule Adoration in and to make it a part of their daily or weekly routines. Campus Ministry hosts adoration in the Notre Dame Our Mother Chapel inside the Coleman-Morse Center from 10 a.m. – 5 p.m. every weekday. Anyone is free to drop in for any length of time, and there are sign-ups for half-hour slots throughout the Adoration period for those who wish to come on a weekly basis during particular periods. See this link for more information on Eucharistic Adoration, as well as the sign-up sheet for Adoration in CoMo.

Loving: The Brave Choice

This summer, I was asked to love people with everything I have because that’s what Jesus did.

I worked at Notre Dame Vision, a Catholic youth conference for high school students that involves some playing, some learning, some praying, and a whole lot of energy and joy. As a Mentor-In-Faith, it was my job to lead a small group and create a space where high schoolers could dialogue about faith and life.

I chatted about everything from Snap Chat (gotta love the newest filters) to Inside Out (best movie of the summer) to vocations with high school participants. My job was to encourage participants to recognize their gifts and how they would be used to change the world. In turn, the college students who led Vision strove to give of our own gifts wholly and constantly to the participants, a task which was both life-giving and challenging.

Loving, itself, is both life-giving and challenging. But while the choice to love can be challenging, I have never once made the loving choice in a situation and regretted it. Loving means summoning the extra energy to make a “good morning” greeting hearty and energy-giving, even if I’m still feeling sleepy (I have never been called a “morning person”!). Loving means listening to friends and parents and classmates and professors, and really hearing what they have to say before responding. Loving means having a humble awareness of my gifts and learning how to share them with others.

The perfect example of someone who always made the loving choice is Jesus. When the Word became flesh in the person of Jesus, He became the first example of the fullness of what God created man to be. Christ had the discipline, tenacity, and humility to love at all times, a concept that presented a “wake-up call” to humanity that came at a high cost. Persistence in love is one of the fruits of the Resurrection: one of the gifts Jesus gave to us.

Loving, I have learned, is the brave choice.

And the more we pour love out to others, the more we will be filled up with more love in return.

Image from communitylutheran.org