Christina McKnight's Witness--13 April 2014

            Hi everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Christina McKnight and I am a sophomore Actuarial Science major.

            Well friends, Holy week begins as of today. The end of Lent is upon us, and soon we will all be able to eat ice cream and watch television and do whatever it is that we used to do before Ash Wednesday. Holy Week also means that we will be reading the Passion (aka the longest Gospel that you will ever hear at mass) twice this week. Twice will you have to stand for an extended period of time to hear the story of the crucifixion. Twice you will probably zone in and out of consciousness as the Passion is read because you have heard the passion twice a year for at least 18 years, totaling to at least 36 times in mass alone.

            This is the attitude I usually have when it comes to the Passion during mass, but after taking some time to reflect on the Passion, I found that this was a great time to reflect on my Lenten experience. The different people that interact with Jesus really jumped out to me; three people in particular when presented with a chance to grow with Jesus respond in completely different ways. After reading it a few times, I mentally created a Buzzfeed Quiz: “Which figure are you from the Lord’s Passion?”

            The first person that stands out to me is Simon of Cyrene. Here is a dude who’s just going about his merry way, when all of a sudden these soldiers tell him to help Jesus carry his cross. It’s a guy that he’s never even met before, he looks a little worse for wear, and he’s obviously very weak so he won’t be much help in carrying the cross at all. But despite all of those factors he says yes to help this stranger carry his cross. Did I say yes to Jesus in this regard? Did I take up my own cross with my Lenten sacrifice to stand in solidarity with Jesus? I would say that while I was very gung-ho at the beginning of Lent of giving up desserts and journaling every day, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t sneak a dessert every once in a while and that I didn’t skip a day of journaling my prayers. I can’t quite say that I’m a Simon of Cyrene.

            Perhaps I’m a Judas. Judas has been hanging out with Jesus and traveling with him all over the Middle East for years. Despite all of the time they’ve spent together, he deliberately turns Jesus in to the authorities for a few pieces of silver. His act of betrayal eventually drove him to kill himself in regret of what he has done. I know I haven’t been the best with my Lenten resolution this year, but I wouldn’t say that my actions are worthy of being compared to Judas (at least a hope not).

            No. Not Simon, nor Judas. Then who? There is one last person who plays a significant role in the Passion: Peter. Peter clearly desires so badly to be in the company of Jesus. Listen to him as he talks to Jesus, “Surely it is not I who will betray you?” The idea that he would betray Jesus, one if his best friends, is absurd. Yet when the time comes for him to declare his ties to Jesus, he denies it. Not once, but three times. When Peter realizes that he acted just as Jesus had predicted, he weeps in sadness. I would have to say that I can relate with Peter’s plight. At the beginning of this Lent and every Lent I have the intention of carrying out my resolution for the whole 40 days, but this year I would have to say that I was probably not the most dedicated person to my cause. Like Peter I have missed out on a chance to grow closer to God.

            However I don’t think I’m a completely lost cause. Like Peter I realize that I have missed out on a chance to say “Yes” to God. But like Peter I will do my best to improve and to be ready to say “Yes” the next time I get a chance. Friends, Lent is a time of year where we are supposed to slow down and turn inward to deepen our relationship with God. However, we aren’t limited to only 40 days a year to deepen our prayer lives and grow closer to God. No, we are invited to this opportunity 24/7, 365 days a year. As much as I would like to live exactly as God wants me to, sometimes I just fall short. That is the beauty and the sadness of the Lenten season. God loves us so much, that he died to save us from all of our sings. I’ve heard somewhere, “When Jesus is on the cross with his arms outstretched, he seems to be saying ‘This is how much I love you,’” and I’ve always liked that imagery. So friends, even though the Lenten season is almost at an end, let us continue to pray and grow closer to God. Thank you all, and I hope I’ve given you all p-LENT-y to think about J

           

            

Maggie DiRenzo's Witness, 6 April 2014

Hi. I’m Maggie Di Renzo. I’m a Junior Pharmacy Major and a member of the leadership team with the BCC.

I’m not gonna lie. I have been dreading this moment for the last 2 weeks, maybe even the whole semester. Let’s just say the whole year. I tried to hide and hope I would slip through, but alas here I am. So here we go:

When I first looked at the readings several ideas jumped out at me, but the over-arching theme of all 3 readings is really what struck me the most. The purpose of life. Now before you go and role your eyes, and think to yourself, “Self, there is no way she found the purpose of life just from reading today’s scripture.” Think again. From what I have gathered, our purpose here in this life is to make it to heaven and take as many people along the way with us. I mean the road to get there is rocky and bumpy, but overall it is just one “simple” task. 

When things get rough or I lose focus in my life I try to remember where we are all headed. Yes we have to make it through school and yes we have to get a job and yes we have to accomplish other tasks throughout our life but when things go askew just ask yourself once again, “does this glorify the Lord with my spirit or does this please the flesh?” In the first reading, the lord promised to place his spirit within us so we may live whole fulfilling lives that glorify the Lord.  So have no fear, it is in there somewhere helping you make the right decision. You just have to listen and feel as difficult as that may be at times.

Jumping to the second reading, it gets kinda mushy with all the words having a deeper meaning. You just hear: Alive, dead, sin, spirit, flesh and then flesh again and I’m not a fan of that word so I get kinda grossed out. But the meaning behind all of this is so beautiful and rich in symbolism. You may be physically alive but does that mean you are alive in spirit? And who just wants to be a blob of humanity? God reminds us that through his spirit that he places within us, we can be alive with him but (there’s always a but) we have to die to ourselves, our earthly ways, and our physical bodies in order to better our spiritual bodies. In the gospel, we hear the story of Lazarus raising from the dead. When Jesus gives a little lesson about the different type of dying: flesh vs. spiritual, Thomas, maybe a little naively, get excited and says, “Let us also go to die with him.”

I know when I hear this I think, “ok great idea, but how are we actually going to do that. The science part of me wants to know the process and exactly how we are supposed to accomplish this?” That’s when I realize there isn’t a process or a step by step lab manual. It also reminds me, I am by far not the expert in this field as I feel like we are all striving to better. But I simply remind myself what the ultimate goal of this life is: It is to get to heaven and take as many people along the way with us. So hold we each other accountable, we try our very best and follow what we hear the spirit saying to us in our conscience.

When I fall, I am lucky enough to be reminded often by someone that we are not perfect and never will be perfect so we will fall to our human ways every so often, but that isn’t a reason to give up or use it as an excuse to keep doing what we know is wrong. It also means that we shouldn’t beat ourselves up when we fall. Just brush yourself off and keep on truckin.

So in the words of Thomas from the gospel, “Let us also go to die with him.” 

Erin McHugh's Witness--30 March 2014

In today’s Gospel Jesus the light on the world takes away the man’s blindness. While I know that none of us here today as physical blind I believe that Jesus takes away are own “blindness” toward the world and gives us light. By taking away this “blindness” we are able to see the world and others through the eyes of God and then be that light for others. I know for me it was not until I read the readings for today that I realized that I have been “blind” to many people and social issues happening in the world around me and it wasn’t until God “healed” me that I could see them.

All of my life I have always been doing service in my community to help those in need. In middle school I tutored and played with the kids at a child care center for underprivileged families who couldn’t afford childcare. At Christmas time my family would adopt a refugee family and welcome them to the US providing them with some simple basic needs. Then in high school I went on multiple mission trips to Appalachia to do home repair for the families who couldn’t afford. While I have always enjoyed doing all this service it hasn’t until a came to college or really even this year that I found my true calling and passion for service. I hate to admit this but I feel like before this year I had did service out of pity, feeling bad that I had so much and kind of looked down on them. When in reality just because they did not have a nice house or clothes didn’t mean they were any less worthy of love and happiness than me.

 Now that God has opened my eyes to their love I find so much more joy in serving the needs of my community than I ever have before. I do not see this people for their wrinkly old clothes, or run down houses now I see them as children of God with the light of Christ dwelling inside of each of them. Today I can say that because of the light I received from Christ I now have a strong passion for service and heart for the poor. I no longer look down on the people I serve, but rather see through as any of person who deserves just as much in live as I do. Service to me is no longer something I feel like I have to do it is now something love doing and feel called to do for the rest of my life.

I have especially found this joy every 1st Saturday of the month when I get to go volunteer at the food pantry. It brings me great happiness to open the doors of the food pantry and let everyone in to provide the basic need of food. I love working the front desk and welcoming each of them as they come in. I especially enjoy it when I recognize one of them from the previous month and then strike up a conservation seeing how they had been. These people are full of so much joy and grateful hearts towards everything that is contagious. Whenever I leave the food pantry or any service project of that matter, I feel so blessed and hope that my heart doesn’t explode from all the happiness and joy that I had just received. Service to me is a two-way street that touches the hearts and lives of everyone involved forever.

While I’m no where near perfect and still often find myself looking down on others or focusing on their physical appearances. I simply pray to God asking for His grace to allow me to see everything through His eyes. I’m thankful for the experiences God has given me and his love and forgiveness when I do judge others So I hope that each of you can look at the world and others through God’s eyes, and to live as children of light because you never know what miracle God will perform in your life.

Emma Sprague's Witness, Ash Wednesday

Good Afternoon, my name is Emma Sprague, I am a Junior in the Physician Assistant program, and am currently the President of the BCC. Well, I hope that everyone here took an extra three hours on Facebook, ate a dozen extra cookies, and said one massive prayer last night...because today marks the beginning of a very long journey. Many of us are anxiously wondering how it is we are supposed to live 40, yes I did say 40, days without some material thing, that we believe we simply cannot live without. However, while we sit here debating on what it is we are going to give up, and how exactly we are going to remain sane, don't you think there is a bigger picture to our Lenten "sacrifice"? How often is it a common discussion about what we are giving up, and a secret desire to be applauded for our ability to abstain from the item during Lent. However, this is the exact opposite of what we hear in today's Gospel. Jesus says to his disciples: “Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them." Jesus challenges his disciples, to give alms, pray and fast in secret. And today, this is the same challenge that I give to all of us. As I have gotten older, I have noticed a personal shift in my actions during Lent. As a young child, I would give up the typical things: junk food, fighting with my brother, watching TV, etc. However, since coming to college, I have noticed a dwindling amount of junk food in my possession due to having a low income, my brother is obviously not around to argue with, and finding time to watch TV comes in dead last when scheduling my days. Noting all of this, I decided my Freshman year, and have done so every year since, to give up a small amount of time each day to sit in silence. No phone, no internet, no school work, no talking...just simply listening to what God wants me to hear. After the silence is over, I say a prayer of thanksgiving, reconciliation, and petitions. Through doing this, I have noticed a sense of enjoyment instead of stress, and peace instead of anxiety, throughout the Lenten season. This sense of enjoyment and peace comes from building and strengthening my relationship with the Lord each day, as He walks by my side each day during this 40 day journey to Easter. Instead of focusing on what others are observing and thinking about our actions during this Lenten season, let us instead focus on what our God is thinking. Let us grow in our faith and in our relationship, through listening to what God is trying to tell us. Let us give alms, pray, and fast in secret, for the Lord will truly repay us in secret.

Matt Blandford's Witness, 2 March 2014

So I’ve gone almost three years here in the BCC, and up until now I have managed to escape giving the witness for Mass. I say “escape” because it has very much been a conscious avoidance of the subject whenever it gets brought up or whenever Kaitlyn would send out the emails asking for people to volunteer. It wasn’t until Emma directly emailed me asking me to write one that I finally decided, “Well, I guess it’s about time I stop hiding.” So here I am. For those who know how outspoken I am, it may come as a surprise that I would be so hesitant to give witness. The truth is that my faith is an aspect of my life that I have had a rather up-and-down relationship with for quite some time now. Growing up as the son of a religion teacher and eventual permanent deacon, let me tell you—I know most Church teachings and history like the back of my hand. Yet when it came to actually making my faith personal—actually making it mine—I falter. A lot. Part of it is due to a pride that makes it difficult for me to admit when I struggle. Part of it is due to an overly logic-based mind that gets too wrapped up in the facts and uses that as validation that, yeah, I’ve totally got a handle on this whole Catholic thing. Part of it is embarrassment being around all these wonderful people on Leadership Team who seem to have their faith so much more personally-built than I do. But the biggest part of it is that in my mind, I simply don’t have time. Ah, yes: time. How it eludes me. Between 4 straight semesters of 20 official credit hours (but often a couple more than that), a slew of organizations and other responsibilities, and, oh yeah, I should probably save time for my girlfriends and friends, it adds up to very little free time whatsoever. Unfortunately, what tends to get cast aside the most is my spiritual relationship with God. We always hear the prayers about relying on God (I know in high school I heard the prayer about “I had so much to accomplish/ That I had to take time to pray” at least 50 times), yet for me at least, this always felt nearly impossible. Even when I had down time, my mind was always running through 5 different things at once so I couldn’t concentrate on prayer even when I tried. Amid all the stress and worries of the world, I felt—and often still feel—a slave to my own commitments. Yet as Jesus pointed out in today’s Gospel, that’s not what God wants. Jesus uses the example of serving God and serving money, but it’s not just money He wants to warn us about—it’s everything. Money, high grades, popularity, relationships, hobbies, organizations—they all can be our masters. Now, that’s not to say that we shouldn’t do those things; very few of us are called to stay in our room and do nothing but pray 24/7. But amid all of the running around today, we need to take that time to stop, take a deep breath, and give God a wazzup. The first time I realized that I was struggling to make my faith personal and not an obligation was the summer after freshman year of high school. I was at ND Vision, a weeklong retreat at Notre Dame, and over the week, I had started to realize how little time I was devoting to God in my life. When it came for Reconciliation, I started with the usual list that I’m sure every priest hears. Then I paused, and before I knew it, a rush of words flew out of my mouth of how I had no idea what to do, but I had just suddenly realized that my faith wasn’t where I should be. It was the first and only time I have ever cried during Reconciliation. When I finished, I looked up embarrassed, to see the priest softly smiling. I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said, “Never forget: God wants to talk to you. And He’s ready to sit down and talk whenever you’re ready.” It was so simple, but it was exactly true, and exactly what I needed. I wish that I could say that since that moment, I’ve changed it around and now pray every day and am a model Catholic, but that’s just not true. I can honestly admit that if it wasn’t for the choir, I would probably barely be participating in my faith above the bare minimum, and I certainly wouldn’t be on Leadership Team. What I do know, however, is this: no matter what, no matter how often I forget or how lazy I become, no matter how much I feel that I just don’t have time and that it’s too late to turn things around, I know that God’s waiting. He doesn’t want to be just our master; He wants to be our friend.

Student Witness: Mary Allgier

Hello, I’m Mary Allgier. I’m a senior Electronic Journalism and Spanish Double major, Strat Comm minor. The first two readings today talk a lot about trust. If you trust in God, you too shall live. Trusting God. I asked myself if I trusted God, and of course at first I thought, “Of course I trust God completely!” Then I really thought about it. I’ve always been Captain Anxiety. I know I’ll find a job and make a life for myself after I graduate. I trust with prayer and work, I’ll get to where God wants me to be. But I’m a very “in the now” person. I have a busy life between a full time internship and school stuff… and I’m training for a half marathon in between. I always want to know what I’m doing next and feel lost when I don’t know the next step. If you’re a senior, or even a junior thinking about next year or graduating early, you can probably relate. All your friends are getting job offers, you’re scared that maybe you didn’t pick the right career, and while you’re thinking “Job, job, job,” your relatives want to know when you plan on getting married! And all this time I keep trying to remember, “Trust God. Trust God.” I found a great quote online as I was writing this. It was from a blog called Tipsy Dad… but I liked it. “I've come to realize that trusting in God means you have to trust Him even in the impossible situations…You cannot trust when you're comfortable. It is only when we are uncomfortable, when you are in impossible situations that we can really truly demonstrate our trust in God. It is only then when we can truly let go and let God...and when we do, how awesome is the peace that follows. I realized that if I truly trust God, my senior fears are kind of silly. They’re small things I’ll (hopefully) laugh about in a year or two. So I’m going to listen to the tipsy dad: let go and let God.

An Unexpected Lesson

An unexpected lesson
By Alison Oen, BCC Leadership Team

The school year had ended but apparently God still wanted to teach me a lesson.

It was the first day in the middle of my doing my hours for IPPE-Introduction to Pharmacy Practice Experience when I heard a voice I recognized. I was the voice of Valerie, a fellow peer in my pharmacy class. Little did I know that she worked part time at this Walgreens store. My first impression upon meeting her last fall was highly judgmental. I had immediately written Valerie off as someone who I would never be able to connect with, to learn from or to work with. I had felt that our personalities were too different. I admit I was panicked when I heard her voice and my stomach sank. I was worried my experience was going to turn into a disaster but it turned out better with her. Valerie was so nice to me. I could ask her a question without her judging me or telling me I should know that by now. She stood at one of the cash registers with me and explained how to look up certain medications, how to find out if a patient’s medication was ready, how to enter a new prescription into the system, and even how to enter a new patient profile. She is one of the most upbeat and energetic people I know, a lot of people would call her “perky” but I like her enthusiasm and it has made the long hours more bearable. I will definitely miss her enthusiasm when she starts her own IPPE hours at another store this coming week. I guess the old saying is true “never judge a book by its cover.” I believe God tried to teach me a lesson on judging others before I even know them. I hope that I can continue to learn more from her and work more with her in the coming school years we have together at Butler.

Memories from Appalachia and Seeing God

by Kaitlyn Willy
Chaplain's Apprentice

Looking out my bedroom window and seeing snow all over the place, working from home because the road still has snow on it and the white flakes continue to fall en masse from the sky, it’s hard to believe that last week (really, I guess two weeks ago) was Spring Break or that this Sunday is Easter.

We’ve been on a bit of a hiatus here at the BCC Blog because, frankly, everyone is busy at this time in the semester. It’s the time of the semester when the reality of finals, only five weeks away now, hits and everyone is scrambling around trying to get the work done that they have been slacking on since before Spring Break. I remember that time in college vividly. It was when I stopped eating real food, stopped sleeping more than a couple hours a night, and lived off only tea and midnight runs to Whataburger (which hardly constitutes as real food) with my friends who, wanting to escape the pressures of papers, exams, theses, and work, called me and begged for a ride, for a break, for quality time with someone other than Socrates or Augustine… or, during my last semester, Evelyn Waugh.

I’ve been thinking about my own college days a lot lately. There are a lot of reasons—missing friends, seeing their statuses on facebook talking about their own new lives, feeling far away from home—but I think the main reason is that while the rest of you were at home resting, hanging out on a beach somewhere, attending a show on Broadway in New York, or whatever you were doing over Spring Break, I took a group of 8 amazing Butler students to Nazareth Farm, which is the sister farm of Bethlehem Farm, where I first really felt my call to ministry.

As a college junior (I was a bit of a pain in the neck, to be honest), I arrived in West Virginia not knowing why I was there, what I was going to do (other than farm, which was something I did know how to do), or who I was going to meet. Like many of the most important events in my life, I had chosen to go on the University of Dallas’ Alternative Spring Break program without having a clear idea of why. I just ended up going. I worked for campus ministry (is anyone surprised?) and was friends with the graduate student Campus Minister who was leading the trip. He had been talking about it a lot, I didn’t have money to do anything else (at UD, campus ministry had the ability to fund the trip completely because we had an awesome church on campus with parishioners who gave generous donations and supported our many fund raisers), and it just felt right. It was a big commitment, we had meetings almost every week leading up to the trip and it was a struggle to fit everything in.

Finally, after a great deal of preparation and shopping around for work boots, a rain jacket, and all the other things I would need for this week of lots of work and no showering, I climbed into the 12 passenger van that we would be in for almost two days before getting to West Virginia (friends, Dallas is a LOT farther from WV than Indianapolis is). After listening to John Denver’s “Country Roads” several times (which is actually about the Western part of VA, not WV), we drove down a long road on the side of a mountain and then up a (seemingly) longer driveway and finally saw a sign that read “welcome home.” I got out of the van (which by that point, we lovingly called the “vomit comet” after one of my friends got sick only a couple hours into the trip) and was attacked by a whole bunch of people giving me hugs.

Now, twenty-one year old Kaitlyn differed from twenty-four year old Kaitlyn in many ways, and one of them was that I honestly hated hugs, except for from about 10 select people, four of whom were my parents and my two dogs (seriously). So, yeah, I had been at the farm for about two seconds and I was already totally out of my comfort zone. Fortunately, things got better (but also more intense) pretty quick.

Over the next five days, God took the opportunity to mold and shape me but also to remind me of who I was. I had lost a lot of myself in going to college because UD (while a great place that I love) was the sort of place that made you change yourself to fit in. Very few people enjoyed being themselves there, and they were usually disliked by the majority of students on campus. The Catholic University for Independent Thinkers was , ironically, never that big on individuality. I was the only farm girl in my group of city kids and, needing to fit into their world, I had lost a lot of my own culture. At this point in my college career, only four of my friends had ever heard me speaking in my accent, and then only because they had gone home with me or had been around me when I was so tired I couldn’t control it. So when I found myself at Bethlehem Farm, surrounded by people who reminded me more of home than anything else, it was a bit of a shock. While my friends struggled with a totally new culture, I struggled with my own identity and fought back memories from childhood and tears.

The farm house reminded me of my grandmother’s house, an elderly man whose house I worked on reminded me of my uncle and my dad, while his wife reminded me of my grandmother. They spoke with the same accent that I had grown up with in the Ozarks and they lived a lifestyle that reminded me of the people I had known from childhood. On community night, when members of the community came over for dinner, a couple older men brought banjos and guitars and I sat and listened, remembering the many, many nights of sitting and listening to my grandfather play the same instruments. When we went to a local protestant church for their worship service, while my friends were complaining about how weird the gospel music was or how uncomfortable it was to be in a protestant church, I was having flashbacks to my cousins’ gospel quartet and listening to them play at their church when I was younger. These people sang the same songs and, to my friends’ surprise, I found myself singing along.

All in all, the trip to Bethlehem Farm helped me to remember who I was in the midst of both the identity crisis that was college and the haze that celiac’s was causing— the damage that disease was wreaking on my body and soul. My time at Beth Farm is probably the clearest memory from the entire of my junior year, and I imagine it’s partly because even though I was still eating gluten, I was eating a lot of natural food without preservatives. My time at Bethlehem Farm also shaped me as I was introduced to new knowledge about the earth and the environment and when I got back to UD, the immediate impression of my roommate and best friend, Rebecca, was that I was becoming even more of a hippie than I was before, something she found amusing as long as it didn’t affect her directly (which, in the long run, it definitely did).

In the four years since, I have not returned to Bethlehem Farm, but I have been to Nazareth Farm twice and each time I have been reminded of the huge importance that first trip played in my life. It is probably true that I wouldn’t have ended up in Echo or working at Butler, had it not been for that trip and the influence it had on me. But I would also just simply not be me. And in each trip to Nazareth Farm, I have found more of myself hiding in the deep and dark corners of my soul, dying to get out and see the sun. And those little bits have found freedom there, in a place so drastically different from my everyday life and yet, not so different, and perhaps more like home than anything else I have experienced.

This year’s trip to Naz Farm was no exception. While the snow fell down on us, making our work harder (because snow mixed with warm soil creates mud, and mud makes dirty work like underpinning a trailer even dirtier), and while my girls shivered out in the barn and later moved into the common room because the heater in the barn was broken, I was being reminded of who I am, what is important to me, and what I believe. God was challenging me, reminding me of where I have failed, but also consoling me, inviting me into deeper communion with him. As any of the eight students who went with me can attest, it was a busy week, packed with a lot of events, a lot of emotion, and a lot of God. There are so many stories I could tell you (like about the Mountain Justice seminar we went to or about how I accidentally glutenized myself and how very unpleasant I can be when I’m sick), but I’ve already taken up a lot of your time and so, I would like to share just one story with you, about the Eucharist.

At Nazareth Farm, as I’m sure you would expect from any Catholic organization, we have a couple opportunities for a Eucharistic Celebration (Communion Service). Of course, my celiac’s prevents me from being able to consume a normal consecrated host and so, because we had no priest or gluten free hosts available, I was unable to receive. Before our Communion Service at the beginning of the week, I had spoken with a staff member who I am friends with and had been reminded of Mother Theresa saying that the Christ in the Tabernacle is the same as the Christ on the street. Typically, I find communion services or Masses where I cannot receive to be a little frustrating, as the Eucharist is my very favorite part of being Catholic. This time was different. Sitting there, watching the other volunteers receive the Eucharist, I had an overwhelming feeling of consolation and I truly felt Christ’s presence in the others. It was a beautiful gift from the Holy Spirit, and I know that having this experience so early in the week shaped my experience of God through the rest of the week and continues to do so.



As we go into Holy Week, I think we all need to remember Christ’s true presence in our lives though others, through the Eucharist, and in so many other ways. I encourage you to remember to celebrate this Holy Week, even though the snow, studies, and homework have you pretty busy now. And don’t forget, the BCC will be having Easter Sunday Mass at 11 followed by Brunch in Robertson Hall. Please rsvp to me (kwilly@butler.ed) if you’re coming and let me know if you’re bringing guests.

And next year, consider going to Nazareth Farm. Every student who went this year said it was an amazing experience and many want to go again. Check out the Naz Farm pictures on facebook and keep us in mind next year!

Peace,

Kaitlyn

Lent Time

Lent time

by Mary Allgier

BCC Leadership Team

It’s almost Ash Wednesday, you know what that means? McDonald’s Filet O’ Fish returns.

Okay, yes, but it means Lent will have officially started and many of us will be giving something up.

Many choose chocolate, or some other food item. Some try to give up or limit technology or anything they think they use too much.

For me, Lent is a time to become a better person. What keeps me from God? What do I need to work on?

Last year I gave up swearing (Not afraid to admit I can be a potty mouth). It was good, but two years ago I decided to give up complaining. I realized after a day I didn’t know how to have a conversation without airing some sort of grievance. It’s too cold! It’s too early! I’m so hungry! My C-Club pizza is SOGGY (Yes. That happened).

So I tried to just put a positive spin on all my complaints.

At least I have food to eat. I have to get up early to go to school, but many people don’t get that chance. At least the snow is pretty.

And I think that’s my favorite thing I’ve ever done for Lent. I think I’ll do it again this year (along with Strawberry Pop tarts… seriously, it’s a problem) and I encourage you to join me. Instead of whining about what we don’t have or what we have to do, let’s try and focus on how blessed we are!

Here are some other idea too  http://www.examiner.com/article/ten-innovative-things-to-give-up-for-lent

A Quick Note on the Psalms

 “The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness” Part III

A Quick Note on the Psalms

by Kaitlyn Willy, Chaplain’s Apprentice

First of all, thank you to everyone who sent me supportive emails and texts after my last blog. I am still processing my grief. I appreciate continued prayers.

I wanted to talk about one more thing that happened at my retreat, a tool that I believe many of us forget about when it comes to praying through darkness: the psalms.

During my first Echo Summer, before I came to Butler, I took a class on the Psalms. Ever since, I have loved them. And really, why shouldn’t we love the psalms? They are the prayer, not only of Christians, but of our Jewish brothers and sisters as well. Jesus himself was taught and prayed the Psalms. If they’re good enough for Christ, they’re good enough for me.

Throughout the retreat, we kept coming back to the psalms. We talked about how the psalms can give words to our emotions. There are so many about so many different things. There are psalms of lament and psalms of praise. Some end happily, some are just angry all the way through. Our director of formation reminded us that when praying a psalm of lament, it’s always good to pair it with a psalm of hope. Or, you can do one that covers both. My personal favorites are 23 and 42. Then, rarely, when I’m really angry and refuse to be consoled, I go to 77.

Since the early church, it has been a tradition to sing the psalms daily. Monks used to have to memorize the psalter before they were allowed to officially join the monastery. St. Augustine says: “Singing is for the one who loves.” The Psalms were the most common songs of the early church and Augustine wrote hundreds of commentaries on them. I’m not certain, but I think that the only thing in scripture with more commentaries than the psalms is the Lord’s Prayer.

So, my invitation to you is to open up your Bible to the Psalms and give them a try. They’re good consolation in times of distress.

He waits in the Heart of Darkness

“The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness” Part II

He waits in the heart of darkness

by Kaitlyn Willy, Chaplain’s Apprentice

As I mentioned in my blog yesterday, the theme for the retreat that I just went on was “The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness.”

One of the things that occurred to me on this retreat was that if I take the beloved to be Christ, then Christ waits for me in the heart of the darkness. He doesn’t wait on the outskirts, he waits in the center of it. In order to get to him, I have to go through the dark and then he will help me through to the other side.

This revelation was truly a grace to me. My retreat director could not have chosen a better time to give me this piece of wisdom. I need it right now. I woke up this morning to find out that one of my dearest friends from high school had passed away. I haven’t processed the emotions from this yet; it’s only been a couple hours since I found out and right now, I am just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t know yet how I feel, other than the obvious answer of sadness. I don’t know what I’m going to do, or how I am going to find consolation in this. What I do know, I know from experience. The sadness I feel now is nothing compared to the darkness that I might face in the next few days as I slowly come to know the reality of Jessica’s death. Thanks to this retreat, I also know this: I cannot sit on the outskirts of grief and avoid dealing with my emotions if I expect Christ to be with me. He is waiting for me in the heart of that darkness, and I will have to go there to find him. As much as I would like to just bury myself in my work and avoid thinking about it, I can’t. I have to go there.

During the retreat, it hit me that this is like the Paschal mystery. When we’re on the outskirts of the dark, it’s like Holy Thursday in the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s like when the soldiers came and took Christ. We’re scared, we’re sad, we’re confused. Darkness is threatening to overcome us. We want to run, like Peter ran when he denied knowing Christ. But the thing is, we can’t run if we want to get to the Resurrection. Only through the Passion can we come to the Resurrection.

In one of the texts I’m reading for comps (Athanasius’ On the  Incarnation) I was struck by a simple line, something that any kindergartener would think was obvious. But this statement must not have been too obvious, because Athanasius bothered to say it and, let’s be honest, paper and ink was not cheap back then (really, papyrus and ink). The line was this: “Death must precede resurrection.”

I think this is a fact that we all too often want to overlook. I would like the resurrection without the passion, thank you very much. I’ve seen a crucifix. The passion doesn’t look too fun. I would like to avoid that part, just like I would like to avoid recognizing the reality of grief. But consolation cannot come from avoidance. That’s not healthy. We have to go into the heart of darkness, where Christ, the Beloved, is waiting. He will bring us out the other side.

So, friends, have hope. Do not be afraid to know the dark. Instead, fear the unlived life—the one that is avoided by living in fear. And know that for every Good Friday, there is always an Easter Sunday. As my favorite poet, Wendell Berry, says: “Practice Resurrection.”

Please pray for Jessica and her family and friends. And friends, please know that whenever you feel alone in the darkness, Fr. Jeff and I are here and we will always be willing to sit with you and be with you. You are never alone.

The Joy of Waiting

The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness, Retreat Reflections part 1:

“The Joy of Waiting”

Kaitlyn Willy, Chaplain’s Apprentice

Last week, as many of you know, I was away on retreat for five days. It was a retreat with Echo (my graduate program) and in packing and preparing for the retreat, I was much more focused on the idea that I would soon see my friends than I was on spending five days with Christ. I am embarrassed, as a campus minister, to admit that. Yet, as I have spoken with my students so many times, friendship is in itself a form of prayer. Everyone in Echo is close, and it had been since August that I had seen my fellow Echo Apprentices, my dear friends. Perhaps it is fitting, given my attitude, that when my community (Pat, Amy, and Joe) was almost all the way to the retreat center, a four-hour drive for us, we started receiving text messages from our friends that their flight into South Bend was delayed.

We arrived at the retreat center thinking that perhaps our friends would be there later that night. As time passed and the plane was still not leaving, we all realized it was not going to happen. Instead, my community would wait with the Associate Director of Echo, Luke, and hang out at the retreat center and the retreat would start the next afternoon, when our friends would finally arrive. While twenty other Echo apprentices were stuck in the airport for almost an entire day (and later, stuck at a shabby hotel where Delta had put them up), my community and I were forced to entertain ourselves. Patrick, Amy, and I played soccer in the dining hall (or, more accurately, half-heartedly kicked the soccer ball back and forth) for an hour and then, joined by Joe and Luke, we ate pizza as a community. We were not in the highest spirits—we were waiting.

After dinner, we managed to raise our spirits a little. I confessed I had never played pool, so the men decided I needed to learn. Patrick and Luke patiently taught me. While I was frustrated at first, they coaxed me into having fun. We managed to enjoy ourselves and lose track of the time amid our laughter at my epically poor pool skills—all the while anticipating our friends’ arrival the next day. We tried to come up with stories to tell them when they arrived and, through the glory of technology, kept up with where they were and what they were up to, even though we were still apart.

It is interesting, given this incident at the beginning, that the theme chosen for our retreat was “The Beloved Waiting in the Heart of Darkness.” We spent a lot of time waiting that first night, waiting to hear if our friends would come. Once we knew they weren’t, we were waiting for the morning when they would be there and the retreat could begin in earnest. All the while, we reminded ourselves that we were not alone—we could wait together and in our companionship, find consolation for missing our dear friends.

I think that one of the great things about this retreat theme was that it was ambiguous—we weren’t really sure what or who the beloved is. Perhaps I am the beloved one, the beloved of God who is waiting amidst the darkness of my life—waiting for God, waiting for love, for hope, for light. Perhaps Christ himself is the beloved and he waits for me in the darkness. Or, perhaps it is the waiting itself that is beloved.

During one of the talks during the retreat, the last of these was suggested by our formation director, Jan. What if it is the waiting itself that is beloved? She told us a story she had heard about a grandmother. This grandmother was well loved by her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. On one of her birthdays, they threw her a surprise party. When the party came around and the grandmother walked in and they surprised her, she was disappointed. She asked them, “How could you rob me of the joy of anticipating being with you?”

The joy of anticipation… how beautiful is that? But you know, thinking about it, it is true. I know that before my students all come back at the beginning of the semester, when I’m sitting in my office, organizing for the upcoming events, I anticipate their arrival. And it’s a joy to anticipate. I know that soon, I will be busy and in the thick of it. At the beginning, I spend some time just anticipating, preparing, and readying myself… and, hopefully, doing so with love. Anticipating is part of the loving.

My community and I experienced this very clearly as we were anticipating our friends at the retreat center. When they arrived, the vans pulled up and they piled out. We raced out to the cars and hugged each of them almost before they were out of the car. And as we waited for the last two vans, I know that the anticipation was growing in my heart. My best girlfriend from my senior year of college, Meg, was in the last van to arrive. As much as I LOVED hugging each of my other 19 friends, I know that I kept anticipating her arrival even more after the others were there. Having friends like Matt, Sarah, Annie, and Kathy in my arms made me want to hug Meg all the more. The promise that she would arrive soon took away any anxiety of the waiting. The waiting was truly beloved, and it made the moment of reunion that much more beautiful. Had Meg arrived first, I might have lost track of that moment, or, worse, I might have been denied a moment of reunion with my other friends. Instead, the waiting was beloved and beautiful.

Perhaps this revelation for me, the beauty and beloved quality of waiting, should have come about before… like, at Advent, for example. I mean, it is the season of waiting ( and, as I have said before, my favorite liturgical season). Advent is dark—literally, as the days grow shorter; and figuratively, as many people face seasonal depression or sadness related to loss experienced during the holidays or simply from being alone. But even now, in ordinary time, we might face waiting. I wait anxiously for a final decision to be made about my plans for next year. Seniors wait for jobs or acceptance to grad school. Many sophomores wait for acceptance to the Pharmacy program. We are all waiting for something.

As for the anxiety associated with waiting, I found consolation in some of the reading we did on retreat. Thomas Merton wrote: “On all sides I am confronted by questions I cannot answer because the time for answering them has not yet come.” (from The Fire Watch)

We have to trust that God’s silence is not because He doesn’t know the answer or, an even worse thought, because He doesn’t care. It is simply because the time for answering has not yet come. There can be any number of reasons for this. In my experience, it is often because I am not yet the person who God intends to give an answer to.

My invitation for today is to remember that even in the heart of darkness, the waiting can be beloved. Let the joy of anticipation fill you. Trust in the Lord, do not be anxious. The time for answering will come. For now, we wait in joyful hope.

A Reminder of Good

A Reminder of Good

By Lauren Stark, BCC Leadership Team

(Written December 20)

It has been an emotional week for the nation. The Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting has impacted many Americans. The photos. The videos. The stories. In the midst of this tragedy, it’s hard to see God. It’s hard to find the good in the world that He promises. But on Monday, I caught a glimpse of it.

I met one of my closest Butler friends, Brett, in Chicago for a day of holiday fun. We went ice skating and window shopping, reminiscing about old memories and planning for future ones. Finally, we said our goodbyes, and I sat down on my train for the ride home. That’s when I realized my wallet was missing.

I panicked when I realized that I had left it on the bus I took to the train station. That wallet held everything—my license, car keys, cash, credit card. I was stuck in the city. On the verge of tears, I called home. My dad said he would call the bus company. Then I called Brett, who, without a second of hesitation, walked the five blocks to come wait with me and gave me money to buy another train ticket.

I have heard so many times of people whose wallets get stolen. And mine was just sitting there, free for the taking. That’s when I started crying. It was just a few material things—some paper and plastic and fabric—but I felt so helpless and lost.

Then I got the phone call from home. A man had found my wallet and had it at his apartment for me whenever I could get there to pick it up.

Tears kept flowing, and this time, they were out of pure relief.

By this point, my dad was already on the highway coming to pick me up, assuming as I had that the wallet was gone for good. When I told him the news, all he could say was “Wow.”

Two hours after I first realized the wallet was gone, I stood in the courtyard of a downtown apartment complex, waiting for this Mr. Napier who had my wallet. As soon as he walked out, I started crying again, getting out a few “thank you’s” amidst the tears.

My dad tried to give him some money, but the man refused. He said to me, “I don’t need any money. Why don’t you just give an extra five to your church this weekend?”

Tears seemed to be the theme of the day because as I sat down in my dad’s car for the ride home, my wallet sitting safely in my pocket again, I was crying again. Only this time, they were tears of sheer joy.

Now, I have heard the story of the Good Samaritan dozens of times. But that day, it finally made sense. There are people in this world who will do uncommon good, who will go out of their way to do what is right. Mr. Napier is my Good Samaritan.

As we hit the expressway, my dad turned to me and said, “Well, this goes to show that there are still good people in the world.”

Such true words. We see so much horror and tragedy all around us that the brightness and good become obscured. But God is always working to bring that good back into focus. I have no doubt that God put Mr. Napier on that bus, in that seat, to find my wallet. God gave me a model of goodness, a stranger who could show me the light.

And this year,  I’ll say a special prayer of blessing for that stranger…and a special prayer of thanks to God, for always giving me a light to hold on to.

Advent: Waiting and Preparing

by Kaitlyn Willy, BCC Chaplain’s Apprentice

I’ve been trying to find time to write since I got back from break, but like everyone at Butler, the end of the semester has me swamped. Between all the work I have to do, my community commitments, studying, and trying to finish my 100 book challenge by December 31, I really don’t have time to do much, including Advent. So, I took it as a sign from God at 2:30pm today when I sat down and finally looked at the Advent calendar on busted halo and it gave me this challenge: “Sit down today and finally begin that long-term project you’ve been meaning to start or pick it up again if you’ve stopped working on it.”  (By the way, you should totally check out the calendar! http://bustedhalo.com/features/advent-calendar-2012)

Okay, God, I’ll write the blog article.

Advent. I love Advent. And by that I mean I L-O-V-E Advent. It’s my favorite liturgical season. I get really excited every year on the first Sunday of Advent. We get to light the candles. We get to start a new liturgical year, start a new year in the lectionary. I get to wear LOTS of purple. Advent is THE BEST. My love for Advent is a little ironic; since it’s the season of waiting and waiting might be my single least favorite activity. In spite of my love for this season of lights, I’m not the best at “doing” Advent, at least not from a traditional perspective. I don’t have a Jesse tree in my home. I only rarely remember to open the door on my advent calendar and read the reading for the day (apparently most of you have advent calendars with chocolate? I guess then I’d remember… instead, mine has scripture). We’re four days into the season and I haven’t read a single page of my Advent prayer book for the year because it’s at home and I’m at work and rarely remember to bring it in or to read it at home—and I sincerely doubt I will get much better at remembering. Despite all of that, it’s still my favorite season.

Advent is a season of waiting, yes. But, look at what we’re waiting for! At Advent, we remind ourselves that not only are we soon to celebrate the birthday of our Savior, Christmas, but also that we are anticipating, every moment and every day, the second coming of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Is that exciting, or what?

This week, I had a great experience with the BCC where we invited other faith groups to come for an Advent Information session. Our friends from Hillel who came asked us what this second coming thing was anyways, and we had the opportunity to explain it, or at least to try to explain what we believe about it. As I reminded the BCC students, the idea of the Second Coming is not something to meet with fear, but rather with joy. Christ is coming!! ALLELUIA!! He is coming to take away the things that come between us, to let us be as we were meant to be.

I recently read the book Perelandra by C.S. Lewis. If you haven’t read the space trilogy, you should. Something that Lewis said in this book really struck me and is appropriate to think about as we are experiencing Advent. In Perelandra, the main character, Ransom, is having a conversation with the Queen and King of an unfallen world (aka, Adam and Eve, only an Adam and Eve who withstood the serpent’s temptations and did not give in). They are discussing what we call the end of time. Ransom tries to explain that because the world will change drastically when Christ comes again, we believe it will be the end of the world. Instead of agreeing, the Queen says that it is really the beginning. If we believe that we are a fallen world, that this is not how the world was meant to be, and that when Christ comes the world will be as it was meant to be, then we have to accept that in preparing for Christ’s coming, for the coming of the kingdom, we are not preparing for an end, but rather a new beginning. While we certainly need to take a good look at ourselves and address our sinfulness and repent, the thought of the new beginning should bring us joy and consolation, not fear.

So, Advent is about preparing to welcome Christ into our hearts and preparing for the second coming—big tasks, for sure, but exciting. The next question that our Hillel friends asked us was how do we do this?

Advent is three dimensional, and the part we’ve talked about above covers only two of the dimensions. The third dimension is recognizing that we not only welcome Christ into our hearts and await the second coming, but that to do so and prepare, we must greet Christ in every person we encounter. Every person we meet has a divine soul and is, on some level, a divine being. We are all made in God’s image and likeness. C.S. Lewis says something of this as well:

“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all of our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - These are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.” – C.S. Lewis in The Weight of Glory

And if we understand this, that these immortal souls who we meet every day are really so extraordinary, then how we treat them must by necessity change from how we act now. In his Rule (Chapter 53—Thanks, Pat, for sharing this), St. Benedict says this of greetings guests:

Let all guests who arrive be received like Christ, for He is going to say, "I came as a guest, and you received Me" (Matt. 25:35). And to all let due honor be shown, especially to the domestics of the faith and to pilgrims.

As soon as a guest is announced, therefore, let the Superior or the brethren meet him

with all charitable service. And first of all let them pray together,and then exchange the kiss of peace. For the kiss of peace should not be offered until after the prayers have been said, on account of the devil's deceptions.

In the salutation of all guests, whether arriving or departing, let all humility be shown. Let the head be bowed or the whole body prostrated on the ground in adoration of Christ, who indeed is received in their persons.

After the guests have been received and taken to prayer, let the Superior or someone appointed by him sit with them. Let the divine law be read before the guest for his edification, and then let all kindness be shown him. The Superior shall break his fast for the sake of a guest, unless it happens to be a principal fast day which may not be violated. The brethren, however, shall observe the customary fasts.

Let the Abbot give the guests water for their hands; and let both Abbot and community wash the feet of all guests. After the washing of the feet let them say this verse: "We have received Your mercy, O God, in the midst of Your temple" (Ps.47[48]:10).

In the reception of the poor and of pilgrims the greatest care and solicitude should be shown, because it is especially in them that Christ is received; for as far as the rich are concerned, the very fear which they inspire wins respect for them.

Now, I know that I cannot kiss or wash the feet of every guest who comes into my house (or every student that comes into my office)—if for no other reason, because they (and, probably, I) would feel very uncomfortable with it. Yet, as I am reminded by Lewis and St. Benedict, I often fail to do more than look up from my work or cooking or book when someone enters my office or my home. I greet them half-heartedly, then, unless something more is needed from me, I go back to my work.

Is that really a way to welcome a human being, made in the image and likeness of God, an immortal soul?

Advent is really a time when we try to remember this in a special way. It is not that we aren’t always supposed to love our neighbor—obviously, that is part of our daily life as Christians, even outside of Advent. The thing about Advent is that it is a reminder of how we should act, how we should love. As I said in my last post, the spirit of Christmas is love. If Advent is the preparation for Christmas and the spirit of Christmas is love, then Advent is a time to practice love—not only for our friends, but for strangers; not only for strangers, but our families and neighbors we don’t like as well as others.

So, during this wonderful season of Advent, I invite you to stand back and look at those around you. Remember Lewis’s reflections and St. Benedict’s Rule. As you wait to welcome Christ into the world at Christmas, lovingly welcome these humans made in the image of Christ into your life. I promise you, these preparations will it make Christmas mean so much more when the waiting is over and we welcome Christ in on December 25.

On Thanksgiving and Delight

Written by Kaitlyn Willy
BCC Chaplain's Apprentice
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I cannot believe it is November! November is a crazy month in college, I think. We just celebrated Halloween (with a super awesome Confused Holiday party—check out the BCC Facebook page for pictures) and now we’re getting ready for Thanksgiving Break.

I love Thanksgiving. It’s not about the food—with celiac, most of my family’s food choices make me sick—but rather, it’s about seeing my family for the first time in a long time, some of them for the first time since Christmas.

The worst thing about being so far from home in college, and now as a college grad, has always been what I am missing at home. I have baby cousins whose ages span from one year to six years. I have missed more of the important moments of their childhoods than I can bear. The only thing that really makes it bearable is the time I get to spend with them at the holidays. 

Last week, as I was thinking about how close Thanksgiving was, I kept thinking about these beautiful babies and how I couldn’t wait to see and hug each one. These cousins, really the sons and daughters of my cousins, Bailey, Trustin, Westin, Colton and Jarret Wayne are pretty much the highlight of every holiday (and the cause of much ruckus and chaos that it wouldn’t be a holiday without). Food is nice, presents are great, but these beautiful kids and the energy and love I get from them are at the top of my list when I think about what I’m thankful for at Thanksgiving; them and their mommies and daddies, their grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles who have loved me from the moment that I was born. I come from a big, crazy, hillbilly family in the Missouri Ozarks that makes the family in My Big Fat Greek Wedding look tame. Both sides of my family live in the same town and together, we make up about half of Rolla (or at least, that’s how it seems). Words are inadequate to express how much I love them and how hard it is to be so far away.

Just as I was beginning to look forward to this Thanksgiving and getting to see my family, I found out that one of these precious little ones, Jarret, was sick. Jarret is my cousin Travis’ son and has always been the one who was more likely to be sick. This time, he had had an emergency appendectomy (extremely rare for a five year old) that caused an infection. They have had to do two more surgeries (one major, one minor) since and Jarret is still in the hospital. Every day, I wait for a text message from my aunt or a phone call from my mother to see how he is doing. I am scared at how sick he seems to be and bothered that I’m not there to do anything (as if I could do anything anyway). I believe with all my heart that with prayers and love, he will be okay. But I can’t help but think about how this experience reminds me of my junior year.

As many of you know, I spent the second semester of my sophomore year in Rome. While I was there, two of my cousins passed away, one from cancer and another from a blood clot. The week I got back, another cousin died, this time in a car accident. It was a horrible, difficult, painful year for our family and when my cousin, Travis, was in a serious car accident five days before the start of my junior year, I wasn’t sure how to keep moving. It felt like I was trying to move under water, everything was sluggish, everything was slow. Even though Trav and I have never been extremely close, I couldn’t imagine my life without his snarky personality or beautiful smile or wonderful laugh. For several months, I started my day by checking facebook to see what updates his mom or sisters had posted, called my Mom to check in, texted my aunts. It was not until Thanksgiving that I got to see him, safe, alive, and getting healthier every day. That Thanksgiving, even in light of the losses we had suffered, we truly had a reason to be thankful.

 Travis and Jarret Wayne (I think JW is two in this picture), my two miracles!

I believe with my whole heart that Travis recovered as a result of the numerous prayers that were being offered for him. Our whole hometown seemed to rise up and embrace our family with love and support and give their prayers. My university community and the high school students I worked with prayed for us, my priest offered many masses for Travis, and friends would sit with me and pray and hold me and let me cry. That’s what healed Travis, and I believe that with those same prayers, Jarret will be okay, too.

Of course, now I have even more desire to be home with my family this Thanksgiving. I want to support my cousin Chris, Jarret’s grandma, who has spent far too much time in the hospital as a caregiver these last few years. I want to be able to show my love for this family whose love gives me life. And I want to be able to be there, to look at and count my blessings, and to thank God for the gifts He has given me.

As Thanksgiving approaches, we talk a lot about what we are thankful for, perhaps more often than we do all the rest of the year combined. But I want to introduce a new word to you, a word that I have been meditating on a lot lately: delight. Delight is something that wells up inside you, that brings you joy even when there is also sadness.

Take delight in those you love. Something I enjoy immensely is to stand apart for a moment and look at a group of people whom I love deeply and just delight in this gift of having them, having them so near to me, being given the opportunity to love them. When I go home next week, I will spend a lot of time delighting. I will delight in holding Audrey Cecilia, the two-month-old daughter of one of my best friends who I haven’t gotten to meet yet. I will delight in seeing Travis healthy and hopefully, I can delight in Jarret being healthy too. I will delight in the little ones and all my cousins, my aunts, uncles, and my parents without whom I could not be me. In this delighting, I grow more grateful and also grow closer to the God who stands and looks at and delights in me. And I will thank God that I have this chance to be with them, that I can delight in them and love them in person, and that He has made me in His image, made me His own delight.

So, please pray for Jarret and our family and be safe as you go home to delight in your own family. Happy Thanksgiving!

Finding our Elis...

Written by Danielle Vaclavik
BCC Senior

The first reading we reflected on during the Busy Person’s Retreat was about Samuel, a student living in the temple and learning from the priest Eli.  He knew who God was supposed to be but did not know who God was personally because he lived in a time when signs from God were rare.  In the night, God called out to Samuel but when Samuel heard God, he thought it was Eli and went into Eli’s room.  Eli told him to go back to bed.  This happened three times before Eli realized what was happening.  He told Samuel the next time he heard the voice to respond “Speak, your servant is listening.” 

I started Sunday school in Kindergarten and attended all the way through Confirmation.  My mom took me to mass every weekend and to confession when I didn’t.  Like Samuel, I had been schooled in the ways of the church.  I knew who God was supposed to be, but like Samuel, we live in a world where messages from the Lord are rare and visions are quite uncommon.  For me, God was a hypothetical not a reality.

Like so many kids, college offered me the excuse and the freedom to walk away from church.  Soon Sundays were for sleeping in, not church.  For the next three years, I never regretted my decision to walk away.  I had everything I needed.  Looking back, God came to me so many times to offer me his hand.  He came through my family.  He came through my friends.  He came in the quiet of the night when I cried out wondering why I wasn’t happy when I had everything on my “checklist to success”.  He followed after me, calling my name, promising comfort and healing if I could just hear him.  But, I walked past him in the night, attributing those promises of comfort to other things.  Money. Boys. Drinking. Prestige. Yet, he did not give up.  God kept calling my name.

Last spring I studied abroad.  I arrived in Rome not knowing anyone.  I was scared but hopeful for the semester to come.  Never could I have imagined the plans God had in store for me.  God followed me to Rome.  Well actually, it would be more accurate to say he called to me all the way from Rome.  I arrived searching for the voice in my head.  I followed it all over Rome and half of Italy before it led me into a little chapel on Ash Wednesday, my first mass in over three years.  Here I met my Eli.

As my friends and I sat waiting for mass to start, a tall blonde deacon came over to ask us to help with the readings.  Flustered, I said “Yes”, while I internally thought, “I haven’t been in a church in three years and this guy wants me up on the alter?!”  Deacon Victor was an American seminary student in his last year before priesthood.  I didn’t know it at the time, but he and his good friend, Deacon Pat, would become stables in my everyday life from that day forward.  God, it seems, impatient for me to finally get the picture, had sent me not one but two Elis for my time in Rome. 

Through a chain of events that could truly have only been divine intervention, my roommate, Erica, and I agreed to attend Day 3 of the Lenten Station Churches with Victor and Pat the following day.  Station Mass is not the Stations of the Cross, but an ancient Roman tradition in which, during Lent, a mass is celebrated at a specific church each day.  Not just any 40 churches, but the same 40 churches every year since the Council of Trent.  Some of these churches were so old that they only celebrated this one mass a year.  After mass, we would look around and sometimes get to see tourist restricted areas like crypts and underground chapels. 

Without really knowing why, my roommate and I decided we would go to every 7am Station Mass we were in town for.  This was no easy commitment for a study abroad kid looking for a laid back semester in Europe.  So here I was getting up at 5am everyday to attend mass, totally out of my depth.  I clung to the little red history book they gave us detailing each church’s unique history.  I clung to it like a shield because being there for academic reasons was easier than being there for the right reasons.  Because even though I was going to mass with all these seminarians and nuns, I still felt silly.  I felt stupid for wanting to go.  I felt like a fake.

Mass was usually followed by a cappuccino and croissant at a café, which, as Lent and our friendships progressed, turned into two hour daily breakfasts where I learned about God from my Elis.  They were unknowingly preparing me, so that one morning, in some cathedral in Rome, in a sleep deprived haze, as I was going through the motions of mass, when God spoke quietly in my heart, I knew him.  My response was not as eloquent as Samuel’s.  I am ashamed to say it was more like a litany of angry accusations.  And you know what?  God laughed at me and then politely listed off all the moments in my life when he had come to me in the night and I had walked straight passed him to seek refuge elsewhere.  That day I started to pray, really pray.  It changed everything.  I would just kneel there talking to God…yelling at God…crying with God…simply listening to the silence, letting his voice in.  And it was wonderful.

Like Samuel, my Elis showed me how to hear God when he called my name.  The men and women I met in Rome changed my life.  They opened my eyes simply by being living examples of Jesus, being present in my life and including me in theirs.  I have learned, we all have Elis in our lives teaching us and preparing us to know and understand God.  They prepare us so, that when God calls out, we will be able to answer confidently; “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

In the Spirit of Christ, which is Love

by Kaitlyn Willy
Chaplain's Apprentice

So, I was going to write about all the travels that I’ve been doing lately. I mean, I’ve gotten to do a lot. I spent a weekend at St. Mary of the Woods for my orientation as a Providence Associate. That was an awesome opportunity to grow closer to God. I then spent last weekend, actually 5 days, in Dallas for a Ministry Conference. I got to see cool people, family and friends that I have been missing and wanting to see. I’ve had so many blessings lately and I wanted to tell you all about that. But then, today, I was reading my facebook news feed and something else more important was re-iterated to me in a way that I feel like I have to tell you about it.

One of my good friends from college is also one of my heroes. Her name is Genevieve. I call her Genna. And Genna is a teacher in the poorest school district at the poorest grade school in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Yes, I know, we talk a lot about poverty at the BCC. We’re Catholic and part of Catholic Social Teaching is preferential option for the poor. But let me tell you about this poverty.

One of the students in the bilingual class at Gena’s school lost his shoes the other day.

Who knows where or why, he’s a five year old boy. That happens. The problem is, they were his only pair of shoes. His mother sent him to school in slippers. The school said that wasn’t appropriate footwear and he had to go home until he had real shoes. His mom can’t buy shoes until the middle of the month at payday. It’s the beginning of the month now. This kid is going to have to stay home from school for a week—in kindergarten, an important year where missing a week is like missing a month—because his mom can’t buy shoes. And that’s not to mention that he probably gets the majority of his food at school. So now, he has no shoes and he’s hungry. And the school district can’t do a thing about it, because they can’t even put paper in the classrooms. The teachers have to buy their own supplies. And let me tell you, these teachers don’t get paid much.

Guys, this is not okay.

My first instinct was to ask Genna what size shoes I need to buy this kid. I mean, I can’t do a lot to change the world, but I can get this kid shoes so he can go to school. Genna can’t do it—the school doesn’t pay her enough to keep her own kids in nice shoes, much less put shoes on her students. I’m still waiting to find out about his shoe size. I know there are several other friends of Genna who are waiting for the same thing. One of us will get him shoes. And when we do, he will go to school. And someday, I pray, he will change the world and then, maybe there won’t be any kids without shoes.

But my buying a pair of shoes doesn’t really solve the problem.

The problem is, I live in a house with nine other people. Between all of us, there are probably over hundred pairs of shoes in this house. And there are probably over a hundred kids in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex whose shoes are too small or too big and cause blisters or too worn to keep their feet warm. Why? Why is it that in the richest nation in the world in the 21^st century this is still happening? And forget Dallas, my old home, what about Indianapolis? What about our city, the one in which we attend school and live at least 9 months out of the year? What about the kids in our schools?

I imagine it’s not much different.

We need to reevaluate our lives, people.

I have been talking about Nazareth Farm (where the BCC will be taking our Alternative Spring Break trip next semester) a lot lately. That’s because a) I love it and b) I want you to go and love it, too. One of the four cornerstones of Nazareth Farm is simplicity. Let’s talk about simplicity for a moment.

Simplicity seems to mean something different for every person. One person can say they’re living in simplicity while they have a flat screen tv and a dvr (I would question this person and their idea of need). The next person might be living in a tiny house (check out Tumbleweed Tiny Houses if you don’t know what I’m talking about) and own less than 100 items (I can’t do that—sorry, my books are really important to me). Whatever you think simplicity is, we are called to it. As we say at Naz Farm, we are called to live simply so that others may simply live.

During the month of November, I would like to both invite and challenge you to try to live more simply. Maybe that means not going out for that burger, ordering that pizza or those insomnia cookies. Maybe that means that instead of buying a new scarf, you’re going to use the one you bought last year. Same for that new coat and those new mittens. Maybe you’ll look in your closet, count the number of pairs of shoes you own and donate a dollar for every pair to the BCC Christmas Family Adoption fund. If you don’t have a lot of shoes, but find yourself buying a lot of something else, maybe you’ll match that. Maybe you’ll tell Mom and Dad that instead of yet another new blouse or new boots, you want to donate that money somewhere else. Maybe you’ll participate in the Tech Fast and see where, without the temptation of entertainment technology, you really do have enough time to volunteer, to serve, to change the world. Maybe. I can’t make that decision for you. I can only decide for me.

As we begin November, I notice a lot of Christmas stuff in the stores. It’s a little early for it, but I am starting to be in a Christmas mindset. Christmas reminds me of my Uncle Tim, who I never met. He died from cancer at the age of 18 almost three years before I was born. But my uncle had a saying and it was passed on to me. Around Christmas, when he wanted something, he would say, “In the spirit of Christmas, which is love, please ___.”

In the spirit of Christmas, which is love…. Perhaps it would be better to say, “In the spirit of CHRIST, which is love.” Because He was love. He was not just love the noun, but love the verb. Suddenly the question at Christmas becomes the same as the question we must ask ourselves every day all year round: How do I, Kaitlyn Willy, love better? How do we, the Butler Catholic Community, love better? How do you, reader, love better?

To answer that, this year, in place of buying each other gifts, my community is adopting a local family and giving them Christmas. And by Christmas, I don’t mean they’re getting a bunch of toys (though I might slip a few in). Primarily, I’m shopping for PJs, undies, socks, and bras for an elderly grandma and her daughter and clothes to keep their three babies warm. This family will be way more excited about these clothes—which won’t be all that nice and certainly won’t be name-brand items—than I have ever been about a Christmas gift. Need does that to people, it makes them find joy in the simple things.

In keeping with this spirit of love, the BCC Service Committee and Leadership Team have decided to adopt two families for Christmas. I mentioned this above, in the “maybe” paragraph. I’m serious, friends—count those shoes, those lattes, those whatever-you-spend-your-money-ons. Donate a dollar for each one you have. Or, donate five dollars, ten dollars, whatever you can muster. Ask mom or dad or grandma to give you your Christmas money early—donate it. Make a difference.

And, if you really want to keep it up, go to Nazareth Farm. Live simply so that others may simply live. Do as Christ calls us to in the reading for tomorrow: love your neighbor as yourself. Change the world.

When people ask me to describe my students, I say that they all want to save the world. Guess what, friends—this is how you change the world. You change it one person at a time. Not one poor person at a time, but one human being made in the image and likeness of God who has intrinsic dignity and who for some reason or other lives entrenched in poverty and cannot get out. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other— in the spirit of Christ, which is love.

The Presence of Jesus in Adoration

Written by Lauren Stark
A Sophomore on the Leadership Team
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            Growing up Catholic and attending 13 years of Catholic school, I had experience in practically every Catholic activity. I was an altar server and Communion minister. I attended and led retreats. I prayed the rosary. But for some reason, I avoided one event:  adoration.

            I guess I considered adoration something I could do without. I prayed on my own, so why did I need to do it in front of a shiny monstrance?

            So when I attended the Steubenville Youth Conference this summer with my home parish and found out that we would be participating in an hour-long adoration, I was a little nervous and skeptical.

            But that all changed the minute the priest came out holding the monstrance in the air.

Something inside of me stirred. I felt…Jesus. It seems almost too cliché to say, but in that moment when the monstrance was right in front of me, I for the first time truly felt God’s presence—His real presence—inside that host. I fell to my knees and joined all the people around me in prayer. I cried and smiled. The feeling of God’s love filling me was something I had never felt before.

That hour was the quickest of my life, and from that day on, I was hooked on adoration.

Adoration is something uniquely Catholic. When the monstrance that holds Christ is set before the worshippers, He is really and truly in that room. Although we do believe that God is always with us, this is a more tangible way to recognize that—and to remember Jesus’ sacrifice for us. I am truly lucky to be a Catholic and to have adoration as a way for me to worship.

A few weeks ago, I was struggling. I felt disconnected from my friends, my school life, and my faith. And I didn’t want to stay that way. I had been wanting to participate in adoration in Indy since the start of school, but I had been putting it off, once again thinking that I could do enough on my own.

But that day, something—God—was tugging at my heart, telling me to go see Him. I jumped in my car and drove to St. Luke’s down the street. There, in the beautiful adoration chapel, I saw my God again. It was only a short thirty minutes of prayer. And for most of that time, I didn’t say anything. I just sat in His loving presence. And it worked. My spirit was revived, and I felt happy and full again. Adoration connected me again to my faith and the world around me.

I know adoration can seem intimidating or unnecessary. But I really encourage you to give it a try. Just twenty minutes. Bring a prayer book or the Bible. Bring a rosary. Bring some worship music like I do (“Savior, Please” by Josh Wilson is my favorite song to adore God to). Bring your needs and desires. Or just bring yourself and your openness to hear what God has to tell you. You won’t be disappointed.