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

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.

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!

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 Greatest Adventure of All

by Kaitlyn Willy (BCC Chaplain’s Apprentice)

The Gospel reading this weekend was Mark 10: 17-30. This is one of those readings that I think we read a lot and miss the point. Often, we look at the rich young man and imagine him to be selfish, he doesn’t want to give up everything he owns and so he won’t gain entrance to heaven. It’s like this great attack on the rich, but then those of us without money are safe. NOPE! That is definitely not what God has in mind. In fact, I think that this is a reading that can speak to us at our core if we make ourselves open to it.

I don’t know about you, but this Sunday I started to feel uncomfortable sitting in the pew even before the priest got to the selling everything part. After all, the rich young man says that he has observed the commandments from his youth and is so comfortable with them that he is willing to ask what more he can do. Can you say that you have followed these commandments with that kind of faith? I certainly can’t. Even if we try to be perfect (it would be impossible for us to actually be perfect) and follow these laws completely, Jesus calls us to sell what we have and give it to the poor. Now, that certainly doesn’t seem fair! We’ve done all this work and tried so hard to follow these commandments and now we have to sell everything? No wonder the rich young man went away sad! I think we always imagine that he did not in fact sell his possessions—a failure, rare in Christ’s ministry.

I would like to think that if Jesus appeared before me and asked me to sell all that I have and give it to the poor, I would react at least a little better than the rich young man did, walking away without a word, his head hung down in sadness. But then I have to take into consideration my own priorities and recognize that they might be different from those of the rich young man. I don’t really value wealth above other things (if I did, I probably wouldn’t be a campus minister). I certainly don’t treasure money or possessions above my faith. While I might like my iPad a little too much to live in complete simplicity, I do like things being simple. My ideal house is a tiny house with 117 square feet (see Tumbleweed Houses if you don’t know what I’m talking about) where I wouldn’t be able to fall into the temptation to buy things because there would be no place to put them. I’m not really a money person. My biggest downfall in regards to materialism is probably my book collection, but even that I would give up (albeit sadly) if Jesus asked. But let me tell you what I do value so much I wouldn’t want to give it up for Jesus: my relationships.

St. Ignatius of Loyola talks about radical detachment: “We should not fix our desires on health or sickness, wealth or poverty, success or failure, a long life or a short one.” According to Ignatius, when something is taken away from us, we should be detached enough that the loss cannot shake our trust in God. We accept that all things are for the greater glory of God. Ad maiorem dei gloriam!

When I moved to Indiana to go to Notre Dame, it was really hard for me to leave Dallas: a place where I was loved, where I had made the connections and friendships that were my most prized possessions. It’s one thing to leave home for college. The relationships that sustained you in your childhood, the family and friends who have known you your whole life, those generally survive distance and time. But the relationships you make in college don’t always make it. Sure, I still have my best friends (my bestie even texted me this morning and woke me up), but some of the relationships I had in college necessarily had to change: we didn’t bump into each other in the hall anymore; we didn’t see each other in the cafeteria. Other than the occasional facebook status, I might not hear from some friends at all for months. This was difficult for me at first because a lot of my relationship with God had been centered around the people in my life with whom I ate, studied, hung out, and prayed. In moving to Notre Dame, I had to learn which prayers I said because my friends said them and which ones I said because I needed to pray them.

Last year, speaking with seniors who were getting ready to graduate, it seemed that this was the same fear that they had. How do you worship without the community that has helped you grow? How do you live a life as a Catholic without the BCC?

Friends, God can ask us to give up or change our relationship with many different blessings in our lives. For the rich young man, it was money. For me, it was my community and friends from UD. Fortunately, before I left UD, my spiritual director taught me about detachment. I learned that sometimes even the greatest blessings (like community) have to be taken away in order for us to grow. My friends and community at UD had become my safety blanket and as long as I clung to it, I could easily resist the change that God was calling me to. Sometimes, we must be brave enough to let go of our desires, our treasures and our loves in order to become who God calls us to be.

As is said so many times in Scripture, “BE NOT AFRAID!” I can tell you from experience that although these times of transition and letting go are hard, once we give up the things that we cling to (money, friends, habits, desires, plans, and sometimes even beliefs) we can become ourselves-- not someone else, not someone entirely different, but someone who is even more ourselves than we ever dreamed of being. I am more me now than I have ever been and I will continue to grow into myself the more I let God change me. These changes are never easy, but if we have the courage, we can embark on the great adventure of becoming ourselves. We become not only ourselves, but ourselves in relationship with the God who knows us more intimately even than we do: the greatest adventure of all.