In the Shadow of Naomh Bhride

Naomh Bhríde, that is, Holy Brigid, is the patroness of all we are about in Wexford, and it is to her, the "Mary of the Gaels," that we pray in intercession as we walk this journey of collaboration with the Church of the Annunciation, Clonard Parish, in Wexford Town.

Wexford is a town that, in many ways, is typical of much that is taking place in Ireland at present: extraordinarily high unemployment,(about 14%), a lot of lost family businesses, a Church that is beleaguered by scandal and neglect, low morale and few vocations.

But a good and wise friend of mine, Jerry Galipeau, once said something succinct that has become a clarion call for much of our work: "People gotta sing, and people gotta pray!"

And in many ways, truer words were never spoken for our fellow Christians in Ireland. They still have a deep devotion to the Eucharist (Michele and I were at a daily mass this morning at 10AM; hundreds were there). They still mourn their dead and rejoice when young ones are brought into the faith. They still bring their needs to God, daily.

And they are learning to sing: at the Vigil Mass last Saturday, I was astounded to hear the assembly singing the Where Charity and Love Mass setting – only the third time they've done it – and singing it better than most of our American vigil mass congregations.

There is much good work going on here, and more to write later this week!

Flying with the shamrock

It's always a great thing to fly on an aircraft that has a saint emblazoned on the front of its hull! Most Aer Lingus aircraft are named for traditional Irish saints: Kevin, Patrick, Columcille, Brigid...

Today I head over to Ireland for what will be a very, very busy week. First comes a visit with the marvelous volunteers at the House of Brigid: Jessica Mannen, Molly Mattingly, Dan Masterton and Kurt Nowak. They're deep into sacramental preparation, musical rehearsals for Holy Week, and labors with the children at Kennedy Park and Scoil Mhuire.

These annual visits are a wonderful way to renew our collaboration with the pastoral staff of Clonard, in County Wexford. We'll be looking at the progress of the past year, talking with Monsignor Denis Lennon and his staff, and enjoying the camaraderie of our Wexford friends that we've made over the past years.

Teach Bhríde, the House of Brigid, is now heading into its fourth year of service to the people of Ireland, and specifically to the Diocese of Ferns (Wexford) and Clonard Parish. Hard to believe that what began as a dream with the Class of 2008 and a very earnest group of grads has now emerged as a vibrant community of witness to groups far beyond the parochial community.

But then again, it is named after a very special saint and advocate!

Here's a picture of the beloved tapestry of Saint Brigid that adorns the day Eucharist chapel in Clonard:

I'll be writing from Ireland for my next post.

A blessed spring break to all of you who are following my travels!

Lent At Notre Dame: It's busy in the desert!

Greetings to all of you who are keeping up with my postings!

I remember, years ago while on tour with the Folk Choir, heading to an amazing place called the Sonora Desert Museum. As a displaced New Englander now living in the heartland, I had always thought of the desert as just a place with a lot of rocks and sand. But after spending time at the museum, my eyes were opened to a whole other way of seeing the desert – it was alive with activity! Strange and marvelous creatures, amazing ways of adaptation to a severe landscape, and ingenious patterns of camouflage that defied normal eyesight. I had thought the desert was a lifeless place. But to the trained eye, it is indeed teeming with activity.

And here we are, in our Lenten desert journey at Notre Dame, on the portal of spring break. And while winter continues to keep us in her grip, and our students are deeply immersed in mid-term exams and papers, there is a flurry of activity going on – both in the dorms, and in Campus Ministry. Kind of like all that activity that goes on in the desert.

Sacramental preparation is in full swing – we sent our Catechumens off to the Cathedral yesterday afternoon, where they gained a new appellation: they are now the Elect.

We are honing in on Holy Week, which means that Campus-Wide Stations of the Cross planning is on the front burner. Our student liturgical commissioners have been crafting their stational meditations, so that when they leave for spring break in a few days, we'll have a script ready for this annual event.

In the Folk Choir, our repertoire rehearsals are now fully devoted to Holy Week, Easter, and Ordinations. Repertoire for Lent is solidly in the back pocket, ready to go. Even though we don't sing them in public, "Alleluias" are now wafting through our sectionals.

This weekend, the Liturgical Choir heads off to Rome for the week, and the Handbell and Celebration Choirs join forces, making pilgrimage to St. Joseph's Oratory in Montreal.

And finally, there is my own journey: my wife and I will travel to Wexford and Dublin over spring break, visiting with the community and parish at the House of Brigid, and beginning to discuss the Folk Choir's tour in May and June to the Emerald Isle. And then there's this little party that is now appearing on the horizon: the Notre Dame/Navy game in September, at which the Folk Choir will have a contributing role.

Even in the starkness of our Lenten wanderings, we are preparing table upon table for feasting. Activity is everywhere, for those who have eyes to see.

Ash Wednesday: Our Spiritual Carbon Footprint

I'm walking around campus today, and looking at thousands of students (half of whom wear make up) subjecting themselves to this very curious ritual, that of having their gleaming foreheads smeared with the junk of this earth.

And at the same time, I've been processing a lot lately about our environment, what we create, what we leave behind... the good and the bad.

There's a poignant juxtaposition of these two realities: Ash Wednesday, which reminds us of the fact that we've only got a few precious years on this little blue marble in space – that we will eventually return to that from which we were made: cosmic dust.

The other reality, if you will, is the "secular environmental" one: that we are stewards of the earth, and we use things, and we leave things behind. Neither of these perspectives are half-bad to meditate on right now, and they're more intimately linked than one might think.

The environmentalists will ask what kind of a carbon footprint you leave in your wake. The spiritual stewards of this world will put a different spin on it: What kind of holy footprint do you leave behind?

Lent is a time when a lot is going on in the world of campus life, and much of it is future oriented: Will I get an RA position next year? Will I graduate? Where will I end up? What's the future of my relationship with (fill in the blank). Is this what God wants of me, or simply what I want? Some students, facing spring break in a couple of weeks, will choose to bury these questions in frolicking and alcohol. But others will find places to work these issues out in quiet and holy ways: walking, retreating, serving others.

Lent is a good time to look at our footprints. Where we have come over the past few years. What we're up to. What we've been doing (the good and the not-so-good).

What do we leave behind? What's our spiritual carbon footprint? How have we used the things that have been given us – not just the tangible, quantifiable things of this earth, but the more intangible (and more powerful) unseen gifts of the Spirit? What's our record of stewardship when it comes to the things we've been given?

It's a good time to look back. Look back upon our tracks.

What if God IS the fog?

Even though we've been back at Notre Dame for weeks, I find myself still thinking about the retreat we had at the Abbey of Gethsemani, and the words that were imparted by the students in my choir.

One of the extraordinary talks that was shared, by one of our Juniors, was about an event that took place along the Camino de Compostela in Spain. On this pilgrimage, this particular choir member became separated from the rest of his friends, and he found himself smack dab in the middle of one of those overwhelming fog banks that rolls into the high mountains. The Camino, at times, is not well-marked; this young man found himself alone, lost, battling fear, not knowing which way to turn.

But here is where the remarkable insight of this choir member kicked in. As the fog enveloped him, his first response was to see it as an adversary, as an enemy, something keeping him from finding his way. But then he sat down. Took a while to pray. And this is what his prayer told him: what if the fog wasn't his adversary? What if the fog was God?

And then, almost as if God was proving the point to this young man, he happened to look down as he was sitting there. And out of his mouth – came the fog of his own breathing. God was in that, too.

There is a lot of fog around Notre Dame right now (and not just with the picture of the Basilica that I snapped on the way in to work today). A cloud of unknowing: Which path to choose? Which internship to accept? What will happen after graduation? What major to declare? Yet in all of this, I believe the story of my fellow chorister offers a great lesson: sit, wait, pray.

What if the fog is not our adversary? What if the fog IS God, surrounding us, accompanying us, enveloping us on your journey. To paraphrase the Book of Job: if God gives us the bright sunshine, must we also be given the fog as well? Both come from our Creator. Both are part of the journey. Our challenge is not to give in to the uncertainty, to the fear. We simply need to see God in the fog.