the72: Jason Kippenbrock - Great Patience and Great Love

Hope does not disappoint,
because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts
through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.
For Christ, while we were still helpless,
died at the appointed time for the ungodly.
Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person,
though perhaps for a good person
one might even find courage to die.
But God proves his love for us
in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.
--Romans 5:5-8

My life is pretty boring right now. As a first year medical student, I mostly study, put off studying, sit through lectures, eat, sleep, and try to motivate myself to study more. I’m currently up to my neck in fatty acid biosynthesis and amino acid degradation (and to all you non-medical-type folks out there, it’s just as fun as it sounds).

In my experience thus far, one of the greatest challenges of medical school is to venture outside of my own world. It’s kind of easy to fall into the trap of self-importance, given the emphasis on grades and competition amongst my peers. Honestly, if I’m not looking at the big picture, life can be very miserable.

Through the drudgery of studying day in and day out, I have to constantly remind myself that whatever I can learn now will help to make me a better physician in the future. Really, it’s for the well-being of my future patients. So even though I haven’t been going to daily mass as much as I’d like, I think that I can be a good, practical Catholic right now by being diligent in my studies.

There are significant tensions between my Catholic faith and medicine today which will continue to challenge my profession in the future. Examples include abortion, physician-assisted suicide, embryonic stem-cell therapies, and in vitro fertilization, to name a few. However, I think that there is a more subtle and common challenge facing me and others in the field of medicine: actually caring about the sick people we care for.

Let me shed some light on this issue. In the year after graduating from Notre Dame and while applying to medical school, I worked as an emergency department scribe at St. Joseph Regional Medical Center in Mishawaka, Indiana.

In a nutshell, my job was to follow the doctor around the ER as he/she saw patients, and using my computer on wheels (aka “COW”), I would type out the patients’ charts, including patient histories, physical exam findings, medical decision making, lab results, and diagnoses. It was a great learning experience for me, and it helped to solidify my desire to become a doctor.

However, at every shift, I was also exposed to the not-so-pretty side of medicine. By that, I mostly mean the patients. Bear with me through these non-fictional scenarios:

Example A: 24 yr old male presents to the emergency department (ED) with complaint of dental pain for the past week, worsening last night. On oral examination, his teeth are literally rotting away due to widespread cavities. He states that he doesn’t have enough money to go to the dentist… but he DOES have enough money to smoke a pack of cigarettes every day, which does not contribute to oral health. (For the record, smoking makes everything worse.) 

Example B: 35 yr old male presents to the ED with complaint of back pain for the past couple months, worsening this week. He has difficulty getting up from his bed and couch because of the intense pain. He does not remember any specific injury or accident that caused the pain… but he is 480 lbs. He is very much offended when the doctor suggests that losing weight would help solve the problem. 

Example C: 26 yr old female presents to the ED with complaint of pain in bilateral cheeks… after voluntarily having both of sides of her face pierced one month ago. She has not taken out her “cheek studs” since that time, and the piercings have become infected, since they extend into the oral cavity. Skin and pus have begun to engulf the studs, so the doctor will have to use a scalpel to dig them out.

Really, God? I know You said, “Love one another as I have loved you,” but did You really mean these people, too?  Personally, I think that it sounds pretty reasonable to feed the hungry, give to the poor, and care for the sick. What I have difficulty with is finding the motivation to care about people who make really stupid decisions.

That’s bad, and unfortunately I’m not alone in this either. Although the ER physicians and nurses who I worked with were great overall, nearly everyone seemed jaded in one way or another. Patient incompetence was just a part of the daily conversation.

I sometimes feel like the Pharisee in Luke’s Gospel who thanks God that he’s not “like the rest of humanity,” even like the tax collector (Luke 18:9-14).  This in turn makes me feel awful about myself. How am I supposed to love others perfectly when, because of my sinful nature, I judge people based on how I see them, and not how God sees them?

A helpful and necessary realization is that I make really stupid decisions. Maybe I’ve been fortunate enough to be born to and raised by parents with common sense (who passed it on), but I’m no less human than any other person I encounter. I am definitely a sinner, and I’ve hurt myself and other people in really stupid ways. Also, the older I get, the more I realize that I’m really not that smart in the first place. (And my med school classmates remind me of this daily.)

Also important: God doesn’t ask me to understand why people make the decisions they do. His command is simpler: He asks me to love others as Christ loved us. I am reminded of a fantastic quote by Thomas Merton: "Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business and, in fact, it is nobody’s business. What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy.”

As an antidote to my own sinfulness, I have personally tried to be more like the tax collector in Luke’s Gospel and incorporate the Jesus Prayer throughout my day: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner!” It’s a vital reminder of just how much I need God’s saving grace. Additionally, I like to think of that prayer as a dual acting remedy; it’s a gift which helps to cure both pride and despair.

So how can I realistically care for challenging patients like those mentioned above? I think it requires great patience and great love. Maybe the smoker will actually be motivated to quit if he knows that I really do care about his health, so I can spend a few minutes talking with him about a patient-specific smoking cessation strategy.

But, at the same time, if he’s up to 1.5 packs/day by the next time I see him, I can’t throw in the towel. I may need a quick prayer when the time comes, but I hope that I’ll have the patience and love needed to give him another talk about quitting smoking. Regardless of my success in getting through to him, a loving act in itself is still worth something, both to the patient and to me.

Beyond passing all of my med school classes and surviving residency training, my primary goal is to become a truly caring physician, and to make sure that every single one of my patients benefits from my caring. I cling to Hope, and trust that, despite my sinfulness, the Holy Spirit can work in me and through me to be Christ’s healing presence in this world. In my case, that means being a physician who imitates The Physician.

Jason Kippenbrock graduated from the University of Notre Dame with a BS in Biology. There, he joined the Knights of Columbus, to which he still belongs, worked as a Mentor-in-Faith with Notre Dame Vision, and served as a Resident Assistant in Carroll Hall. After graduating, Jason worked as an ER scribe for a year while applying to medical school. A native of Brownsburg, IN, Jason now lives in South Bend, IN, where he is a first-year medical student at the Indiana University School of Medicine. Jason can be reached at jkippenb@alumni.nd.edu.

the72: Molly Mattingly - Living the Questions

I am a third-generation church musician on my mom’s side and second-generation on my dad’s side. I’m the first to see music ministry as my vocation and career.

I grew up in a church choir. My mom and dad’s ensemble for the 5:00pm Mass at our parish was a close-knit bunch. Members were godparents to each other’s children. Rehearsals happened in our living rooms, as we kids played in the basement. (And our parents were surprised when some of those kids grew up to be music teachers and church musicians. What did they expect?)

I started piano lessons at age 8 with the accompanist for one of the other parish choirs. At 9, I was in my grade school’s choir. By 12, I was accompanying a few songs at the 5:00pm Mass and playing communion reflections at weekly school Masses. By 16, I was playing and singing in my mom and dad’s group, as well as my high school’s choirs, liturgical ensemble, and annual musical revue fundraiser. Music was still just a hobby I enjoyed.

Then, I decided to audition for music schools for college. I thought, “Maybe it is time to focus on this thing that I love doing and have been calling a hobby, and see where it takes me. If I don’t get in, I can study something else I enjoy.” I was accepted to the School of Music at Ithaca College, majored in music education and music theory, and practiced piano a lot.

I got involved with the Ithaca College Catholic Community (ICCC), because at the freshmen welcome Mass they said they needed pianists. People at the ICCC  became some of my best friends. In my first non-Catholic school experience, I learned to be an apologist for my faith without apologizing for having it. My roommates’ open-minded conversations helped us all learn about each other’s faith backgrounds and perspectives, and they are still some of my close friends, too. I was the co-director for music ministry at the ICCC my junior and senior years, and loved it. (Looking back, I realize it’s not a normal parish community when most members of the volunteer choir are majoring in music and can sight-read in parts.)

My senior year, I did my student teaching quarter. I loved teaching. It took all my conscious energy during the week. Then, I would return on Sundays and realize how much I missed those weeknight events at the ICCC. Our Catholic chaplain invited me to the regional National Association of Pastoral Musicians (NPM) convention the summer before and encouraged me apply to the Master of Sacred Music (MSM)program at the University of Notre Dame. I thought, “Maybe it is time to focus on my faith in context with this thing that I love doing, and see where it takes me. If I apply and don’t get in, I’ll take it as a sign that I’m supposed to be a teacher next.” I was accepted to Notre Dame and went straight to grad school, like many who graduated during the 2009 recession.

At Notre Dame, I was challenged and formed and loved in many contexts -- by the MSM students and professors, in classes and at wine-and-cheese parties; Farley Hall, especially the liturgy committee, ensemble members, and hall staff; the Folk Choir, in rehearsals, at liturgies, and on tours; and of course Notre Dame Vision, which has shaped the spirituality and vocational vocabulary of nearly everyone who writes for the72.

I learned to be confident in publicly claiming my faith, albeit in a place where being Catholic was very popular. The first thing I heard about upon coming to campus was this brand new post-graduate volunteer program having to do with liturgy, music, and catechesis in Wexford, Ireland. (Many good things happened in those two years at Notre Dame, but I’ll just skip to the end...) I visited the first community over my spring break, and applied the next year. I thought, “I have moved far away from home before, and it was hard. Maybe it is time to take a risk in going very far, serving this community in Ireland in a way I seem particularly well suited to serve, and see where it takes me.” This turned out to be a very good decision.

I spent two years in Teach Bhríde, and love, love, loved it. I loved my volunteer communities both years. I loved the parish community and the school communities. I loved the growth I was blessed to see flourish there, in those communities as well as in my own spiritual and professional life. I learned to stop in for tea and a chat, to take time off, and to be present to people and situations around me. As you can probably tell, I still miss it.

At the end of those two years, I applied for jobs back in the States. I thought I would move to Chicago or Denver where I had family and friends, and I would either be a music teacher in a Catholic school or a music director in a parish. When I saw the posting for the Music Director position with Creighton University Campus Ministry and St. John’s Parish, I thought, “That job looks like fun, and a way I can use all my education and training. Why not apply and see where it takes me?” And that was how I came to my current position in Omaha, which is dead center between Chicago and Denver, and between parish and school life. God is very sneaky sometimes. 

So, how do I live my ministry, you ask? I have learned to live it in different ways through my life so far. I really do believe that life is a ministry of presence; that being present to each other in everyday moments is where ministry happens. I live my ministry by living with others, and often music is part of that.

Music ministry is, quite simply, what I do. I would do it whether it was my job or not. I am still learning how best to live my vocation. “Living the questions” is a popular phrase at the Jesuit parish and university where I work. Here are some things I am learning and some questions I am living now.

Living as a single young professional means those everyday moments of presence between friends are less frequent, and they can take effort to coordinate. Even though I was mentally prepared for that coming into the last year, it is still different to learn by living it. The question there is, “How do I maintain my close relationships with family and friends all over the world while still making time for new friendships where I am now? How do I remember my formation while continuing to be formed?”

In the last several months, I have been learning more about what it means to be a young professional single woman in ministry, in a new city. All of those qualities that often benefit me as a minister – welcoming everyone with a smile, gaining trust by trusting, making people feel valued and heard by listening – those qualities do not always benefit me as a single woman in ministry. I’m still working out how high my wall should be with those I minister with and minister to. I have learned that some people are broken, and that my presence cannot be part of their healing precisely because of their brokenness.

I’m living out many questions with this challenge: “Am I supposed to care for this broken person when he is clearly incapable of respecting the clear boundaries I have set? How is the parish supposed to care for him when parish events (my work events) are excuses for him to ignore those boundaries? Is it safe for me to walk alone across the street to my car, or around campus after an evening event? Should I get a protection order against him for my safety? Can I allow myself to be angry at someone who needs help? How much trust is the right amount?” And especially, “Why should I have to ask any of these questions at all? Why can’t I just think about how best to follow Christ and trust others to do the same, especially those in my worshipping community?”

I don’t like having to live those dissonant questions. One difficult realization I have come to is that it cannot always be my job, even as a minister, to care for everyone I see needs help. Even if it’s the kind of help to which my particular gifts seem best suited.

I have always purposely welcomed those who don’t feel they fit in and affirmed their gifts, their worth. A music ministry ensemble can be a perfect community for that: you are part of the group at least for the time you are making music and praying together, regardless of how adept you are at other social situations. The shared ensemble experience is a baseline from which that community grows, through which someone who is otherwise awkward can become confident.

The concept that someone should be excluded from that community because of my presence, that I should purposely be unwelcoming for my own safety in the context of ministry... that concept is strange. I don’t like it. But that’s where I am: still in process, as I learn to live this vocation.

Molly Mattingly graduated from Ithaca College in 2009 with a degree in Music Theory and Music Education. There she was part of the Ithaca College Catholic Community, whose music ministry she co-directed. Molly earned her Masters in Sacred Music from the University of Notre Dame, graduating in 2011. She went on to serve as a lay volunteer in the House of Brigid in Wexford, Ireland, for one year before becoming the House Director for the 2012-13 community. A native of Third Lake, IL, Molly now lives in Omaha, NE, where she is the Director of Music Ministry for Creighton University Campus Ministry and St. John's Parish. You can contact Molly at mary.k.mattingly@gmail.com.

God Shatters Expectations

Starting as Campus Minister at my current high school involved a lot of learning curves. I had to get the practical stuff - how to make copies, what keys work in what doors, where the faculty bathroom is. I had to learn the religious traditions and customs - Food Drive blessing at Thanksgiving Mass, the big Catholic Schools Week Mass with feeder schools, the Living Stations of the Cross prayer service. And then I had to grapple with what I wanted to institute - creating a Student Ministry Team, starting a service-learning immersion, trying to get regular service outreach going, and overhauling retreats.

I am deputized to help our chaplain inaugurate Kairos here (going up to K5 in February). I instituted an overnight senior retreat (did 2 last year, just did the 1st of 3 this year). I evolved my Student Ministry Team into a retreat planning team for spring of last year, and now they're leading the new sophomore overnight retreat. And this year, we hit phase two of ramping up the Freshmen Retreat, most of the way to a full-fledged all-Saturday retreat.

Setting aside for now the growing pains of the administration, scheduling, and organizing of all these events, I had one overarching realization as I began to go on retreats with this student population: their retreat literacy was low.

Whether in small-group, large-group, or other retreat activities, these students could not find the retreat comfort level. They clung stubbornly to the rigidity of the classroom. Discussions had to occur in a cut-and-dry manner: you ask me a question; I supply an answer: you move on to the next student or your next question or point. They struggled with open-form, natural feels. They needed structure to an uncomfortable extent, or else, they couldn't function. The organic, conversationesque flavor of retreat rarely materialized without quickly falling into disorder or running off the rails to tangential distractions.

Frustrating as it could be at times, I understood that their previous experience was so limited that they needed to first be taught the reins. I needed to train small-group leaders in discussion facilitation. I needed to work more closely with speakers on writing emotionally vulnerable but carefully crafted talks. And I needed to be more conscious and intentional about being enthusiastic and proactive in directing large-group sessions.

Luckily, our student population is fairly well-churched. They may not have the best vocabulary. They may not be budding prophets and priests. But they have a positive disposition to church and prayer that is easy to work with.

Over almost a year-and-a-half of being at this helm and directing several retreats, I can see changes starting to come. The quality and quantity of students interested in leadership has increased steadily. Though the structure is still needed, the input students give is getting deeper and more developed. And their reactions to retreats after the fact is stronger, as the students - even if at times dissatisfied or critical of their experiences - are responsive and passionate in their response.

Last week, the first Senior Retreat of this year proved just how far they've come. First and foremost, as we moved through the units of the retreat and confronted integrity, relationships, sexuality, identity, and drugs & alcohol, my small-group did a fabulous job of being open and relevant yet comfortable. They didn't need militant question-and-answer to converse constructively. And the senior facilitators - simply seniors attending the retreat who volunteered to facilitate and met with me for 15 minutes to get a packet of questions and a brief rundown - did a fine job teeing up the topics and affirming others as they shared.

And just when I thought that was the great takeaway, they floored me with their investments into the prayer services.

At the end of night one, we do a Burnt Offering service. Built off the psalmist's prayer that his intentions will rise like incense to the Lord, we conduct an Examen to review our day on retreat and then take time to journal some thoughts and prayers that we need to offer to the Lord. I play some music and invite everyone to come to the altar, where there is a pot on a candlelit table, to drop their prayer in, and then to kneel at the altar and say a prayer.

The candlelit altar with the pot for our offerings.

The altar is right at the step that goes up into the small sanctuary, so I direct them to kneel beside the altar at the step and pray. Maybe I wasn't clear enough or maybe they just had a better idea. The first student who went up placed his sheet in the pot and then walked past the altar, about 10-15 feet further into the sanctuary, approached the tabernacle, and then knelt at the small step before the Lord.

As I asked them to go up no more than two at a time, up went the next student to join the first one. And thus began a pattern of 50 humans praying at the tabernacle. I believe this was no accident. I think that first student - a recent Kairos leader - felt drawn to the tabernacle and opted to make his prayer there. And I believe that while some students simply followed the leader, others consciously chose to emulate that piety. The visual of these students dropping their prayer then approaching the sanctuary to kneel was striking.

Move forward to the end of our second day, a shorter day that ends in the mid-afternoon. We conclude that day, and the retreat, with a Reconciliation Service. After listening to a song together (Friends Again by Martin Sexton) and discussing the lyrics, the mood and tone of the speaker, and the way it helps us think about our own relationships, I invite the students to the sanctuary again (where the pot, now full of burned prayer offerings, remains) to a bowl of water.

I ask them to come up one at a time, dip their hands into the water, and explain something they want to be cleansed of. I wait with a towel to dry the hands of the first person, give them a hug, and then leave them with the towel for the next person. I encourage the students to remain in the sanctuary, after they've washed up and dried off another person's hands, as a sign of support to the others who have yet to come up. I even push the altar back toward the sanctuary to maximize the room up there for everyone to cluster in. Again, they had a better idea.

After a boy came up to get us started and I dried his hands, I headed to the back of the chapel to play some quiet music beneath the ritual. After the second student went up and spoke, the first one dried his hands and hugged this second student like I had done for him. But what followed was different, and arguably better. Rather than form a mushed-up clump behind the water bowl, they arced outward around the water bowl station and amplified the ritual support.

The initial line behind the altar started to grow, as did the ritual.

As the arc of people who had cleansed themselves grew, they created a receiving line of hugs. After someone had washed up, dried off another's hands, and hugged that person, they headed to the edge of the arc and went down the receiving line, where they got a hug from every single person who had gone before them. As the group of 50 went up one-by-one, the profundity of the communal support grew, as the visual became more powerful. It was taking people several minutes to make their way through the line, as they were personally greeted by so many of their peers after laying bare some of their pain.

The receiving line arcs out as the careful, deliberate hugs roll along.

Once the group had finished doing this ritual, the unbroken chain of support clumped up a little as they all pulled each other in for a group embrace during the final reflection song. As I watched these things transpire, I couldn't help but feel like a proud papa, as the Proud Papa above worked such grace-filled love in these budding believers.

The community-wide embrace soaks in the final song.

These teenagers had taken a basic ritual and put their own signature on it, adding in their own layer of support by taking their peers into a loving embrace, moments after they had admitted their weakness. If that's not countercultural, I don't know what is.

And if that's not deep retreat literacy, I don't know what is. Sure, hugs can be a hollow, routinized gesture, but the manner, the flavor, of this series of embraces was different. It felt deliberate. It felt special. It looked as if each person was excited and delighted for every person that came past them in the receiving line. They were relishing this manifestation of God's love and support through themselves and for another.

In a couple profound, clearly visual moments, these seniors demonstrated that they get it. They might not have gotten it as much before, but there were getting it now. Sure, there were times when they exaggerated how tired they were, when they were slow and rude in getting to lights-out, when they took two packets of hot chocolate and didn't leave enough for everyone to get one. But here, they manifested an awareness of God's presence and a desire to actualize it that was so literate.

Earlier on the retreat, a teacher had given the talk on Identity. Talking about his being adopted, about his father's being diagnosed with terminal cancer, and about his marriage being labeled infertile, he walked us through how God shatters expectations by confounding our flimsy labels and moving us to deeper, better, bigger things with His love.

In these instances of growth, God shatters my expectations and shows me a student population with a hunger for Him that is being fed. It makes the heart of their Campus Minister quite warm. And I think our communal ministry is pleasing to God.

the72: Katie Klee - 1 + 1 = 2

My mom was my 6th-8th grade religion teacher. So, when crazy-wild-outrageous middle school weekend plans were made (AKA going to a PG movie, attending St. Joe High School’s football games, hanging out at a friend’s house), it was somewhat common that I would hear comments like, “I bet her mom won’t let her come” or “she probably has to go to church or something” or “she’s too hooooooly to go to that.” After enough of these comments I made the decision that I should either 1) tell my friends how ridiculous and unfair they sounded or 2) never be a religion teacher. EVER. EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Why? Because it ruins the fabulous social lives of your children.

(Do you know where this is going? Shoot. I’ve never been good at the suspense game.)

I always had ambitious career goals: McDonald’s cashier, real estate agent, language translator, Hollywood’s next teen singer/actress (because the world doesn’t have 5 million of those already). I can actually remember seeing a Hilary Duff movie with my mom in 8th grade and being on the verge of telling her afterwards, “Take me to the nearest Hollywood audition studio in South Bend” (do those exist?). I had aspirations, my friends.

As the youngest of 4 kids, my future was never far off as I watched my siblings grow older and dive into various studies and pursuits. While I continued to ponder all of my extraordinary options, I found myself being drawn to classes and opportunities in which I could explore my Catholic faith. I enjoyed the reading, the conversations, the friendships, and the activities surrounding my faith.

Meanwhile my middle-school social self thought, “uh oh.”

When I was a senior at St. Joe High School I took a class called "Great Catholic Thinkers." The class allowed us to read excerpts from the writings of saints and other holy and prominent figures from the Catholic tradition. Our teacher, Mr. Oross, asked us to write a 1-page journal entry after we read each excerpt. When he returned our journals to us at the end of the semester I received a grade of a 4/4 (apparently that was a big deal at the time…now I’m like, “4 POINTS, DUDE?!?!”) and a note that read:

Wow! Your reflections are very nice and profound. You have a double gift: gifted understanding and a deep sense of prayer. Foster both! Have you ever thought of being a Theology teacher?

So you know that line you hear in ministry about planting the seeds and blah blah blah blah? Well, I guess it’s effective. I read that journal note for the first time 7 years ago, and now I am a theology teacher. Mr. Oross' recognition and affirmation of my gifts allowed me to take the time to realize that I did enjoy studying Theology, that I was good at it (if that’s a title you are allowed to award yourself), and that I wanted to continue to pursue it. His words invited me to explore this vocational option for the first time in a very practical and focused way.

I am extremely grateful to Mr. Oross for taking the time to plant that seed, a seed that grew and blossomed with more prayer, education, and life experience in the next 7 years. Since I loved my Theology courses in high school, I sought them out intentionally through the Religious Studies and Theology departments at St. Mary’s and Notre Dame. In my free time I joined a choir that fostered a my Catholic faith and my need for community. I also, timidly at first, asked and applied to lead faith-based summer programs and retreats.

In each of these areas I found that I loved studying Theology and I loved, just as equally, sharing that Theology with others, particularly high school-aged peeps. At a young age I learned this thing called “1 + 1 = 2,” so I applied that same logic to these vocational realizations: passion for Theology + passion for teaching Theology to high school students = become a high school theology teacher. So, what started as general curiosity and a little baby flame in my heart for a school subject, grew to the realization that teaching Theology is something I wanted to pursue as a career. And again, thank you to Mr. Oross for planting that seed. His words were certainly one of the biggest gifts I received from my Catholic education.

So now, as a Catholic educator, how am I called to do ministry? It’s in realizing that teaching is not so much about the lesson plans, the objectives, the schedule, the exams, the grading and all that exhilarating stuff, but rather, it’s about imitating what Mr. Oross did for me, inviting students to explore their God-given potential.

It’s about affirming their gifts and passions. It’s about giving them the opportunity to take a good, hard look at what brings them joy. These areas of their lives that peak their interest now are God’s ways of inviting them to know Him and be His vessels in our world. It’s about finding hope in the phrase “planting the seeds” and knowing that the seeds you are planting may, in fact, be one student’s way to salvation. And that’s a pretty big deal. Like, the biggest.

Oh, and ministry is also about telling your own children that they can still have a life, even if their mother is your Theology teacher.

Katie Klee graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2012 with a BA in Theology. At Notre Dame, Katie was a member of the Notre Dame Folk Choir for four years and twice served as a Mentor-in-Faith for Notre Dame Vision. After graduation, Katie worked for a year as an intern in Campus Ministry at Notre Dame. Originally from the South Bend area, Katie now lives in Indianapolis, IN, where she teaches theology at Cathedral High School. Katie can be contacted at kklee@gocathedral.com.

the72: Maura Sullivan - All I Am and May Yet Become

When Dan asked me to write this post for the72, my initial reaction was a mixture of flattered and worried. Flattered to be included among posts like the one Sarah wrote a few weeks ago, and the one Nick wrote to start off this series. But also worried to be held up in comparison to the other writers on the72; worried that whatever I would contribute would pale in comparison to their amazing work within the Church.

My first job out of college was as the communications director at a Catholic high school—this question would have been easier to answer then. My ministry was to advance the mission of the school and do my part to provide the best experience possible for the students.

But now I work as a writer at a university, one with no religious affiliation. As a student at Catholic schools for 16 years who then went on to work at a Catholic school, it certainly has been a change. And a change that sometimes made me wonder what my ministry is, despite how much I enjoyed my work and the writing I get to do. Hence my apprehension at writing this post.

I am a student of writing. I have a college degree in journalism, dabble in blogging, and have worked as an intern, staffer, and freelancer at newspapers, magazines, and educational institutions. This has not been the first time that I have been nervous or uncertain about writing a piece, and it is usually pushing through and confronting these fears that makes me grow. So here goes.

One of my favorite prayers is the Prayer to St. Joseph. I first learned it from Sister Sara, the librarian at my elementary school and a Sister of St. Joseph, and it has stayed with me ever since.

Hours quickly become days, and days to months.

Each new month stretches to one year after another.

When I look at my life, St. Joseph, I ask:

What have I accomplished?

Whom have I helped?

Where am I going?

Can I serve our Lord in ways I have not even thought of?

Guide and protect me, Lord,

give me strength of purpose and vision.
Bless me for all I am, and may yet become.

Amen.

This prayer became particularly meaningful to me as I embarked on the uncertainties and challenges of life in the “real world” after college. The line that speaks to me most is this: Can I serve our Lord in ways I have not even thought of?

My calling is not in direct service or a religious vocation. These might be some things that immediately come to mind when you think of a vocation or a calling. As beautiful and noble as each of these callings is, they are not mine. And though it took some time, I realized that it does not make my calling any less meaningful.

I mentioned above that writing—even when I am nervous or uncertain or any other gamut of emotions—often helps me grow and process things. I’m doing that right here in this post. And I feel that it is my calling to write, to communicate, to string words together in a way that is meaningful to people.

When I graduated from college and was searching for meaning in the changes and upheaval in my life, I started a blog. I couldn’t not write about it, and in putting pen to paper—or rather, hands to keyboard—I found support in readers who were my friends and others who were random commenters. (And I hope readers felt that support, too.)

Each day at work and every time I write a freelance article, I share stories about people making a difference in their communities or challenging themselves through education.

And I also just started a new blog on a different topic: figure skating, one of my lifelong hobbies. It’s something I love to talk about, so I figured, why not try to widen the conversation and bring it online?

Through writing, I strive to create community and solidarity. This idea of finding solidarity—of knowing you are not alone in your experiences or that others share your interests and passions—is something I have found through my own reading, both online and off. It is something I hope to put back into the world with my words.

This—and other instances you all can probably think of from your own lives—might not be what you typically think of when you hear the word vocation. But my favorite closing blessing at Mass is when the priest or deacon says, “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.”

Taking each opportunity, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential, to bring light into the lives of others does just what that closing blessing charges us each to do. It might be in a way you didn’t expect or think of, but that doesn’t mean it won’t make a difference.

When I write, I feel like I am using my gift in a way that builds community, both large and small. On my skating blog, the stats page tells me that I have readers from as far away as Japan, the UK, and Hungary.  Readers from across the globe are connecting through a common passion for the sport. My most recent freelance article is about a local group that traces their genealogy back to the Pilgrims on the Mayflower. A much smaller niche, but connections that are no less important to the members. I could say the same for any number of pieces that I have written, from news stories to personal essays like this one.

It has taken me some time to realize the importance of evoking this solidarity. And as you might guess from the introduction to this post, it is something that I am constantly working on. But every time I hear that closing blessing at mass or say the Prayer to St. Joseph, I am reminded. And inspired to keep trying.

Maura Sullivan is a web editor at Suffolk University in Boston and a freelance writer who has been published in Notre Dame Magazine and South Shore Living Magazine. She also blogs about her love of figure skating at twizzletalk.wordpress.com.  She graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2011 with a degree in American Studies and Journalism and currently lives in her hometown of Weymouth, just outside of Boston. You can say hello at maura.sullivan2@gmail.com!