the72: Kurt Nowak - God Moves In Mist-erious Ways OR The Parallel Vocational-Ministerial Curveball of the Hip Stuffs

I have a relatively easy time saying "Yes!" to whichever adventures come my way. These adventures have taken such forms as attending the University of Notre Dame, serving as a summer camp counselor for other-abled adults, and spending a year in Ireland as a youth and music minister. Over the past several years, however, I've also learned the humility of reiterating that same "Yes!" for the adventures which are disguised as challenges. Or, more simply put, shouting "Yes!" to the myriad opportunities to live in God’s love that come my way every single day. In a certain manner, my life (and especially this latest segment, of which you are about to hear) is a tale of learning to constantly say “Yes” – to pray in the manner of Dag Hammarskjold, who prayed, “For all that has been, thanks! To all that will be, yes!”

Two and a half years ago, in September of 2012, I began a career in Information Technology (IT), working for a financial services company in Texas, where my only existing relationships were with my girlfriend and her family. I had just spent the previous year in Ireland, serving the Catholic Church through music and youth ministry. Although living and working in Ireland was a challenge, there were many moments of clarity where I was able to get out of my own way and see how God can use my gifts.

The transition to living and working in America was much tougher. By the time January 2013 rolled around, I was a few months in to working a desk job for a massive company, struggling with finding purpose in work, still parish-hopping for a spiritual home around my new and very large hometown, and lacking community outside of my girlfriend and her family. Since I could see no other way to get things in order, I self-resolved to tough it out and take life one day at a time.

At the advice of a trusted mentor, I picked a random date nine months away to re-evaluate my vocation and career choice (September 19th, 2013), mentally hunkered down, and began using exercise as a way to fill my time and build community. Being physically active has always been a touch point for me in giving glory to God. I recognize that my ability to run is both a gift and a prayer, and helps me to give back to God that which He has given me. It also has allowed me the opportunity to grow in community with others, whether in high school, during my college years, or while living in Ireland. I figured that this would truly help me become centered and comfortable in my new city, new job, and new community.

When the Boston Marathon bombings happened in April 2013, I immediately called my dad and told him, "I want to run Boston next year." For the first time in my running career I laid out a comprehensive training plan and followed it through, watching the miles and accomplished workouts accumulating in my planner. I remember being excited at the start of my qualifying marathon: ready to face the early morning sunrise in late August of 2013, and put my training to the test. And then my body fell apart.

Not literally, of course. What really happened was that midway through the race my hip "locked up" on me and refused to move normally. I hobbled the last 10 miles (since quitting was not an option), and shuffled across the finish line 19 minutes shy of a Boston qualifying time. I flew home to a whirlwind of doctor appointments, X-Rays, MRI's, FBI’s, apple pies, etc. At the end of that bit of ‘fun’, I was diagnosed with a degenerate hip that needed repair, early onset osteoarthritis, and a recommendation that I stop running and playing sports, unless I wanted to replace my hip before I was 40 (one can imagine hip replacement not being a preferable option, especially at 24).

Over the course of the next three months, with the re-evaluation date to assess and re-map my vocational journey quickly pushed aside and forgotten, things really fell apart. My work life started to become less manageable; my girlfriend and I broke up; and I underwent surgery that would have me on crutches - unable to put any weight on my leg for two months, or even drive myself anywhere.

On the fourth day after leaving the hospital, I woke up alone in my second floor apartment (hindsight: great opportunity to learn to navigate stairs with crutches) with some food in my freezer (courtesy of my parents, who came out from Arizona for the surgery), and the knowledge that I would go weeks with very limited human contact, since I did not possess the ability to leave my apartment by myself. Due to the circumstances of my life, I had no real support community established, and therefore no one to visit or help me.

This isn’t to say that things were completely desolate. Looking back I can clearly see the blessings and grace that were readily available to me, if I had only pushed aside my pride, anger, and hurt to accept them graciously. An acquaintance at work helped me with my laundry. A friend at my recently-joined parish found a wonderful lady who drove me to and from rehab sessions and follow-up appointments. Skyping with friends and receiving care packages brought rare smiles to my day.

In the midst of battling old demons, trying to make it through the daily grind, and living in a running-less depression from which I could not escape by myself, I discovered a Master's degree program for education at the University of Portland. I had always talked about one day ending up a Catholic school teacher, since I wholeheartedly love and support Catholic education. A question came to mind: given all that had happened, and since I literally had nothing left to lose, why not make the jump? The question led to conversations with friends who were teachers, which in turn led me to apply to the graduate program. A fairy-tale ending in the works, perhaps?

Heck no! My application was denied. Yet, I persevered. I applied to several Catholic schools in San Antonio, with varying degrees of interest from the principals. After a month and a half of this, I gave up. God was clearly telling me that my calling was to be the best person I could be in my current circumstances. I could do that, as I had learned through this whole process (exactly how well I could be that best person will be a work-in-progress for the rest of my life).

Of course, God wasn’t quite done. Naturally, I received a call from the superintendent of Catholic Schools for the Archdiocese of San Antonio asking me to come in and interview for an IT resource position. I was offered the position, which provides technical support for ALL schools in the Archdiocese. After spending a few weeks in thoughtful prayer and discerning, I accepted.

While living in Ireland 3 years ago, I made a pilgrimage to Santiago, Spain. A group of dear friends (including the editor of this blog) and I followed El Camino de Santiago. We walked 70 miles in 4 days of prayer, soreness, pain, sunshine, rain, frustration, and joy upon reaching our destination. There were days when we could clearly follow the painted yellow arrows to Santiago, and days when the misty mornings were so dense with fog that we could not be sure of the way. There were times when we were so much surer of our path 60 miles from Santiago than when we had the city skyline in our sights.

We celebrated Mass in Santiago, a pilgrim Church, with walking sticks and hiking boots jammed into pews and resting against the walls of a beautiful Cathedral, only to be told that our pilgrimage was not over. Our Camino to Santiago was only part of a lifelong Camino toward heaven, taken a single step at a time.

That is the hope that I live in today. My hip still isn’t right after the surgery, and I acutely feel the aches and pains that come with ordinary motions of standing, sitting, and walking. I miss running in ways that can’t be expressed with words. I try my best to be God’s love through taking care of the technological needs of Catholic Schools, and by preparing for the Sacrament of Marriage this May with my fiancée. I often fail. In the mi(d)st of all this, much as He was in the mists of Northern Spain, God joins me on the path of life, regardless of how enthusiastically I say “Yes” to taking that next single step. Bum hip and all.

God Bless,
Kurt

Kurt graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2011 as an academic mutt, with a Bachelor of Science in Science-Computing and a minor in Theology. After spending a year in Ireland with the House of Brigid serving the Catholic Church with the editor of this blog, he moved to San Antonio to perfect his Texas drawl. Kurt currently serves as the Information Technology Specialist for the Department of Catholic Schools in the Archdiocese of San Antonio, advising and supporting schools in their implementation of technology, which is really just a fancy way of saying that he keeps the Internets working. In his spare time, Kurt enjoys preparing for an upcoming wedding in May to his beautiful fiancee, playing guitar, forgoing the use of chairs so as to sit on the floor, and cooking edible things. Kurt can be contacted at kurt.nowak@alumni.nd.edu.

the72: Sam Carlson - Praying toward Vocation

When Dan first asked me for a reflection, I must admit I was both excited and intimidated. I was excited because, as a student of a two-year master’s program, the question of “what’s next?” or more precisely "how am I called to use this?” has been pressing on my mind for sometime now. On the other hand, I was incredibly nervous because, after a year and a half, I still don’t have concrete answers for those questions.

As I pondered this question, I found myself turning to my patron saint, St. Joseph, and His Chaplet for guidance in prayer, which involves two Hail Mary’s and three recitations of “Pray for Us, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph” for each Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious mystery of the Rosary. As I pondered the central mysteries of each set (Joyful: Incarnation; Sorrowful: Crucifixion; Glorious: Resurrection), I thought more and more how these mysteries offered an excellent framework for understanding one’s vocation ultimately as someone who “puts on Christ” and embodies him in their own preaching of the Gospel.

It is through this framework, that I would like to share with you my own vocational journey thus far.

Incarnation

What makes the Mystery of the Incarnation truly unique is that it expresses the Holy Spirit’s working in and through contextual realities. What is particularly interesting is that it is the only “central” mystery which is smack-dab in the middle of its set. It’s almost as if the prayer in itself says “This story needs some further explanation” - a prequel and a sequel.

This means that God is limited, which is an uncomfortable reality for both ancient and modern thought. Indeed, how can an omnipotent and omniscient God be limited to the realm of physics, be limited to a single entity, be limited to the human body and of all the messiness that comes with it? In light of such a reflection, a friend of mine has coined the phrase “the God who poops”- its one of my favorites.

However, a God who is not limited by a contextual reality cannot breathe, cannot move, cannot think, and ultimately cannot live. When we reflect on God as someone (or perhaps more accurate to the idea, something) which transcends a contextual reality, we ironically end up with a God more like the pagan idols in their incompetence. Rather, the God who speaks to His people must speak through a context. Even the writers of the Old Testament, despite the aniconic tradition throughout, understood this. God’s message to Abraham comes through three messengers: he speaks to Moses in the Burning Bush, cleanses the earth with a flood, and anoints his king with oil. God acts in very real, very physical, and very contextual ways.

For Christians, we find the fulfillment of this divine insistence on contextualization in the Incarnation. The Infinite God becomes finite. The omnipotent God becomes limited. But it is in His finitude, in His limitations, that God lives in time and in space. It is by His life that we know Him, and it is through context - through bodily, incarnational, context - which he acts.

One aspect of my own context which I have done a great deal of reflection on is my identity as a convert to the Catholic Faith. This indeed has its problems, but there are many joys to the unique circumstance of being a convert. Like Christ at his birth, there were many gifts brought to my baptism. These were often seemingly long lost heirlooms of the Catholic faith in my family which were handed down to me as the “newly minted” Catholic and have been a cherished part of my faith. 

More to this point, as Christ descended from a long past line of Kings, so, too, I am a descendent of men and women of extraordinary fidelity to the life of faith. In studying our family’s ancestry, the consistent aspect of life which my father noted was piety and fidelity. To be able to share with my ancestors - alive and dead - in this great wealth of faith has truly been a blessing.

Crucifixion

Yet, not everything about the life of Christ is as wonderful as the Incarnation. Indeed, his scourging at the pillar, his crowning of thorns, and ultimately his Crucifixion, speak to the very real reality of human suffering. Furthermore, what is incredible about the mystery of the Crucifixion is that it is present throughout the teachings of Christ; indeed, it is the key through which Christ’s teachings can be understood. “Blessed are the Persecuted,” “Whatever you have done to the least of these,” “take up your cross,” et cetera et cetera.

Not unlike Christ, my identity as a convert to the faith has led to certain sufferings as well. Foremost in my heart is the inability to share the joy of the Gospel handed on to me through the Church to the ones I love. At first, I approached this problem with a great zeal and vigor that I would convert my family to the wisdom and beauty contained in the teachings of the Church (perhaps other converts can witness to how unsuccessful such an approach is). Although I still hope and pray for this to come to pass, I have to come to realize that my duty is not in solving the problem, but rather to cope with it. To put it in Biblical terms, I’m not called to be a Zealot, but rather to take up my cross, and follow Him.

However, the ultimate consolation in the mystery of the Crucifixion is that God is not closest to us on the mountain top, in our moments of rejoicing and gladness, but he is with us most in our lowest of moments, in our sufferings. Indeed, the measuring stick of our faith is not our triumphs, but our persecutions. When God Himself came to earth, he was persecuted and suffered much.

Furthermore, all who have followed him, all who have been guided by the Holy Spirit, have endured some form of suffering, whether it be internal (illness or despair) or external (violence and persecution). As St. Paul says “we rejoice in our suffering” because it is a demarcation of the right path we have taken. The reminder that God is with me is oftentimes what keeps me moving forward in my faith in Christ and his Church.

Redemption

The choice of the word “Redemption” as opposed to “Resurrection” is not unintentional. When Jesus appears to his Disciples in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 24:39), he says, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see.” Furthermore, when Jesus encounters Thomas in the Gospel of John (John 20:27), He says, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side, do not doubt but believe.”

Too often we hear “Resurrection” and we think that the sufferings on the cross (and by association, our sufferings with them) are simply washed away. However, the significance of the Resurrection is not the removal of suffering, but the redemption of suffering. God does not predestine suffering, nor does He simply wipe it away as if it never happened, as if to say it was all irrelevant. Rather, He Redeems through suffering, taking our hurts and our pains and transfiguring them so that they may be a medium for His glory in us and our glory in him. Our wounds are healed, but not removed.

One way in which my wounds have been healed, though not removed has been a deep interest for ecumenical discussion. Indeed, the dialogue between the communities of Christ drives most of my theological interest. My choice of Biblical Studies (to be able to better understand the common book of all Christians) and my choice of Loyola University Chicago (a community largely governed by encounters of different perspectives and opinions) are largely rooted in seeking redemption, not removal, of the wounds which I bear.

In fact, I more often enjoy a theological discussion with someone I disagree with more than someone I agree with (if I shout at you, I assure you that it's probably more out of joy than frustration). Indeed, this desire to become more familiar, not just with my own faith, but my faith in engagement with the “other,” has come to fundamentally shape my theological perspective. It has become for me, partial evidence for the redemption which we hope fully participate in. As St. Paul says, “if we have died with Christ, we believe we also will live with him” (Romans 6:8).

There’s one last thing I’d like to say that will require a revisitation of the aforementioned Resurrection narratives. When Christ appears, and offers the wounds of his hands, feet and sides as witness to His resurrection, note how he does not also point out the scars from the scourging, or the indents of the thorns on his head, nor does he come in his burial cloths, all of which also witness to his suffering. Why not offer these as further evidence?

I think it is because, not all suffering is meant to be “redeemed” or “glorified.” Sometimes, our sufferings are meant to simply be wiped away, that we may be made as white as snow. These sufferings are often a result of our own iniquity, personal or systemic. Many times I myself have dealt with sufferings that are more a result of leaving the path of Christ, and of refusing my cross. While I may continue to bear those sufferings, I do not misunderstand them to be a vocation, nor do I misunderstand them to be sufferings endured for Christ. A healthy level of discernment is necessary in considering what sufferings we are called to bring to the Resurrection, and what we are called to leave behind.

I pray that this blog has been as helpful in your discernment, as reflecting upon it has been for mine. May God love you and keep you, and until we meet again- in person, in the Eucharist, or in the world to come- may God hold you in the palm of his hand. I cannot wait to see the wonderful ways in which God redeems the world in and through you. Thank you.

God Bless,

Samuel Carlson

Sam Carlson graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2013 with a BA in Theology. While at Notre Dame, Sam was a summer volunteer at the Catholic Worker House in South Bend, a mentor-in-faith for Notre Dame Vision, an inaugural officer of the Theology Club, and a member of the Folk Choir. Originally from Palatine, IL, Sam now lives in Chicago, IL, where he is working toward an MA in Biblical Languages and Literature from Loyola University Chicago, which he will finish this year. Sam can be reached at scarlson8@luc.edu.

the72: Jerome Hall - Service in All Things

For most of my life, I’ve been particularly fond of service-focused activities. I’m not sure when exactly it started, but I have a sneaking suspicion my parents are at least partly to blame for it. While I was growing up, they often dragged me to all kinds of service events. Somewhere along the line, I started not only enjoying those events, but making decisions to seek them out myself.

This desire to serve took on various forms. Sometimes it was simply a desire to help out in a behind the scenes capacity, like when I started altar serving at Mass (highlight of third grade). Other times, the service was more driven towards solidarity and understanding, such as the 30 Hour Famine I participated in every year in high school.

When it came time to look for colleges, availability of service opportunities was one of my criteria. I don’t think I ever thought about it in concrete terms, but in all the mailings and campus tours, any mentions of a service-friendly environment stood out to me. In the back of my mind, I’d begun to realize that a major part of my Christian ministry was to serve.

During my senior year of college, in the midst of looking for a job, I was concerned about how I was going to be able to fulfill my desire for service "in the real world." Sometimes I felt self-conscious about my major and its lack of immediately obvious benefits to the world. A bunch of my friends were going into various service programs after they graduated to do things like teach at understaffed schools or volunteer at medical clinics.

Compared to those options, my eight-to-five office job made me feel like I was turning my back on my calling to serve. I felt that I was settling for the comfort of a regular paycheck instead of pursuing options more directly aligned with service. Despite my reservations, I accepted a job with a software consulting firm in Chicago.

After moving to Chicago, I had an easy time finding service opportunities outside of work. There are plenty of problems in big cities, which meant plenty of challenges and opportunities to address them. I joined a parish with an active young adult community, full of opportunities to serve both internally and externally. I got involved with a local domestic violence shelter, helping plan fundraising events. 

For a while, I thought that maybe this was just how it was going to be. Work was work, and I could find opportunities to be a good Christian and live out my ministry in my non-work time. It wasn’t until Dan asked me to write this blog post that I really did much reflection on those conflicting feelings I had during senior year, but looking back, I think my concern was based mostly on the idea that my job was my ministry.

I was feeling a struggle between doing what I had spent four years getting good at (programming) and what I felt called to do (serve others). What I have discovered since then is that not only can my ministry exist outside of my job, but that I can also incorporate my desire to serve as a part of my job as well.

Not only could I bring my ministry into my job, but it was something I’d been doing already without realizing it. When I empty all the mugs in the dishwasher (not just the one I need) or take the time to help a new hire get familiar with how certain aspects of our office life works, those are opportunities for me to help out and serve. They may not be big items – I’m not about to solve world hunger with some sweet HTML – but they are still ways that I can further live out my ministry. Ways that I can incorporate my ministry into all parts of my life.

Jerome Hall graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2012 with a BS in Computer Science. While at Notre Dame, Jerome was a Resident Assistant in Duncan Hall, a Mentor-in-Faith with Notre Dame Vision, a sports photographer for Scholastic Magazine, and belonged to the Disc Golf and Juggling Clubs. Originally from Fort Branch, IN, Jerome now lives in Chicago, IL, where he works as an associate at Pariveda Solutions doing software consulting. Jerome can be contacted at jeromephall@gmail.com.

FaithND Daily Reflection - February 9, 2015

This post is part of FaithND's daily posts, serving as the Reflection to go with the daily Gospel and saint bio. Visit faith.nd.edu for more info or to subscribe to their blasts. The original post can be found here.

In the Gospel, Jesus gets flocked by people seeking advice, guidance, and cures.

Often, it takes begging and pleading to get to Jesus: The paralytic’s friends have to climb the roof of a house, break through, and lower their friend to Jesus to be healed (Mark 2:12). The centurion has to plead on behalf of his servant before he is healed (Mark 8:5-13). The blind beggar Bartimaeus has to plead with the disciples to get Jesus to stop before having his sight restored (Mark 10:46-52).

Seemingly, everyone is hungry for the love of God and the healing that God brings. In fact, Mark tells us in this Gospel that people in the time of Jesus “begged that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak.” Even the briefest encounter with Christ brings peace, for all who touched his cloak were healed.

Though we can’t stake out the next road Jesus is walking and touch his cloak, the healing of God is no further from us than it was from the people of first century Palestine. For us, healing comes in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, in prayerfully reflecting and investing in our Penitential Rite at Mass, and in making conscientious apologies and offering others authentic forgiveness. We just need to make some effort to reach out, like the people in this Gospel.

Maybe we don’t always make time for Confession. Maybe we enter into the Penitential Rite mechanically. Maybe we take our relationships for granted. But if we can focus ourselves in these moments and reach out in faith, perhaps we can at least graze the cloak of Jesus and find healing—for he is always looking for us, even before we seek him.

__________

The Gospel passage this reflection reacts to is Mark 6:53-56:

When they had crossed over, Jesus and his disciples came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was.

And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

the72: Melissa Cedillo - Faith for the Both of Us

I have been involved in campus ministry, read about other people’s ministry, and I even googled the definition of the word ministry. As I’ve understood it, to live out one’s ministry simply means to live out one’s vocation, to find those gifts God has blessed one with, and use them every day. Being that I am college student, I am still unclear of what my vocational call is quite yet. So when the question, “How are you living out your ministry?” was asked, I was kind of taken back.

So, just like any Jesuit school student would do, I began to reflect.

When thinking about where God had been in my life, I thought of a friend. It was in the midst of challenges with this friend that I had to lean on my God-given gifts to overcome my friend’s doubt. Consumed in a cloud of depression, this friend had begin to lose sight of the big picture.

My friend had come to believe because of all of their mistakes, God could no longer overlook their flaws. This friend began to see themself as unworthy of God’s love and forgiveness. For months, I watched my friend struggle with faith and hope, which in return, stumped me as well. How do you give advice or support when statements like “Give up it to God, and pray” simply do not cut it.

Lucky for me I had seen the way this friend had shined once before. This friend had demonstrated friendship to many so many times before that they had defined unconditional friendship. Last semester, I had started college at a school in Oregon. While I was up there, I, too, began to slip into a gloomy outlook on life. I felt unproductive and unmotivated. There were a good three weeks where all I did was go to class, and watch Netflix. I missed God, and sunk into a self-created depression.

I firmly believe that when you are about to go through a rough time in life, God places people in your life to help you get through that event. I was able to survive last semester because my friends refused to see me lose my faith. My best friends and boyfriend would remind me how to be myself. It sounds so silly, but it’s true. They would call to make sure I did things with my day, or send funny care packages.

When our good friends lose their way, it’s our job to remember their blessings. It our duty to recall the things that made them happy, and most importantly to remind them of the relationship they once shared with God.

Regardless, of the hardships last semester brought, my friends reminded me that the best had yet to come. These friends’ being present prevented me from ever thinking that God was absent or had given up on me. Looking at where I am this semester, at a new school, loving life, and watching God work through my daily life, I had just lived out the advice I needed to give my friend. While my friend had thought they had no self-worth left, they were the very face of God for me.

They way I think about it is, my friend and I are looking at the same downhill street. I can kind of see the end of the street – it’s not clear, but I know it’s there. I can kind of make out a flower that survived a rainstorm, and sort of see the sun starting to come back out. My friend is standing right next to me, looking down the same street.

However, from their perspective, there are untrimmed trees, bushes, and vines blocking the view. The end of the street is cloudy and grey, and the sun looks like it’s never coming back. The ministry of friendship calls us to pull them to where we are standing, and show them the bigger picture, to remind them that the sun does in fact come back out.

It’s apparent that in the Gospel, Jesus didn’t just say he would be a friend of faith; He showed it too. I realized that I was at a solid place in my faith, and this could be used to my advantage. I needed to be creative on how I was going to help my friend. So I began to think differently. I would go to Mass and dedicate all the love I had gained from a homily to this friend. In moments where I was hopeful, I asked God to show my friend the same type of hope. I would pray for enemies when they couldn’t, and loved them even more at their worst moments. I would send my friend devotionals that spoke about losing hope, and made sure they never stopped going to Communion.

I remembering thinking, “For now, I’m going to have enough faith for the both of us. You will get through this.” I was going to love my best friend through it, just as God does for us.

Friendship is such a powerful gift. It challenges you to be God’s voice, when your best friend can’t find their own light. It reminds you that God is always rooting for you, not against you. Eventually, your friend will ask how you have hope, or why. It is then when you get to share the good news, and remind them that the best has yet to come.

God teaches us how to be a good friend, and embrace suffering. More than that, He teaches how to find ones faith again. This is what I would call the ministry of friendship. I believe that it’s a ministry we are all called to, and it can accompany any vocation.

Melissa Cedillo graduated from Xavier College Prep in Palm Desert, CA, in 2014, where she was involved in Campus Ministry and Student Council, among other things. From Palm Desert, CA, Melissa is currently a freshmen at Loyola Marymount (CA), where she is beginning a double-major in Theology and Biology. Melissa can be reached at melissann19@icloud.com. (Editor's note: I was Melissa's confirmation sponsor.)