the72: Cristina McKeever - Presence

I spend most of my time in a room that consists of mirrors, an accompanist, and a number of amazingly talented individuals. This time consists of sweat, energy, growth, disappointment, trial, error, admiration, love, etc. So much of this precious time can be so easily consumed by a lack of focus, which for a dancer is detrimental in more ways than one. I have learned that it is presence, total and complete presence, that can fulfill my spirit in the most seemingly challenging or daunting of classes. The absolute attention that one can bring forth, physically, emotionally, and mentally in these dancing experiences is paramount to our necessary growth.

I’ve recently been reflecting upon the relationship that I have with my faith as well as the relationship that I hold with dancing. The connection between the two is something that I have always thought about, and the more that I do, the more similarities I find between the two entities. That word, presence, is the driving force for developing myself in both aspects, something that I really did not take note of until I began my collegiate journey. Faith is undoubtedly one of the most challenging concepts to hold on to, yet someway and somehow, I find myself holding on tight. How can something so vague lead me to believe in something so comforting? I believe that is the beauty of it all, we won’t ever have answers, and we have to learn to be ok with that.

The same goes with dance—there is a stigma that views careers in the arts as vague or unknown in the popular notion of success, and because of that they are dubbed as unfulfilling. Sure, I could believe that, but I choose not to—just as I choose to believe in the presence of God. How could I turn my back on something that has helped shape me into who I am, just because it is thought to be unprofitable? Sometimes it seems that it could be easier to not believe in something/someone larger than ourselves, but what growth will we experience without the presence of challenges in our lives? I could choose to go through the motions of my classes, without any focus or work ethic, but THAT would be unfulfilling. I could choose to be aloof to my faith, but I would not grow.

I do not think that it is coincidence that God instilled in me a love for dancing; I believe that He knew that the love I have for it will both challenge and support my faith in Him, allowing me to learn, in both aspects, what it feels like to fail in order to create the desire to succeed. There have been times in which I have failed to depend on my faith and my trust in God in times of adversity by instead trying to handle my own burdens without the hope that faith in God could give to me. It is a heavy feeling to try to handle what brings us sadness, stress, or anxiety without relying on anything or anyone to help ease our troubles. We forget that God does not mind easing what saddens us; He is there in our most vulnerable and challenging times, and he rejoices with us when we arise from them.

I know that dancing is how I am called to offer myself to others. When I decided that I wanted to pursue dance beyond just being an extracurricular activity, it became something that I needed in order to fully develop myself as a human being because it draws out from within me what I do not innately exude. It is one of the most vulnerable forms of artistic expression; it calls for trust in others and trust in the self; it is a constant test of determination, and it is always a form of communication and connection to those around us.

I have a job teaching dance at a local studio near my university. I spend three hours a week teaching and facilitating new experiences regarding rhythm, movement, expression, etc. to kids ages 7-16. Recently, I had to offer a reflection to my professor of my Dance Education and Outreach course, regarding how what we have learned thus far has affected our opinions, our thoughts, and our lives as dancers and teachers. I decided that to best express my gratitude for the lessons that this class presents, I would interview some of my younger students about how they feel about dancing and what it offers them. The answers included:

“Dancing makes me feel alive.” 

“Dancing makes me feel like I can do something in the world, and share that with others.” 

“Dancing makes me feel happy because I get to do what I love with my greatest friends.”

I watched these clips of my students over and over again as I edited the video that I turned in to my professor, and each time I listened to and watched my students deliver such eloquent and honest responses, my heart became so full. This is what makes dance such a powerful thing and something that I willingly give my heart to.

It is an art form that tests our patience, our abilities, and our spirits, but it is an art form that breathes life into those who are present within it. Just as our faith breathes life into us and shapes who we are meant to be, dance has the capability to guide us on how to become expressive, caring, courageous, and honest individuals. Thus, allowing the depths of ourselves (including the parts that are not always apparent upon a first impression) to shine through more clearly and powerfully, revealing exactly who God intended us to be.

I want to offer to others what both dance and my faith in God have given to me. I want to be able to open up channels of expression and honesty, ignite the spark in others that lit my own heart on fire, first for my faith, and secondly, for my love for dancing. My journey continues as a young adult, an aspiring artist, and a developing teacher by discovering how God is present in my passion, my growth, my disappointments, my failures and accomplishments. If I can maintain presence in my craft and my faith, I believe that I can bring to others the gifts that those things have brought to me.

Cristina McKeever graduated from Xavier College Prep in Palm Desert, CA, in 2013, where she was involved in Campus Ministry, Student Council, and served as the Captain of the Xavier Dance Team. From Indio, CA, she is currently a sophomore at Chapman University (CA), where she is a member of the University Honors Program and pursuing a Dance Major and Italian Studies minor. Cristina can be reached at mckee121@mail.chapman.edu.

This Doofus Named Peter

Portable speakers, audio wires running along the concrete steps of our church, and the slightly confused congregants gathering outside the church can only mean one thing: Palm Sunday. I'm sure that when the famous pilgrim Egeria logged her travels to Jerusalem in the 4th century and helped entrench the tradition of the liturgical procession on Palm Sunday, she was thinking of unseasonably crisp, cool March evenings in Chicago when you can almost see your breath.

We got our palms. We heard the procession Gospel. We shivered our timbers. And as our celebrant's voice crackled through our surprisingly stable and clear outdoor speakers, he advised us, before entering the Church (and everyone's thinking, "Will my seat be saved? Should I have left my jacket there?"), to put ourselves in the shoes of one of the many characters in the Gospel of the Passion.

So, sitting standing through today's choral reading of the Passion of Christ, I found myself gravitating toward our old friend Peter. I was drawn in by Peter's "vehement" denial that he would deny Christ, telling Jesus, "Even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you" (Mark 14:31). Jesus could have absolutely gone back and forth several times with Peter in a "but seriously" kind of way, but instead, Jesus kind of just says "I'm gonna leave this here."

And then Peter follows along, very closely, as the rest unfolds - the Agony in the Garden, the arrest, the questioning before the Sanhedrin. Peter puts himself right in the middle of it all, and as the allegations begin to fly at Jesus, Peter isn't hiding from anyone; instead, he's right outside among the curious crowd, almost rubbing his nose in all of it. And then come his three denials, the cockcrows, and Peter's weeping at his behavior.

Jesus tells Peter to his face that he's gonna mess this up, and though Peter swears he won't, he does. This is the same guy who Jesus invited to the Transfiguration and the Agony, pledged to build His Church upon, and told him whatever he loosed and bound one earth would be so in Heaven. How the heck does this fit together.

Well, here's what I was thinking as my knees flexed and straightened while our lectors took us artfully (and ever so gradually) toward the cross. In the Agony, Jesus asks the Father for the hour to pass, but Jesus defers to the Father's will. The Father green lights this whole thing. He wills it, and Jesus undertakes it.

So, this - the trial, the Passion, crucifixion, three days, and resurrection - has to the master plan, the best way for God's love to unfold decisively and completely. Jesus hops on board with complete fidelity because God, knowing its excellence and profundity, has willed that Jesus' Way to the Cross will be the method of salvation. Jesus had to trust that it will fall into place providentially.

He had to trust that the 72 He sent before Him would be effective in preaching and healing. He had to trust that John's baptisms would bring people to God and prepare the way for Him. And He had to trust that this doofus named Peter would have some semblance of an idea of how to guide the Church.

Jesus couldn't accept His sentencing, take His cross, and die on the wood without trusting that God had ordained a future for the Church He had started in the name of His Father. So much of this hinged on Peter, who Jesus looked in the eye on told of His immense power and responsibility to act with heavenly authority while later telling him straight up that he'd deny Him several times.

I couldn't help but feel that Peter is a solid stand-in for me, for us, for the Church. Jesus knew Peter's road would be bumpy and messy, but He also knew that the Father willed the Passion, the Resurrection, and a period of time when Christ will have ascended and left the Holy Spirit to animate the world with His Presence until He comes again - you know, the Church. So, He trusted the Father and trusted the Father's trusting Peter, massive screw-up that Peter was.

I think Christ's trust is a testament to His love for us. Jesus will look us in the eye and tell us the truth with great love. Whether that truth is that He has give us great gifts and has great things in store for us or that it's that our propensity toward human frailty and shortcoming is pointing us to deny Him, Jesus is always with us.

We may have moments of trust in God's will. We may have moments when we deny Him. But as we come to the foot of the cross, Jesus commends us to one another and to His mother, seeking to establish communion among ourselves and with Christ. The Church is born at the foot of the cross, from the wounded side of Christ, the torn veil, and the communal grief of those who love Christ and rise to new life in Him.

Like Peter, let us weep when we deny Christ, and let us be attentive to Christ's Passion, so that our faith may grow and grow to the point where we can vehemently tell Jesus that we will not deny Him.

the72: Hannah Boiko - The Missing Piece

When I hear the word ministry, I automatically pair its meaning to the word serve. But something else also comes to mind when I hear the word. The word ministry helps me to remember my purpose in life. It helps me to remember that there is a reason, a God-given one at that, to keep waking up each morning, to keep pushing myself to do my best, and to always be motivated to be the best version of myself each and every single day. But after writing this I pause and I really reflect.

“How am I living out my ministry?” is a heavy question, and I believe I am happily in the process of discovering it through my education.

Currently, I’m studying Communication Disorders to eventually become a Speech Language Pathologist. Throughout high school I was always so intrigued by the practice of medicine and my far off dream of one day becoming a doctor. When reality eventually caught up with me, it was finally time to decide on a college and a major. I really had to sit down and think about this.

One night during my senior year of high school found my mom and I scrolling through major after major on multiple websites, searching for something that would fit my personality. I have an absolute passion for helping people and for taking care of others. I believe that helping people is my ministry in life. Coming from a Jesuit high school and being engulfed in campus ministry, I discovered after leading many retreats that I had a passion for leadership, and of course, theology and faith.

My junior year of high school I had the pleasure of tutoring young children at a place called Duroville, CA, a poverty stricken environment that wasn’t far from my hometown. Many families lived here in a trailer park where they were faced with financial and personal hardships every single day. From this experience in my life I realized that God is calling me to help others. I believe that I was put on earth to be a person for others, wherever and whenever.

I’d like to say that I learned this from my mom. While growing up, before I left my house for a night or a long period of time my mom would always say, “have fun, and don’t forget if you need me to come get you no matter what time it is, I will come get you.” That saying my Mom always tells me has truly showed me unconditional love. My mother always puts others before herself, always making sure her kids are okay before she is.

But unfortunately, I have been broken in my life. Especially when I went through my parents’ divorce. Some days I never thought that I could be whole again, but time went on and I started finding things in life that filled my heart with joy. Helping others mended me back together. I could share my story with others and show them that no one is alone in life.

So back to the struggle of whom I wanted to be... I was coming to a crossroads moment in my life, unsure of what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. But am I really supposed to know that answer at 18 years old? I guess that’s where my faith comes in.

My mom looks up at me that night we were looking through majors, and suggests the profession of Speech Language Pathology. My mom is in fact a Speech Language Pathologist, so I automatically shot the idea down. There’s no way I want to follow in my mom’s footsteps! I want to be my own person... right?

Time went on and the major started to grow on me. I really do love what my mom does for a living. She has the opportunity to work with babies in an ICU all the way up to elderly people in a nursing home, helping them with speech disorders of all sorts. She can work in a hospital, school, nursing home, or private clinic. My mom changes lives every single day. It may not seem like a big deal, but if a little 5 year old can’t pronounce his “R’s” in the word “car” which comes out as “caw” but finally one day says “car,” then that is something to be proud of.

Changing lives is my ministry. I want to touch people in this world, and I want to help them along their way.

Looking back at this experience now, I can truly tell you that God was trying to tell me something. Each year leading up to me picking a major in college and picking a career/vocation, I got to experience something that I find so rewarding and so touching which is helping people and leading others. At my high school, in addition to tutoring kids, I also got to lead many retreats. This is something that I will always treasure. I believe that leading retreats has made me more of a servant of God. Leading my peers has allowed me to become a more vulnerable and open person. I’ve also had the opportunity of going to work with my mom to see what I’ll be doing in the future. I’ve helped people in ways I never thought I could whether that is tutoring children, giving advice to a friend, serving food to the homeless, being a spiritual leader, or just being in someone’s presence when they needed a shoulder to cry on or a good laugh (I’m pretty funny).

As my freshmen year of college is coming to a rapid close (5 more weeks, YAY!) I reflect on what I’ve been studying so far. I took a big leap of faith when committing to California Baptist University and agreeing to be a communication disorders major. I must say now: it was the absolute best decision I had, and I know I didn’t make it alone! I had incredible support from my friends, family, and most importantly, God. I was comforted by His love when I thought my future was impossible to obtain. I have started to take major classes and I know that becoming a Speech Language Pathologist in my future will help me to live my ministry out every single day for the rest of my life.

Even though life takes its toll on me at times and I feel like giving up, I stop and remember how extremely blessed I am to be here, breathing and living.

All we have to do is take it one day at a time.

Hannah Boiko graduated from Xavier College Prep in Palm Desert, CA, in 2014, where she came to know Christ, fell in love with Campus Ministry, and was a member of the Xavier Dance Team. Hannah is currently a freshman at California Baptist University in Riverside, CA, where she is studying Communication Disorders with the intention of becoming a Speech Language Pathologist. Hannah has a passion for helping others and a love for spontaneous beach trips. Hannah can be reached at hannahboiko@aol.com.

the72: Tom Kostielney - A Voice-Changing Helmet & A Sword on Fire

A few years ago, my instant answer to “what is your ministry?” would have quickly been “religion teacher.” Molding (warping?) the minds of the youth. However, since I have reached the age of infinite wisdom (25) and have life completely figured out, my thoughts on this have changed.

Obviously, teaching is a huge part of my ministry, but I feel God’s calling (for me, essentially, God’s calling and ministry are synonymous) in all aspects of my life. Essentially, God’s ministry for me is to be, as the great philosopher Barney Stinson put it, awesome.

Too often I have thought of God’s calling for me as something big to be done, and usually down the road. As a high school student, my calling was to be a teacher. Now that I have achieved that position, I constantly wonder if I am being called to also coach, or to pursue more advanced degrees, etc. I struggle to remind myself that I am being called to do something awesome each and every day.

In high school, yes, maybe my calling was to be a teacher down the road, but I was missing out on what I was being called to day-in and day-out. Teaching was my burning bush, but was I missing a burning twig or burning blade of grass every day?

Where are these twigs and blades of grass today? As a teacher, I am blessed with the opportunity to interact with hundreds of wonderful souls each and every day. If I think too far ahead, I miss God’s daily ministry for me in the lives of all these people. It sounds like a cliché, but I firmly feel like my ministry is to make each moment better because I was there. To infuse awesome and God into each breath.

My students are always stressed. Many teachers would say the same. Some of it is definitely caused by their drama-filled selves (“Bae, why did you like her Instagram picture?! This is the worst day ever!), though so much of it is totally legit and caused by their environment (SAT-pressure, mass amounts of homework, their Netflix not working for 6 hours). My ministry is to do my best to make the brief time I have with them a time that they will grow in faith, and do so through learning and just enjoying life.

I’m not smart enough to think of anything groundbreaking, so I end up living out this ministry in small ways like:

• Calling a student up to the front of the room and taking 2-5 minutes at the beginning of classes to get to know a different students’ interests (favorite video game, ice cream flavor, favorite Crayola Crayon name, etc.) to get them to get to know each other.
• Having “Will Smith Music Appreciation” at the end of the day
• Notes are essential at times, yet they are not the most exciting time, so giving notes while wearing an Optimus Prime voice-changing helmet to make it more interesting
• Opening their eyes to all of the amazing forms of prayer (music videos, comic books, etc.) that few ever seem to encounter until much later in life

Having this thought when I walk into my classroom everyday: “God, please speak through me today. Let my students know that I love them, that You love them, and that they are all the most amazing people in the world.”

I’m still a newbie teacher of only three years, so I am never confident that I am teaching them in the best way possible. What I am confident in, however, is that I can take all of these little moments that may be mundane and make them full of joy and love. And the beauty of this is I know so many teachers who have the same ministry, and do it far better than I could ever hope to do.

Now, this is not to argue the idea of “just make class fun and exciting, kids will love it!” If you try that as a teacher (as I did my first few weeks) you will come home, cry into your Curious George stuffed animal, and eat an entire box of Oreos (that can’t be just a “me” thing right?).

What this is trying to argue is that my day is filled with hundreds of small interactions with people, mainly students, and it is my ministry to make each moment special in some way. That may be pointing out the connections between sin and (maybe) the worst movie ever made, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. That may be taking the time to pray for a sick parent. It may be making syllabus day (remember that day as a student? That stuff was fun) as entertaining as possible.

In our end of the year evaluations, one student wrote this in response to the question, “What was your favorite part of class?”:

“Your substitute teacher policy. The first day of class that showed me that class would be taken seriously, but we would also be able to find the joy and humor in our daily lives.”

Said substitute teacher policy:

When I am gone, you will be on your BEST behavior for the sub. BEST. When the sub is standing in front of the room, remove him/her from what you see. Instead, imagine that the sub has been replaced by Mother Teresa, who has resurrected from the dead. And she has a sword. That is on fire. And she will decide, right then and there, based on that class alone, whether or not you will get into heaven or hell. 

Be on your BEST behavior. 

Love you guys!

Tom Kostielney somehow tricked the University of Notre Dame into giving him a BA in Theology and History in 2012, and managed the same feat again in the form of a Masters of Education from Loyola Chicago. His has received the annual “Most Likely to be President” Award 9 years running, as voted on by Tom and his dog, Halsey. He won the “Perfect Attendance” award as a 5th grade student. A native of South Bend, IN, he now lives with his wonderful wife in... South Bend, IN where he is a Theology teacher at Saint Joseph High School. Tom can be contacted at tkostiel@alumni.nd.edu. You could also contact him at his home at any time, just make sure you bring him some cookies. Preferably peanut butter. But he will eat any of them.

the72: Chris Whelan - The Open Door

"You're the closest person I know to God."

This was the moment when I fully realized the gravity of my job. During my first year of teaching, fresh out of college, my ninth grade theology class affirmed this student's statement as they eagerly awaited an answer to a question of faith that had clearly been gnawing at them for some time. Though only a year ago, I've long since forgotten the question, as well as my answer. I haven't forgotten the thought that flashed through my mind, however: "Oh God, they're in trouble!"

I currently teach theology at Lowell Catholic High School as part of the Providence Alliance for Catholic Teachers (PACT), a program that, along with more than a dozen other partner organizations, seeks to reinvigorate Catholic education through the training of the next generation of lay teachers. My responsibilities at Lowell Catholic have included leading retreats, coaching JV softball, and schmoozing prospective students at open houses, but my major focus has been on educating students in the faith.

I could fill this reflection with the hilarious and the absurd; if you don't believe me, try teaching a class full of exchange students with varying English levels... the concept of class clown transcends language and culture. I could fill it with stories of adversity; I once taught Augustine's Confessions to a class of 17 year olds. I could also fill it with moments of grace; one student shared with me his desire to enter the priesthood, while another remarked that my class had inspired her to attend Mass again. Instead, I want to write about my imperfections and my God who finds ways to use me anyways.

Teaching is a lot harder than I had ever imagined. Between lesson planning (how do I explain the idea of divine revelation to someone raised in secular, communist China?), grading (how does one grade a reflection essay?), and discipline (want to swear in class? See me after school to craft a list of 75 alternatives to the f-bomb*), there isn't a lot of time for me to really get to know the person behind each one of my 85 students. So I keep my classroom door open after school.

I don't know what keeps them coming in, whether it's the inordinate desire to draw on a blank white board (I swear students and white boards are like dogs and hydrants) or the desire to just talk to someone, but I almost always have company at the end of the day.

To be honest, it's the best part of my job and the reason I love teaching. I've been able to build countless "enduring personal relationships" as the Xaverian Brothers like to say by simply keeping my door open. I'm not the smartest, coolest, funniest, or best teacher by any means, but I believe the key to my ministry lies in this open door.

During a service trip in college, I realized that I had a knack for connecting with youth. I became a teacher because I wanted to have a positive impact on the world, and I saw this gift as a logical starting point. My goal is to invite my students to seek out a relationship with Christ. Unfortunately, I often lose sight of this goal during class.

There is simply too much material to cover, too many tests to give, and too many essays to grade. I see how so many teachers seem to fall into the trap of losing the forest for the trees. But this changes when someone wanders through my door after school. My focus shifts to the student. I've discussed the mundane, "think we'll get a snow day tomorrow!?!?", my passions, "c'mon you know Notre Dame stinks,"** and the truly profound, "I feel like I'm a good person, but I'm not religious and I'm scared about what comes after death."

If I'm good at anything, it's at making conversation. I'm good at building rapport and developing relationships. While my teaching has room for improvement and at some point I should probably get an advanced degree in theology, God has taken all of me, the good and the bad, and thrown me headfirst into His service. And He's made good use of me.

While teaching Confessions during my first semester as an educator felt next to impossible, one student really dove into the material. Marathon "extra help" sessions ensued, in which we discussed religion, faith, philosophy, politics, and life in general. I rarely gave answers, instead challenging him with questions. Six months after that first conversation about this young man's fear of death, he emailed me to declare that he'd shed his agnosticism and begun attending Sunday Mass. I didn't convert him. I was simply open – to God's grace and to this young man's questions, his anxieties, and his hopes.

While my students know me as Mr. Whelan and think my job is to just teach them theology, they couldn't be more wrong. My job is to be open to my students, to their joys and sorrows, successes and failures, good days and bad. I can't save anyone and I can't give anyone faith. I can share knowledge with my students, but I can't force them to retain it. I can, however, imitate Christ, and in doing so, witness to Him – the greatest gift I can give to my students, and the world.

*My favorite is a toss-up between "flubber," "full litter box," and "flying squirrels."
**This young man is lucky Tommy Rees was quarterback that year...

Chris Whelan graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2013 with a BA in Theology and a Minor in Business Economics. During his time at Notre Dame, Chris served as a mentor-in-faith for Notre Dame Vision, spent a summer in Buffalo, NY, working at the NativityMiguel Middle School, and was heavily involved in both the Center for Social Concerns and Campus Ministry. He currently resides in Lowell, MA, where he is earning an M.Ed. from Providence College through the Providence Alliance for Catholic Teachers (PACT) program by teaching theology at Lowell Catholic High School. Chris can be reached at cwhelan36@gmail.com.

the72: Steph DePrez - Fr. Hesburgh's High School Musical

In my overwhelmingly extensive experience as a theatre director, I’ve come to understand that rehearsal for a high school musical is tantamount to putting the wing of a hospital’s psychiatric ward on speed. Given a five minute break, students run outside, text ugly face pictures to each other, sing loudly, and pee. But mostly they just make noise. Lots and lots of gleeful, ridiculous, heavenly noise.

Heavenly? Well, friends, I found an interesting intersection between understandings of vocation this week. I found one of those juxtapositions that’s just so unusual, it begs to be put into context. During a break from rehearsing Godspell (opening March 26, tickets $10, at Xavier Prep in Palm Desert – bring your friends) I went to my computer and pulled up the live stream of Fr. Hesburgh’s wake.

Folk Choir, Basilica, Holy Cross Priests – that always gets me in the gut, right where my understanding of vocation lives, because, to be perfectly honest, in between Folk Choir Mass and summers working Notre Dame Vision, I’m pretty sure I want my ashes scattered in The Loft of the Basilica (where I spent many hours at Notre Dame singing). I don’t care if it’s gross.

I watched images of places I love and the oeuvre of Church Things Done Correctly, and my heart pat-a-pated a bit quicker. “The things! The good things! The things that taught me how to love!” I managed to fall into that semi-weepy, dangerously nostalgic place that many Domers inhabit during the alma mater (or whenever they use a Notre Dame bottle opener), and just as I worked myself into a frenzy of feels, I realized the kid playing Judas had kids lying on their backs as he fake-jumped on their faces.

“ABA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Lots of screams and laughter.

And it occurred to me that the man in the casket on my grainy live feed is the man who made this crazy moment in the deserts of California possible. Here I am, in the midst of thirty high strung, stressed out kids of varying talent, all just sort of being together. They love it, because they love one another. They feel safe. They have no idea how ridiculous they look, or how annoying they can be when they won’t shut up, or how silly it is when I catch them taking – really, Lark, another duck face selfie. Because, for the two and a half ours we spend in my classroom at the end of the day, they are experiencing a freedom that my counterpart (fellow Notre Dame Folk Choir alum Emily) and I can provide because we learned freedom, passion and vocation.

As I watched the somber, emotive faces streaming from the Basilica paying homage to the man who very publicly fought for the rights of the diverse, I heard the voices of my students singing and dancing “We Beseech Thee” – white, Latino, gay, immigrant – and I knew, with deep joy, that my classroom is the living continuation of Fr. Hesburgh’s work. I have created this space for love, laughter and safe discovery because our show is a teensy little piece of the Kingdom I was once taught how to see.

My initial reaction to this revelation was, of course, to stop rehearsal, sit them down, and give Emily and myself the space to present Our Super Important Notre Dame Priest, Who You Should Know About. But it occurred to me that my students don’t need that. They know the best of him already. Because Fr. Hesburgh knew how to build a communion of Saints.

After majoring in classical voice and film at the University of Notre Dame, Steph took the linear jump to teaching theology at a Jesuit high school. She moved from fabulous South Bend to fabulous Palm Springs in 2011, where she resides today. This year, Steph took over the drama department of Xavier College Preparatory High School. She considers her shining moment as an educator to be her work planning, organizing and directing Xavier’s Choir Tour of Australia in 2014, which everyone survived. This summer, Steph will be a keynote speaker at Notre Dame Vision. Steph can be reached at sdeprez4@gmail.com.

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.