Secular and Sacred Worlds

This past Wednesday, I celebrated Ash Wednesday Mass at the Notre Dame de Paris Cathedral (read last week’s blog if you want to listen to me rave about gothic cathedrals). It was definitely the perfect location for a solemn and serious mass- nothing like grey walls and gargoyles to help you enter into Lent. During the mass, I began to reflect upon the congregation that had packed into the large church. It was a very international group. Of course, Notre Dame de Paris is a famous cathedral, so it obviously attracts many tourists, but it also hints at a larger and somewhat stranger issue in France- secularity.

This has been probably one of the biggest cultural differences I have experienced since coming to Europe. Back at Notre Dame (de Lac), we are surrounded by faith. We have chapels in our dorms, we take theology classes, we have late night discussions in our section lounges t- there is no doubt that religion is huge part of life at Notre Dame. However, in a country where there are cathedrals at every turn, Europe is predominately secular. For the most part, the new friends I’ve met here aren’t religious and don’t go to church. Talking about faith and religion isn’t common, neither is going to going to mass or other religious services. The majority of people who attend church are people from outside of Europe and I am almost always the youngest person there.

It was a weird adjustment at first. I was afraid to talk about religion with anyone. I would only shyly admit that I was going to church and I was hesitant to mention various observances that I was doing for my faith (like giving something up for Lent). When I posted my blogs on Facebook, I worried about what my European friends would think. Would they see me as a crazy religious American?

Yesterday while visiting a friend at Oxford, I went to a lecture by Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, who discussed the intersectionality of the secular and sacred worlds. Though I was battling a touch of jetlag during the lecture, I gleaned some really interesting insights as to how the English think about religion in the America. One of the questions near the end of the lecture concerned how Americans fail to deal with the separation of church and state. Williams spoke disapprovingly about the climate of religion in America. The conversation reminded me of how often people from different places can easily stereotype other countries. How easy is it to only see religion in America as one exact way if you are from a country in Europe?

This made me realize how important it is for us to talk openly about religion. Going abroad is all about a cultural exchange and that can’t take place if you are holding back on things that make you unique. It also made me see the importance in speaking authentically about your own faith life, to share with your new friends not just the wonder and beauty you see in your religion, but also the teachings and ideas you struggle with, so that people can understand the complex variation that are religious beliefs in America. In the same way, I want to undo my own stereotypes of secular Europe. Do my new friends have thoughts or questions about religion? Do they believe that there might be something out there beyond us, even if they can’t put it into words?

There is always danger in seeing just one story or believing a single stereotype. One of the greatest steps in cultural understanding and the abroad experience is understanding why these stereotypes exist and letting them be smashed.  

Reveling in Wonder: Gothic Cathedrals

Confession Time- I really hate philosophy. As much as I appreciate the aesthetic of intellectually pouring over Arisotle, engaging in philosophical debates, and thinking in concise, logical ways, I can’t say that the subject has ever really captured me. I have immense respect for people who are Philosophy majors, but I can safely say that it is not my calling. So last semester, when I realized that I still needed to take my second philosophy course, I was full of dread when I signed up for “Philosophy of Art and Aesthetic I.” But I like art, right? It couldn’t be THAT bad. I can’t say that I walked away from the course converted to a philo-phile or even that I enjoyed the class, but I did find one of the lectures so fascinating that I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.

We spent one week studying the philosophy behind French Gothic cathedrals. Seeing as how I am a bit of a philosophical delinquent, I will attempt to enlighten you:   

The philosophy behind Gothic cathedrals stems from the “Theory of Emmination,” which is the thought that the divine is rooted in everything. Because we can look for symbols of God’s creative act, we can therefore see God’s artwork. Architecture became one of the highest forms of emmination and cathedrals were constructed  based on light. Because light is immaterial, it was thought of as a mediator between souls and the physical, and it became the prominent symbol of God’s light. Cathedrals then become like gems, radiating God’s love out, a giant symbol of God’s creative act. Because of this, the Gothic cathedrals become a place for experimentation in Middle Ages architecture, specifically allowing for architects to create churches that tell narratives- that of moving from the darkness of the human world to the light of the heavenly.

Since I’ve been in France, I’ve had the opportunity to explore 2 different Gothic cathedrals: Notre Dame de Reims and Notre Dame de Paris

The cathedral in Reims, Notre Dame de Reims, is one of the most famous in all of France. Built in 1211, the cathedral was the place used for the crowning of the kings of France.  What I think makes this cathedral even more beautiful is the fact that it had caught fire many times and was even mostly destroyed during World War I. Yet, each time, people remained dedicated to the astounding work of architecture that is Notre Dame de Reims, including a massive donation from the Rockefellers after World War I, which restored the beautiful building to it’s former glory.

Just as the Reims cathedral escaped destruction time after time, Notre Dame de Paris carries the same stories. The first story takes place after the French Revolution when most of the religious buildings in Paris were destroyed, Notre Dame mostly destroyed, with the stain glass replaced with plain glass windows, was in risk of being demolished. Victor Hugo, who was a huge advocate of Gothic architecture, penned Notre Dame de Paris, which captured the imaginations of the people of Paris and saved the building. Later, during World War II, the cathedral once again found itself at risk of destruction. Legend says that during Hitler’s occupation of Paris, he had ordered the Governor of Paris, Dietrich von Choltitz, to burn the city. Explosives had been wired to blow up all of Paris’s most famous landmarks, including the cathedral. However, Choltitz, for some reason, could not let it burn. When Hitler called and asked him, “Is Paris burning?” he lied and said yes, saving the beautiful city and in turn, Notre Dame de Paris.

So what is it about Gothic cathedrals that continues to inspire and fascinate us, even as years go by? Why, despite many attempts to destroy these buildings, do we persist on finding a way to keep them standing? What about these buildings never stops garnering our devotion and sparking our imagination? The answer of course is personal to everyone, but here is mine-

As Catholics today, we believe  God wants to have a relationship with us, to know us and love us in a truly personal way. My prayer experiences are usually so rooted to my own life and my own journey, that sometimes we loose track of a God who is anything but this intimate companion. Yet in these Gothic cathedrals we have a chance to experience a God beyond that. Here we get to revel in the wonderful and awesome of our God, a God that works in big and great ways.

An Afternoon Pilgrimage

A week or so ago, I decided to spend my afternoon at the Middle Ages Museum in Paris. It is a wonderful museum full of artifacts from the medieval times. One of the things that struck me was the massive exhibition on pèlerinage, the French word for pilgrimage.  The exhibit went through different aspects of medieval pilgrimages, such as their transportation, maps they used, and so on. At the end there was a display of what a pilgrimage looked like today. The display had guidebooks for Lourdes and moped helmets. After seeing the exhibit, I realized it was high time I followed in the footsteps of the medieval pilgrims and set out on my own journey of faith.

I decided to start by planning a few different pilgrimages of varying lengths to take during the semester. In just a few weeks, I am going to Le Mans for a day pilgrimage to take in the history of the Holy Cross order and to discover the shrine of Blessed Basil Moreau. Leading up to Easter, I have booked my ticket to spend Holy Week on a pilgrimage in Rome with Notre Dame Campus Ministry. In mid-April, when my mom comes to visit, we are taking a pilgrimage together to Lourdes. While I can’t wait to undertake all of these journeys, I realized that the city in which I am currently living also has some amazing religious sites as well. Why not start by taking an “afternoon pilgrimage” in Paris?

I decided on The Chapel of the Miraculous Medal as my destination. Located near St. Germain-de-Pres on the Left Bank, the entrance to this famous pilgrimage site is just a hole in the wall tucked under the massive department store Le Bon Marche. Inside and across the courtyard is the entrance to the chapel. The chapel itself is gorgeous, with bright blue tiles and a huge statue of Mary. Of course though, the history of this chapel is what’s really breathtaking.

In 1830, St. Catherine Labouré, a 24-year old novitiate to the Daughters of Charity, awoke to find a small child radiating light at the foot of her bed. “The Blessed Virgin is waiting for you,” the child said and led her to the chapel where Mary was sitting. St. Catherine had been praying that this might happen and was overjoyed. She sat and talked to Mary that night, receiving advice from her. Mary visited St. Catherine two more times after this, showing the young woman the design for a medal. This medal, now known as the Miraculous Medal, became famous for helping to cure cholera in Paris and is now carried throughout the world.

Upon entering the chapel, I was overwhelmed. All I could think was, “I am on holy ground.” The space of the church felt so sacred and so special and I realized that I had never before stood in the same room where Mary had been seen. I was so amazed that St. Catherine had been not that much older than myself. I spent a lot of time lost in prayer and reflection as I thought about the significance of this place. I also had the opportunity to stay for Stations of the Cross, which helped to make my pilgrimage part of a larger group experience than just my own. Before I left, I had the chance to buy a miraculous medal for myself as well as a postcard to send back to my catechism class.

When you are studying abroad, there is a huge pressure to travel everywhere and see everything. It is really great to have the opportunity to explore the world, but there is also something to be said about taking moments to understand the blessings and miracles that exist inside the city where you are staying. Spending an afternoon on a mini-pilgrimage is a great way to let your study abroad city guide your faith life and to connect with the faith of your new city. My advice is to really take time to understand the history behind the site you choose to visit and spend some time reflecting on that before you make your pilgrimage. Focus on how the story behind the pilgrimage site relates to where you are in your life now and your own faith journey. Also look through schedules so that you can find masses or prayer services to attend while you are making your mini-pilgrimage. Finally, I advise doing something to help continue to make your experience real to you- whether you take pictures, buy a prayer card, etc. - this will help bring yourself back to your experience. Studying abroad is all about the journey and finding God, not just in far away places, but in places nearby too.

Finding Your Parish: It's a Journey

If you like Catholic churches, Paris is your city. Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, Saint Chapelle, Saint Suplice- the list of architecturally inspiring and historically interesting churches seems endless. With all of these beautiful and fascinating places, it seems almost impossible to settle down and find a parish for weekly Sunday mass.

However, having a parish is essential. An important part of your faith life is community. While gorgeous gothic cathedrals are nothing short of awe-inspiring, they are packed full of tourists for weekend masses, making it difficult to have an intimate prayer experience and to create a community within the church. I definitely recommend stopping inside some of Paris’s most beautiful cathedrals for a weekday mass, but when it comes to Sunday mass, it is important to have a place where you feel like you belong. At Notre Dame, we are lucky enough to have a built-in community of people who are going through the same life experiences as us and who care about faith life in a similar way to us. But finding it in another country, well it’s a journey!

I started my own search by trying a church nearby our dorm. It is a fifteen minute walk to the Franciscan Chapel nearby. It is a beautiful church made out of beautiful red brick with tons of windows that pours in light. It is a great family parish, with lots of children, elderly, and everyone in between. There is a wonderful choir made up of parishioners young and old. It is a very welcoming and homey parish to join for mass. I brought along two other Notre Dame students studying in Paris and we all loved it. I felt especially welcome there since my mom works with Capuchins and I’ve grown up with Franciscans my whole life. There is also a delicious boulangerie next door, which makes for a perfect post mass breakfast stop before we walk back through the park. After our first mass there, we were convinced that this was the perfect parish for us and immediately adopted it as our own.

A few weeks later, I talked with a friend who had been studying in Paris all year. She talked about some of the parishes she tried and recommended an English speaking Catholic church near the Arc de Triumph called St. Joseph’s.  I looked it up online and was excited to discover that it offered not just mass in English, but various forms of ministry, including young adult faith sharing, retreats, and service opportunities- also in English. The priests at the Franciscan Chapel spoke slowly, but it was still not always easy to understand or pay attention when mass was in another language. I was also happy to discover that St. Joseph’s offered evening masses. As much as I loved the atmosphere at the Franciscan Chapel, I hated waking up on Sunday mornings since they only offered one mass during the time I usually reserve for catching up on sleep. I liked the option of being able to go at different times that worked easier into my schedule. So despite thinking that I’d found my parish- I decided to try another.

St. Joseph’s was very different. The church itself was windowless with modern grey walls with red tiling. It had a unique character, with a congregation made up of an eclectic group with a strong Southeast Asian population, a good handful of American expat families and an Irish presider. The mass itself was full of comfort. As a member of the Celebration Choir at Notre Dame, the music is one of the most important parts of mass to me, and I really enjoyed getting to sing familiar songs from the usual Gather hymnal. I also really liked the opportunity to say the mass responses, hear the readings and homily, and pray in a language that was natural to me. I definitely had a richer prayer experience when I was able to engage in English.

So after these two very different mass experiences, I am still not certain which of these will be my parish in Paris. I love the bright, joyful family atmosphere of the Franciscan Chapel, but I also love the depth of prayer and fulfillment that I get from going to St Josephs. I love the mass times at St Josephs, but I also love how the Franciscan Chapel is right around the corner. Luckily, there is no rule saying you have to have only one parish, and I can continue switching between these two.

The experience of trying to find a parish is such an important one. We have it so easy at Notre Dame, with some of the richest homilists, a loving congregation of peers, and mass schedules that are built into our busy student lives. In the “real world” it takes work to find a parish that clicks. It takes a lot of thoughtful reflection to find a church that fits with what you are searching for- where you feel comfortable, loved, and challenged. In a year and a half, when I enter the real world, I will be grateful for this experience I’ve had in Paris, on the journey to finding my parish.

Homesickness

When I was younger, I was always the homesick kid. I was the one that would struggle through summer camp with teary eyes. I was the one that would go home from sleepovers early because I missed my family. The idea of leaving my family, especially my mom, was always painful to me. Even more painful was the idea that my family could simply carry on without me, living their day-to-day life without my presence.

As I got older, the severity of it slowly slipped away. Sure, once in a while I would still be struck with a pang of homesickness when my sister snapchated me a picture of my family from our favorite restaurant or my family facetime me during a lazy afternoon, but at least when I was at Notre Dame I was lucky enough to only be a 3-hour train ride away from my hometown. I even came full circle this summer while working as a camp counselor, making it my job to comfort and dry the eyes of homesick campers.

Three weeks ago, everything changed. I said good-bye to my family through teary eyes and I waved to them the entire time I was in the TSA line (it might have been a little overkill). It was heartbreaking to think that I wouldn’t see them for at least 5 months. This will be the longest I’ve gone without seeing my family. Despite my lifelong dream of exploring Europe, a little part of me thought of me at age 11. And that little part of me wondered, could I actually do this?

Luckily between classes and making friends and eating too many pastries and going to museums till my eyes grow droopy- I haven’t had much time to catch my breath, much less be homesick. But, it is in the tiny quiet moments that I find myself missing home the most- in the stillness of Mass on Sunday, or just before I open my eyes in the morning and I still think I’m in my bed at home. These little moments are when it hits me: I miss home.

I reflected back to a wonderful homily I heard just before [KM1] I left for France. It was November at a post choir rehearsal trip to Root Beer Float mass on the Feast Day of St Francis Xavier. Father Pat gave a wonderful homily about the friendship that St Ignatus Loyola and St Francis Xavier shared. Both men took their Jesuit vows in the church of St. Pierre du Montmartre Church (which is in one of my favorite parts of Paris). However from there they wanted to go in two different directions, Loyola wanted to stay put in Paris, serving others and working on his own writing. St. Francis Xavier wanted to follow his call as a missionary and travel the world teaching about Jesus. Loyola was upset at first- Xavier was a dear friend and he wanted him to stay in Paris with him. But it was Xavier’s call to travel and he knew that he couldn’t stay in one place, God was asking something different from him. It was only through God’s grace that Loyola realized that the most loving thing that he could do is to let Xavier go. So he said good-bye to his friend, because he loved him so much, he could let him go.

For those of us studying abroad, we are doing just as Xavier did, we are leaving the nest of what is safe and familiar, and following our call into the unknown. We might not go preaching the mission of the Jesuits or even with the direct purpose of charity and service, but we go to exchange thoughts and ideas. The experiences we have abroad will shape and transform us, exposing us to new places, people, and concepts that we haven’t yet had the chance to explore. This is part of God’s call for us, a call to be exactly where we are supposed to be and to let the experience mold us into people can chance the world in the unique ways we are supposed to. But we also do this knowing that there are people who love us so much- that they let us go. Loyola had to let Xavier leave in order to fulfill God’s plan for him and so to do our families and friends.

When the moments of homesickness hit me, it is this thought that I turn to. I am only here because people, my family and friends love me so much that they have given me the chance to leave and explore. They realize that this is where I need to be and that this experience will transform me. And I take comfort in knowing that when I return, it will be back to this place of love; that I am so privileged and blessed to have a place to be homesick for.

Beacons of Hope

There were a lot of things I expected out of my study abroad experience. Living in a new city, improving my French, making international friends, eating pastries, visiting museums- the usual. However, three days into my time in Paris and I was faced with something I never thought I’d experience.

It was Wednesday, January 7^th, 2015. I was spending the day in the Latin Quarter with two other Notre Dame students. We spent the morning in the French Social Security office filling out paper work. After, we decided to reward ourselves with a warm Panini and a trip to the Pantheon. The Pantheon is a peculiarly interesting old church converted into a burial place for the famous writers and thinkers of France. We passed time visiting the tombs of Victor Hugo, Voltaire, and Marie Curie. As we were on our way out, I noticed a missed call from my dad. When we got outside the monument I called him back.

“It’s expensive to call me, so be pithy,” I quipped when he picked up.

“I just want to make sure you aren’t dead,” He said bluntly. I exchanged confused glances with friends.

“Why would I be dead? Did something happen in Paris?” I asked.

He went onto explain that a terrorist attack had happened there that morning. He didn’t know much about it, only that the terrorists were still on the loose. I was instantly terrified. All of a sudden the city I had dreamed about became sinister and threatening. Each person walking by was a potential threat. Nowhere felt safe. I began shaking, tears threatening my eyes. I can never remember ever feeling as afraid as I did in that moment.

We ducked into a Starbucks to figure out what was happening. We were finally able to use the internet and look up the news. We figured out that it had been a planned attack against a satirical newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, which had been under threats for portraying Mohammad in their notoriously anti-religious cartoons. Learning that the attacks were planned and not just random made us feel a little bit safer and eventually we found the courage to leave the Starbucks and walk back to our dorm.

The next few days continued to be frightening as the city fell into lock down. Going to class, visiting monuments, and even getting into our dorms required ID and mandatory bag checks. The metro stations were filled with armed guards. Military vehicles drove down the streets. Sirens blared non-stop.

On Friday, we found out that hostages were being taken. The Eiffel Tower was evacuated. Some metro lines were shut down. Our professor encouraged us to go home and stay inside our dorms. Too afraid to take the metro, we walked back from class. Not long after we got back, we found out that the hostages had been released and that the suspects were dead.

After it was all over, I was so confused about how to feel about the whole event. I was overwhelmed with the sadness of the loss of human life. I was upset that my first week in Paris was marred with such pain and terror. I was equally mad at myself for letting the events affect me so much. I felt like I should have deep philosophical thoughts about Freedom of the Press and religion, but I only had inarticulable, disjointed thoughts. I didn’t know what to think or feel, but I felt as if I should.

I began to try to look for signs of hope, which began to flicker up in the stories that emerged afterwards. There was Ahmed Merabet, a Muslim French police officer, who died while protecting the cartoonist of Charlie Hebdo. He lived out Voltaire’s quote, “I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.” He also died bravely, laying down his own life to protect others, even those who mocked his own religion.

There is also Lassana Bathily, a man from Mali working at a Jewish grocery store where the building was taken hostage by terrorists. He bravely and quicklyushered the costumers of the store into the shop’s freezer when he heard the gunshots. He thought beyond his own safety and used his courage to save the lives of others.

There were other signs of hope that I experienced personally. As the events across Paris transpired, my inbox began filling with messages from friends and family checking to make sure I was okay. I was so touched by the people who reached out, not just with whom I am close, but professors and friends I haven’t talked to in years. It reminded me just how much people care about me and my well-being.

Situations like this are difficult- they are unexpected, they are upsetting, and they leave you at more of a loss for words than for answers. Yet in the wake of the event emerges stories of hope and through this hope we begin to feel God’s love. Each night, I fall asleep watching the light at the top of the Eiffel Tower pass over the city. It reminds me of the beacon of hope that is God’s love. It washes over the city, shining on each person. God’s love is endless, it shines on controversial cartoonists, and heroic citizens, and small scared study abroad students, and even terrorists. God’s love has no stopping or ending point, no limits. So as I continue to search for answers in the wake of horror, I realize the answer is simple. It is the same thing that God has been doing forever and that we must do now- love.