A New Look and Feel to an Ancient Symbol

For all those who come to Gaming, an 'ancient' rite of passage is christening oneself through jumping in the creek across the street. This ritual is practiced in all 12 months of the year, in rain or shine, warmth or cold, and has provided much joy and fun over the years, and perhaps a few injuries too.

But today, a chapter has begun. To our dismay, we looked on as the Forestry Service cut down and bore away the beloved protector of this sacred spot--those trees which shade and bejewel the area. They are no more and while we bemoan this "advance of progress", we are nonetheless obliged to look on the positive side as well: as Sr. Joan Paule put it, "at least there will be more sun and this makes it more inviting--perhaps we will even see some sunbathers soon...."

So, for all those die-hards, for better or for worse, the creek has taken on a new look. See pictures below of the new scene as well as the sunrise this morning through the haze.

The Church Needs her Priests: A Visit to the PNAC

A blog post by Dan McNally, Spring 2011.

Ever since he was a small child, my brother has known that he was called to God's priesthood. It has just been taken for granted in our family that my brother would follow that path. Today, he lives in Rome at the North American College (PNAC), a seminary to which various dioceses across the North American continent as well as a few select additional locations send young seminarians to prepare for the priesthood. The PNAC is nestled atop a hill overlooking the eternal city, with a view right down on St. Peter's. That's what

I saw from the rooftop during the time I spent with my brother there.

Many PNAC seminarians, once in Rome, are not allowed to return home until the summer following their second year. Understandably, I was excited to see my brother after 17 months, not having seen him prior to this semester since my first day of school as a freshman at Franciscan.

In St. Peter's Square on Sunday morning, I met a mutual friend of ours, a seminarian from home by the name of Francis. I was to attend Mass at the acolyte installation ceremony at the college that day, a ceremony in which my brother and several other young men would be taking part. We walked the short journey through the tunnels to the school, and arrived on the beautiful campus. The grounds outside the building itself are wonderful. I could spend hours just sitting and thinking out there. The grass is so green, and the trees are beautiful. In a way it’s indescribable but undoubtedly very peaceful too. Whoever is the groundskeeper there deserves a raise! The chapel in which Mass is celebrated is gorgeous. The lower walls are covered with several depictions of scriptural events in which angels were sent to intercede or carry a message. The fiery forms renewed my awe for the angelic. The upper walls offered a set of stone Stations of the Cross. The wall behind the altar boasted a magnificent mosaic of our lady crowned in heaven, surrounded by the angels. The Mass was very long, but so reverent and powerful. It is a peculiar feeling to sit, stand, and kneel in a room filled to the brim with men in all black, while you wear a light sweater, khaki pants, and boast an unruly bottle brush of hair on your head. The sound of the voices coming together in song and prayer spoke to the glory of God's creation.

We all ate lunch in the dining hall, which was outstanding. It must have been that they knew there were visitors. Of particular interest among the guests was renowned Catholic author George Weigel, who I had the pleasure to meet toward the end of my stay. Later on I had the privilege of touring St. Peter's Basilica with seminarian Ted Martin,and later on, the Scavi Tour led by my brother. The first tour takes visitors through the church itself, explaining the rich history of the art and the holy ones buried there. The Scavi Tour, on the other hand, takes visitors underneath the church to the excavation site of early Christian tombs. Both are a must see if you plan to visit Rome.

Our first night was one of my favorites. My brother and I took a walk down the Tiber River to Sacre Cuore del Suffragio, also known as the “Purgatory Church”. This church was where, several years back on pilgrimage, my mom received her first communion. It has a special place in our hearts, and it was a wonderful feeling to be back. After praying a holy hour there, my brother and some of the other men from the college took me out to dinner at a traditional Italian restaurant, which, though I bemoaned the miniscule serving size, was of quite high quality. Afterwards, we paid a visit to Old Bridge(another must see...and eat), a gelateria just outside of the Vatican walls, which is known for its incredible serving sizes at affordable prices. If my dinner was small, the massive “medium” sized gelato certainly made up for it.

I stayed the night at the college, which was fun, mostly because I was fortunate enough to use their showers, which are quite impressive. I have never had a bigger drying towel in my life! The next day, I had the opportunity to go along with the guys to their classes at the Gregorian University in Rome. You know people live in Rome when on the walk to class, someone can say, “Oh, by the way, Teresa of Avila is in there, but we have to hurry.” The path to the “Greg” as they call it, wound its way through the tight alleys of the city, giving a view of another side of Rome, albeit still a beautiful side. After walking for almost a half an hour, we turned a corner, and there an enormous columned stone building faced us, and we headed inside. All the classes that I sat in on were in Italian, which more or less forces the seminarians to learn the local language, whether they like it or not. On the way back, we picked up some gelato at a seminarian favorite, “The Fridge”. It was quite good.

In a medium size, I was able to get three flavors with a complementary chocolate shell on top. What a joy.

That night, my brother and I headed back to my hotel where the group was eating dinner. When we arrived, there was a long silence, and then thunderous applause filled the dining hall. For a moment I was confused, and then I realized that I had just gotten a haircut for the first time in a great while, and apparently this made people very happy. There you go. From then, we had to say goodbye, but the experience with the seminarians was great. They are all such gentle men of God, and whatever dioceses they will eventually serve are fortunate indeed.

Families, friends, readers-as always, you are in our prayers! God

bless you.

Dan

Mid-Terms & Rome

A post by Brandon Otto, Spring 2011

Grüß Gott!

A lot has happened in Austria over the past few weeks: namely, midterms and the Rome/Assisi Pilgrimage. Midterms led to lots of studying on everyone’s part. To me, at least, they were rougher than on main campus, possibly due to their being almost entirely essay tests. Also, the fact that we only have mid-terms and finals in most classes means we don’t have much chance to learn how a teacher tests: it makes these exams much more strenuous and exacting. Once midterms were finished, though, we had a break for our taxed minds: the 10-day Rome/Assisi pilgrimage.

Though many people left earlier to visit various other locales in Italy (I heard Naples and San Giovanni mentioned frequently), I traveled down to Rome on the bus provided by the school. It was a long ride, about 14 hours, including stops, but the multiple movies watched (The Count of Monte Cristo, starring Jim Caviezel of The Passion fame and Guy Pearce of Memento fame, and Roman Holiday, a 1953 film starring Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck) helped time pass, as did talking with friends. Driving through the Italian countryside was a beautiful experience: there’s just a special beauty that separates Italy from other countries. Whereas the Austrian country is much more mountainous and snow-covered, the Italian country is more characterized by olive groves and grape vines and farmland.

After the long drive, we arrived in Rome Saturday morning. We were actually earlier than our scheduled time, so we had to wait a while for the hotel to be ready for us to check-in. After check-in, a friend and I familiarized ourselves with the metro system (a very important aspect of Rome) by travelling to the Ottaviano stop, that is, the Vatican City stop, to see the Vatican Museums. Our hotel was only about a 10 minute walk (down roads my friend said reminded him of Florida) to the nearest metro stop: this closeness was definitely appreciated it. After arriving at our metro destination, my friend and I didn’t know which way to go from the station. We hadn’t done any research whatsoever: we just knew which stop to go to. He picked a way that “looked historical,” and, thankfully, the road led us straight to the Vatican. We knew we were going the right way when we passed countless people offering tours of the Vatican Museums and St. Peter’s Basilica. After dodging these many salesmen, we located the entrance to the Museums, or should I say the queue to the Museums? One of the salesmen wasn’t kidding when he described the line as 400 meters long. Thankfully, we arrived early in the day, and the line moved fairly quickly, so the wait was only an hour or so, at most. The light rain didn’t make the wait very comfortable, but running into other Franciscan students helped pass the time. Once we finally made it through the line and through security, we spent a few hours wandering the Vatican Museums. These Museums, originally started by Pope Julius II in 1506, are very large. It didn’t take long to lose our way in the Museums: our group eventually just decided to see every room we could, and that meant a lot of rooms. After seeing maybe a dozen rooms full of statuary and other Greek and Roman antiquities, we arrived in the areas we were somewhat more interested in, the rooms full of Christian art. The Raphael Rooms, in particular, were decorated, floor to ceiling (sometimes including both floor and ceiling) with paintings depicting countless Christian scenes, such as the Baptism of Constantine, and even some pre-Christian scenes, such as the famous painting of The School of Athens with Plato and Aristotle. Eventually, after travelling through these rooms and the rooms housing contemporary art, we arrived at the jewel of the Vatican Museums: the Sistine Chapel, painted by none other than Michelangelo. The Chapel (which felt much smaller than we expected) was breathtaking in its artistic splendor, and it was jam-packed with people, so much so that we lost a member of our group there, not finding him again until dinner. After spending probably a half hour admiring the great work of Michelangelo, we decided it was time to leave and see more of Rome. Upon leaving the Museums, we had a common lunch for our Italian journey: pizza and gelato. Rome has excellent pizza (although I’ve been told that the pizza in Naples is the best in the world), and the gelato (an Italian form of ice cream) is phenomenal as well, with many unique flavors (such as Bailey’s Irish Crème, Nutella (a popular European spread with the flavor of chocolate and hazelnuts), and Ferrero Rocher (a popular Italian candy)). I myself am partial to the flavor of hazelnuts, so I always made sure to get some type of hazelnut-flavored gelato whenever I bought some.

Upon returning to the hotel, we rested until Mass at a nearby convent and dinner following at the hotel. I missed the dessert provided with dinner, because I decided to join two of my friends in going to an opera at St. Paul’s Inside the Walls (an Anglican-Episcopalian church that should not be confused with St. Paul’s Outside the Walls, a major basilica of Rome). The opera was La Traviata, by the famous Italian opera composer Giuseppe Verdi. While both the singers and orchestra were great, the acoustics in the church were not so great, and the sound balance made the opera not as enjoyable as we expected. The opera kept us out late, so as soon as it ended we headed straight back to the hotel to crash: the long bus ride and long day made us absolutely exhausted!

Sunday was centered around St. Peter’s Basilica. We had time to explore it in the morning, including climbing the cupola and seeing the Tombs of the Popes, and we had a Latin Novus Ordo Mass in the very front of the basilica (complete with beautiful chant). Following Mass, we met in St. Peter’s Square to pray the Angelus with Pope Benedict XVI; though he was in a very high window, it was still amazing to pray with him and so many other Catholics from various countries joined in the square. After time for lunch, we had tours of the basilica, guided by seminarians from the Pontifical North American College, a college in Rome where many seminarians will study for a year or so during their formation (my archdiocese often sends a few seminarians a year there, though I didn’t run into any I knew). Learning about so much of the art and history in the basilica was a great experience, and I’m sure there’s so much more information we could have learned. Following the tour, my friends and I decided to visit Ostia Antica, a first-century Roman town—nicknamed “the Pompeii of Rome”—that’s been well-preserved as an archaeological site. It’s well off the beaten path, and we made it with only a half hour left until closing, although we managed to stick around for an hour before finally being shuffled out. Though it took lots of travelling (and the missing of a free dinner at the hotel), it was worth it. The town was incredibly expansive (we didn’t manage to reach the far end of it), including many, many houses and other buildings, statuary and stone columns, and even a large amphitheater. It was an amazing experience to walk the rough stone roads and meander through the buildings of first-century Romans. I’d highly recommend Ostia Antica for anyone visiting Rome.

Monday included the first of our long tours of Rome. We began at the Colosseum and the Roman Forum and then toured many major churches throughout the city. Included were St. Peter in Chains, which houses (as the name indicates) the chains that held St. Peter when he was jailed (both in Jerusalem and in Rome), Santa Maria Maggiore (St. Mary Major), which includes the relics of St. Matthias and St. Jerome, Santa Prassede, originally a house church dating back to the earliest days of Christianity, now containing thousands of relics and a section of the pillar at which Jesus was scourged, and St. Clemente, a multi-level church that includes an early house church and remnants of a pagan temple underneath that we could walk through. The tour involved lots of walking, but it was definitely worth it. The other big part of the day was the Scavi Tour, which explores the Necropolis (“City of the Dead,” or Roman burial place) underneath St. Peter’s Basilica. That was an amazing experience, but I’ve been told to not reveal the secrets of the tour. You’ll just have to go yourself! The rest of the day, for my friends and I, consisted of mainly resting after all the business we’d been through the past few days. There’s a lot to do in Rome!

Tuesday began with a continuation of our tour of Rome. We saw many famous churches, so many that I only have time to recount a few. The tour began at St. Mary of the Angels and Martyrs, a Carthusian church designed by Michelangelo that was built atop ancient Roman baths that used to line the street where it’s located. Throughout the tour, we saw other works by famous Italian artists, including Bernini’s famous statue of Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and Michelangelo’s Christ the Redeemer (at Santa Maria della Vittoria and Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, respectively). After stopping by the Trevi Fountain, we saw the Pantheon (a former Roman temple turned into a church) and the church of St. Agostino, where St. Monica is buried. I left out one incredibly famous church at the beginning of the tour, though: the Capuchin Boneyard Church, located next to the Church of St. Mary of the Immaculate Conception. The crypt contains the bones over 4,000 Capuchin friars, many of them used to decorate the walls in designs such as the coat of arms of the Franciscan Order. While it feels a bit macabre, it shows how Christians have no fear of death because of our hope in the resurrection.

Following the tour, I joined a group of students heading to Nettuno, a coastal city which was the hometown of St. Maria Goretti, a young girl in the early 20^th century who was killed by her neighbor for resisting his sexual advances. She is a martyr who protected her chastity at the expense of her life, and she is venerated by the Church for this, and for the holiness of her life in general. Her relics are contained in the Basilica of Santa Maria delle Grazie e Santa Maria Goretti. The other students and I travelled the 1 ½ hour trip to venerate her relics, because she is such an amazing saint. After venerating her relics, our group spent the rest of the time until our train back to Rome enjoying the beach of the Mediterranean Sea. After a long trip back to the hotel, a late dinner, and a walk to get extra gelato (since it was Mardi Gras), we returned to the hotel for a long-desired rest before the beginning of Lent (and our last day in Rome) the next day.

I have lots more to recount, but I also have homework and classes, so I’d better leave the rest of the trip for another day (although hopefully it won’t take me too long to write again). Until next time, God bless! Auf wiedersehen!

Glories of Italy

A blog post by Dan McNally, Spring 2011

The Gaming students have returned from our ten-day journey through Italy. I would be quite impressed if any of my fellow bloggers are able to encompass their entire experience in one post. I will attempt to express the highlights in two separate posts. One will describe my experience at the North American College, where many seminarians, including my older brother, study in preparation for the Catholic priesthood. This particular post will cover what I consider three spiritual highpoints of my experience in Italy: The exposure to the saints and the connection to our history and heritage, the hermitage of St. Francis of Assisi, and the Eucharistic miracle at Lanciano.

Arriving in Rome was, as I suppose it is for many Catholics, like coming home: more so for me as my family had been to Rome on pilgrimage just a few years back. The profundity of the splendor of Rome is unchanging. They say that if one drops a line straight down from the cupola of St. Peter’s Basilica, it would reach St. Peter’s tomb. The majesty of this city, in combination with the richness of being the heart of God’s Church on earth, gives me the impression that the line continues up through the cupola and right into heaven itself. There really is nothing like standing before the dome of St. Peter’s while walking in the footsteps of the men and women we’ve only ever read about. We saw more saints in just a few days than many people see in their entire lives. Upon visiting St. Luke’s tomb in Padua just days before, a friend of mine told me, “I just prayed a Hail Mary before the tomb of the man who wrote it.” Standing (but mostly kneeling) in these churches, before the (sometimes incorrupt) bodies of the witnesses who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith, one cannot help but feel a very real connection to the faith that sometimes resides only in the mind. Looking at St. Anthony’s incorrupt tongue, seeing the tunic of St. Francis, seeing the very bones of Peter, the one to whom Christ entrusted the keys of His kingdom, brought the reality of truth even closer to my mind and heart. These are not men in a story on a page. These were human beings who ate, drank, bled, cried, and lived--truly lived to the fullest. They could be touched, they could be spoken to. This is no out-of-date Church of antiquity; this is the Church of the living God.

The time in Rome was incredible, but the fast paced city, crowded metro, and exhaustive touring had taken a toll on the student body. The peaceful countryside, the rarefied and holy air of Assisi awaited us. Upon arriving, we immediately began with a tour of the Portiuncula Church (St. Mary of the Angels) in lower Assisi. There we prayed in the famous portiuncula, after which our adoration chapel on the main Steubenville campus is modeled. Apart from tours, students enjoyed various activities including the famous Mauro, who would give students very good discounts for his leather products. Gelato and delicious meals were also enjoyed.

On Friday, we were led just outside of town to a path that led up the side of the mountain on which Assisi was built. We were told this mountain path led to the hermitage where Francis and some of his brothers would go to pray in solitude. The walk was nearly silent, as students meditated and prayed the whole way. I realized soon that this path was a consistent incline, and it was not letting up. Sometimes I walked alongside friends, and sometimes paces changed, and I found myself alone and exhausted. Sometimes there was shade, and sometimes the sun beat down. Quickly, a theme started developing. I saw this journey as the Christian walk. The walk is always uphill, because with God as our goal, we must always move upward towards Him. I thought during this time that Calvary, too, was no small hill. We all carry our crosses with Christ at our side. This upward walk is not easy, and so too, the Christian life can be a struggle for the one who takes seriously God’s call to holiness, but who better to walk alongside than Christ? Sometimes we walk with friends by our side offering encouragement, and sometimes we walk alone, because our pace will not always match up. In all these times, we grow. As I walked, though, I could almost hear St. Francis speak to me, “Brother Daniel, keep on moving--Just a little further.” Times when I felt tired and in pain I saw analogously as the attempts of the devil to convince the Christian that it is not worth the climb: that his struggle is in vain. Once we reached the hermitage, we realized that the climb was worth it. Here we were at peace. A small stone building tucked away into a vast forest along the side of a great mountain became our place of rest--that resting place that points to the rest and peace of final beatitude. Many paths wound through the forest and met each other. As I walked, I was blessed to see friends sitting and praying in silent, joyful contemplation. Something was encouraging in seeing them there, in sharing this vision with them. Some I walked by and quietly acknowledged, but not a word was spoken. Words were not necessary. What must God have prepared for those who love Him?

Leaving Assisi was not easy to do, but with friends by my side, I headed to Lanciano, seeking out Jesus Christ in the flesh. The site of arguably the greatest Eucharistic miracle in history, Lanciano is a small Italian town on the eastern coast. A doubtful priest was celebrating Mass, and at the consecration, the consecrated host became flesh and the wine became real blood. Extensive scientific testing have confirmed the veracity of the account, and given more information on it. It is a fascinating story.

Traveling with my three roommates brought much joy and laughter, which was needed as our journey was fraught with trials and opportunities for patience. After just a few short train rides, we arrived in a train station where a five-hour overnight layover waited with brandished fangs. There was no real danger, but being in a cold train station with very shady, and sometimes loud, drunk, and rude individuals through the heart of the night was disconcerting to say the least. We had gone from the sublimity of Assisi to the dregs of “the real world”. At our next stop we missed our train on account of not knowing Italian. Eventually, we reached the Lanciano train station, but we needed to take a bus to reach the town. Now from 12:00-3:00, the chapel is closed, and the miracle is not open for public viewing. Our 25 minute bus ride began at 11:30 and the only bus back was before 3:00. We had just spent an entire night with two five-hour layovers and a missed train to now not reach our destination. For a moment I was demoralized, but I realized in that moment, seeing the Eucharistic miracle was not what life was about. I realized in that moment that I should be grateful for what I do have, a family that loves me, great friends who are willing to put up with me in travels, a God who longs for me every second that I breathe. If I just wasted one day and a lot of Euro, it really wasn’t a waste, because I am blessed beyond compare. However, we did try the bus, and not only was the chapel open when we arrived, but it remained open during the Mass that was being celebrated. We adored our Lord while the Italian congregation sang aloud God’s praises. In our moment of doubt, God came through for us, and revealed his body and blood to us in a profound way. What better way to experience the miracle of Lanciano than by experiencing the priest’s doubt, only to be surprised by God’s providence.

Well, certainly I have been long-winded enough. Hopefully some of this has been appreciated and perhaps helpful or edifying by God’s grace. These experiences certainly moved me in a big way. All you readers please be assured of our prayers for you. You are loved and missed, but we are all together in Christ, and we will see you soon! God be with you!

New Life in Rome & Assisi

A blog post by Kat Schluter, Spring 2011

Rome and Assisi--what better place is there to begin our penitential journey to Easter? This past week we were so blessed to be able to spend time in the home of our Catholic faith--Rome, Italy. Amidst pounds of pasta lathered in olive oil and mouth-watering chocolate gelato, we were welcomed into the arms of the Church, and we journeyed to some of the most famous places in the history of civilization.

For me, the most striking element of our whole pilgrimage was the fact that we were able to truly delve ourselves into the Lenten season right from the beginning, with various elements of our journey pointing to the Cross of Christ. We began Ash Wednesday with a papal audience, where our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, reminded us that the Lord is calling us to conversion and repentance and that we must take up our crosses and follow Christ. With convicted hearts, we continued our Ash Wednesday celebration by climbing (on our knees) the stairs on which Christ walked while being sentenced to death. It was extremely powerful to experience this reminder of the suffering of our Lord, especially right at the beginning of Lent. After climbing the holy stairs, we got to spend time in Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, which contains pieces of the true cross of Christ, two thorns from Jesus’ crown of thorns, one nail used in the Crucifixion, and other important artifacts from the passion of Jesus. I don’t think there could have been a better

way for us to begin Lent, since these elements of the pilgrimage pointed us towards that which we are working--to unite our sufferings to Jesus’ sufferings so that we can be truly one with him forever in heaven.

A classic and important example of someone who unites his sufferings to Christ’s sufferings is St. Francis of Assisi, and it was his example that led us to the second part of our pilgrimage--Assisi, Italy. The life of St. Francis was full of trials and sacrifices, and through following in his footsteps in Assisi, we were able to see the actual places in which Francis modeled the love and passion of our Lord. Assisi was a place of the outpouring of so much grace into our hearts, and I am pretty sure that nearly everyone experienced God’s presence and his peace profoundly, in some way or another.

One thing that struck me today in prayer as I was thinking about Assisi in relation to Lent was the fact that we got to see St. Clare’s hair that St. Francis cut for her once she decided to give her life to the Lord. Encased in a clear box, her long golden locks were a symbol of the death Clare experienced to the world and the life she gained in Christ. St. Clare’s hair wasn’t the only hair we’ve seen on display on our Austria journey, however. In Auschwitz, there was a whole room dedicated to an exhibit of the hair of thousands of the prisoners of the concentration camp. Also encased by a clear box, this enormous pile of hair was just a small sign of the evils human beings can bring upon other human beings. Both displays--the one in Assisi and the one in Auschwitz--were a symbol of death, in one way or another. The hair found in Auschwitz was a sign of the weight of the sins of humankind and that these sins lead to death. The hair of St. Clare, however, was a reminder of the human being’s capacity to choose life in Christ by dying to the world. When Clare cut off her hair, she was rejecting everything that could have taken her away from Jesus. By Clare’s death to the world and to the temptations of the flesh, she was brought to a new life in the things of heaven, a life in the Sacred Heart of Christ. This is the Christian paradox presented to us in the season of Lent. It is in turning from our sins and denying ourselves that we are able to turn to God and choose life. By dying, we live.

I hope that in this season of Lent, all of the students here in Gaming will be open to receiving a new life in Christ. We must remember that in order for this to happen, we have to die to ourselves and to the world. Only Christ gives true life. May we follow the examples of St. Francis and St. Clare of Assisi in choosing life by rejecting sin, taking up our crosses, and following Jesus.

Bless me Father!

A blog post by Maria Rocha, Spring 2011

Everything on this continent seems to be an experience. The everyday activities that I’ve become so accustomed to in the States often throw me for a loop. I love these experiences, uncomfortable as they may be, because they teach me something and make me laugh later.

Exhibit A:

A few weeks ago, my roommate and I went to confession. It was time, really, and we didn’t want to make up the heathen row during mass. However, we were on a tight schedule due to a room check at 7:30 and meetings at eight. Confession is said to begin at 7.

As we walked into the church, we saw that people were sitting in random rows toward the back of the church. Confused, we asked, “Where’s the end of the line?”

Then the nearest person dropped the bomb. “There is no line.”

No line.

No line?

NO LINE?!

We were aghast.

On main campus, we have a wonderful line with a clicker wielding monitor included. I missed the confession line boy dearly at that moment. My roommate, a business major, is all about efficiency. She almost lost her mind as we sat down and hoped for the best. It seemed we were not alone in our confusion because someone sitting behind us asked, “So, how do we know who’s next?”

“You just have to remember what order we came in. Like, I’m second to last right now,” someone behind us answered.

This and the fact that it was 7:15 and we had yet to see a priest was the last straw for my roommate. She said she’d pay the priest a personal visit in the morning and left to attend to our room check. As soon as she left, the priests emerged from evening prayer and made their way to the confessionals in the back. As I turned to see how many people were left, I caught sight of the confessionals and gasped. There were about 87 doors. It was like the Price is Right! At home there is one door to a spacious confessional. This was like a cardboard box with twelve doors and no windows.

“Which door do I go in?” I asked the guy behind me.

“Go right for face-to-face and left for the screen,” he answered.

“Okay. Right.”

With every creak of the confessional door, every sinner in the church jumped, poised to run for the confessional. There was a girl between me and the aisle. I didn’t stand a chance. I realized I needed a better seat if I was going to win this battle. It was every man for himself at this point. So I sat on the edge of my seat and eyeballed my opponents. Two rows in front and to the left I caught sight of a wise guy with his leg already in the aisle. He was ready to run, but he’d never beat me, I thought to myself, because his other hand was clasped in his girlfriend’s.

At the next creak of the confessional door, I sprang from my seat and sprinted like a hunted gazelle to the confessional. I stood, breathless, in front of the confessional reveling in my victory and feeling quite flustered. I couldn’t remember my left from my right. One door was open, so I shut it and walked to the other end of the confessional and opened the other door. As I was sticking my leg in to the confessional, I realized that I had gone left. NOO, NOT LEFT! RIGHT! RIGHT! I paused ready to go right when I heard, “Come in.” It was over. I was busted. So, I went in, shut the door, and plopped down on the bench.

I took in my environment as I began my confession. “Bless me father for…” I looked down and saw what appeared to me to be a footrest.

A footrest in a confessional? These Europeans have everything!, I thought.

So, the penitent put her feet up and proceeded with confession. As I spoke to the priest behind the screen, I couldn’t help but try and peek through the tiny square cut outs in the screen. I opened my eyes really wide to try and take in the entire scene, but this only made them water and made the priest look like a Picasso. So, I squinted one eye and tried to peek through one hole at a time. This view was much worse because I caught a nostril through the first hole, an eyeball in the next one, and an ear in the next. I then found myself suppressing the urge to shove my finger through one of the squares. So, there I was in the confessional. My feet up on the footrest, hands under my bum so I wouldn’t shove my fingers in the holes, and my eyes squinted trying to catch a good glimpse of the priest.

I snapped back to reality when I heard, “Now, express your sorrow.”

Express my sorrow? My first instinct was to say, “I am so so sorry. I really am!” Then I realized he wanted me to say my Act of Contrition. Thankful that I realized this before I spoke I began, “Oh my God, I am sorry for my sins…” as I continued, my sorrow turned into horror when I looked down and realized two terrible things. First, the footrest was not a footrest at all, but a kneeler. It should have occurred to me that sinners don’t kick it in the confessional. The second revelation is that the footrest/kneeler was about 6 inches from the door. I couldn’t remember if the door opened inward or outward and I was already envisioning myself trapped in this 4’x4’ box.

“Give thanks to the Lord Our God and King!”

“Mmm! I will do that!” I said.

I couldn’t figure out why the priest was spitting scripture at me, though I appreciated it. .

“There is a response to that. Do you know it?” the priest asked.

The line rang a bell but the only response that came to me was the lyrics of a song. I was sure I was wrong.

“His love endures forever,” the priest said slowly.

“…endures forever. Yes. Thank you, Father,” I mumbled, wanting to kick myself because I knew the response but had let my disgruntled state get the better of me.

As I looked to leave the confessional, I prayed that the door would open. I reached up, took hold of the quarter-sized doorknob and gave it a little jiggle. Nothing.

Now, I was more flustered because not only had I missed the boat on the scripture tag line from the priest but now I was lingering. You don’t linger after confession! You leave quickly to do penance and revel in your soul’s newfound cleanliness. The level of awkardness in the room was rising alarmingly quickly. I took the knob in both hands twisted, turned, and pushed in one frantic motion and stumbled out of the confessional.

In retrospect, my topsy-turvy confession experience was a call to greater humility and patience. This entire Austrian experience is a call to virtue. So with every awkward moment and “ugly American” mistake, I am reminded that God works through even the most ridiculous moments in life.

Woe to the Selfish Traveler!

A blog post by Maria Rocha, Spring 2011

Some say that awkward is a decision. I beg to differ. Awkward and uncomfortable situations are inescapable situations that offer the opportunity for growth in virtue and a good laugh later.

Exhibit B:

“Where on earth am I?”

This is always my first thought when waking up in a hostel. Waking up in a hostel is one of the more confusing parts of traveling. You wake up bleary eyed and disoriented because the ceiling is not the Kartause ceiling and the sheets feel funny. The only familiar things in the room are your backpack and travel companions.

On this particular morning, my travel mates and I were in Prague. Hoping they wouldn’t kill me for causing a ruckus so early in the morning and that I wouldn’t do any harm to myself by toppling off of the creaky ladder of my bunk bed, I crept slowly down. As I walked to the door, I dreamt of being first in the shower, getting prime mirror space, and even having time for a coffee. My dreams flew out the window which, unlike the door, was wide open. I tugged on the door again and again and still nothing happened. The sounds of my battle with the door woke one of my companions.

“It’s a deadbolt. You have to unlock it from in here,” he said groggily.

“Well good thing there is no key,” I retorted.

“NO KEY!?” He was awake now.

“No. Key,” I repeated.

“Dear Lord. I knew I should have kept it. I gave it to the last two people up. Ask them.”

“Umm they are sleeping,” I said.

“So was I,” he answered.

“Touchè.”

I tiptoed to the nearest bed and interrogated the first suspect.

“Umm hey, good morning.”

No response.

I began to poke the sleeping suspect on the arm.

“Psst, do you have the key? I wanna get out.”

“Nooo.”

“Umm, it’s a no,” I said over my shoulder as the suspect rolled over.

“Try the others.”

“Why me??” I was forced to be that guy; that person who wakes everyone up before they are ready; the evil fairy of premature consciousness.

When he didn’t answer me, I went around the room and interrogated the remaining four suspects. All I got was four sleepy, but definitively negative responses.

While three of our group remained asleep, the four of us played detective. We spent the greater part of two hours framing and blaming everyone in the room.

“I don’t know about you, but I really NEED to get out of here,” someone said.

“We all do,” someone else retorted.

“There is no way I’m wallowing in this hostel all day when Prague awaits me,” someone else cried.

“WHERE’S THE KEY!!”

Desperation had set in.

“Give me your phone,” someone said to me.

“Why?”

“I’m calling the front desk!”

“The front desk…here? The one downstairs?”

“Yes!”

As he put the phone to his ear, the morale in the room rose a bit.

“Hi. It’s room 37.”

Pause.

“Yes. Thirty. Seven. Here. We’re upstairs.”

Pause.

“Can you let us out?”

“Yes out of our room.”

“It’s here. We just can’t find it.”

“Thanks, man!”

Five minutes later a hostel employee opened the door and we assured him that he was the most wonderful person on the planet. After the hours we spent locked inside our hostel, we enjoyed our day in Prague much more. To all of you wondering what happened to the key, don’t worry. We found it a few hours later. Someone had put it in their backpack so it wouldn’t get lost.

When you travel with people, you share more than just a train car and a hostel. Everyone shares the responsibility of keeping track of time, keys, and each other. Woe to the selfish traveler! She will travel alone and have no one to blame for a lost key but herself.

On Pilgrimage to Poland

A blog post by Brandon Otto, Spring 2011

Classes have been continuing strongly in Austria: mid-terms are this week, and so studies are getting much more intense. That doesn’t mean we don’t have amazing travel times too, though.

Two weeks ago, the school set up a bus ride to Prague (Praha), and I hopped on-board. My friends and I went on a bus tour throughout much of Prague, ending up at the castle. After seeing the castle, the residence of the president of the Czech Republic, we journeyed around the town, seeing St. Nicholas Church, a gorgeous baroque church, and the Church of Our Lady Victorious, where the Infant of Prague is located. We also ate at a café that entirely played Beatles music (I seem to have a habit of finding European restaurants that play music in English). After wandering throughout much more of Prague, we ended up eating at an Italian restaurant (not Czech, I know). Then we headed back to campus for a Sunday and another week of classes.

At the end of the week was the pilgrimage to Poland. Poland was amazing. Although I’d been there before, and I’d previously seen Kraków and Auschwitz-Birkenau, it was still an amazing trip. On the long way there, we watched the 2005 miniseries Karol: A Man Who Became Popeto prepare us to see John Paul II’s home country. The bus ride ended at 5:45 in the morning in Częstochowa, where we sprinted up the icy hill of Jasna Góra to see the unveiling of the icon of Our Lady of Częstochowa, complete with trumpet blasts. Jasna Góra is an absolutely beautiful shrine that, in addition to containing the icon, it has a set of the Stations of the Cross, by Polish artist Jerzy Duda-Gracz, that show Christ suffering alongside the modern Polish people. They are striking and powerful in their portrayal of His suffering. One example is in the Station of the Crucifixion, where all the Polish saints, including St. Maximilian Kolbe, St. Hedwig (Jadwiga), and Venerable (soon to be Blessed) John Paul II, stand alongside Christ on the Cross. The next Station depicts Our Lady of Częstochowa holding Christ’s body, with His head taking the place of where the Infant is in the original icon. These Stations are just stunning: they probably rank as my favorite Stations of the Cross that I’ve ever seen. After viewing these Stations, some other students and I offered our petitions to Our Lady of Częstochowa, which involved moving around the entire shrine to reach the wall behind the icon. Did I mention that this is entirely done on one’s knees? It’s definitely a prayerful act, and penitential too. Following an English Mass and a little more free time (where yet another Mass was held: Masses are literally constant in Jasna Góra), we headed off to see Auschwitz and Birkenau (the second part of Auschwitz).

The following day involved a tour of Kraków, along with free time to explore all the many shops, cafés, churches, museums, and open-air shopping. My favorite part of Kraków on this visit was my favorite part from the last visit as well: the Wawel Cathedral. I sometimes jokingly refer to it as the “ADD Cathedral,” because there was a total of five or six different architectural styles used in the building of this cathedral as it was added on to throughout the centuries. From the outside, it very much looks like an odd conglomeration of different styles without any particular order. The inside of the cathedral is beautiful though, full of chapels to different Polish devotions, including Our Lady of Częstochowa and the Divine Mercy, tombs of royalty, tapestries, and relics, including the relics of the 11^th-century saint Stanisław (Stanislaus) and the 14^th-century saint Jadwiga (Hedwig). John Paul II loved this cathedral: he actually celebrated his first Mass as a priest there. Exploration of Kraków included eating at a café, seeing remnants of the medieval fortifications, and finding a bakery whose owners share the last name of one of my friends.

We left Kraków in the middle of the day to head to the Shrine of Divine Mercy, where the relics of St. Faustina Kowalska are located. The Shrine is very interestingly shaped: some people say it resembles a spaceship. The convent chapel, where St. Faustina’s relics are housed, was a much more traditional shape: it included the original Divine Mercy image. There we prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet in Polish, with some bits of English and French interspersed as well. We heard a talk on St. Faustina and Divine Mercy from a sister there, and we celebrated Mass in the Basilica. Shortly thereafter, we returned to Kraków. A group of us went out to celebrate a friend’s birthday at a nice restaurant, where the food included Borscht (beetroot soup) and fruit pierogies served with sweetened sour cream.

The final day in Poland began with a Latin Novus Ordo Mass at Wawel Cathedral in front of the relics of St. Stanisław (which I was a big fan of, since that might be my favorite cathedral I’ve ever been to). A group of us then went to Nowa Huta, a town on the outskirts of Kraków founded to be a communist utopia. They had a long struggle to eventually get a church in the town, including many lives lost defending a six-foot-tall wooden cross marking consecrated land. Another aspect of Nowa Huta is that the workers at the steel mill there made a giant cross at the mill after hours (illegally, of course), and they used it when Karol Wojtyła, then bishop of Kraków, would celebrate Christmas Eve Mass every year. Now there are two churches in Nowa Huta, one at the spot of the wooden cross, and one built on a cornerstone from St. Peter’s Basilica, blessed by Pope Paul VI, that Karol Wojtyła brought from Rome specifically to be a cornerstone. After seeing these two churches, we returned to Kraków for about an hour before heading to Wadowice, the hometown of John Paul II.

This small town was a great place to visit. We saw the baptismal font where Karol Wojtyła was baptized and the icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help where he first heard the call to the priesthood. We also saw a museum featuring many photographs and artifacts from John Paul II’s early life. At a souvenir shop in town, my friends and I met a Polish woman who lived in Chicago for a few years…and coincidentally, she knew the bakery owned by the grandparents of one of my friends! Talk about coincidences!

After only a few hours in Wadowice, we headed off on our long journey back the Kartause, listening to many people recount amazing experiences from over the weekend. Overall, the weekend in Poland was an absolutely amazing weekend, one that I would consider the highlight of the Austria experience so far.

This past week has been all studying as we prepare for mid-terms next week and then the 10-day pilgrimage to Rome and Assisi after that. I’ll write another post when we return from that pilgrimage. Until next time, God bless! Auf wiedersehen!