Adventures in Bruges & Aachen

A blog post by Joe White, Fall 2011

 I think this’ll be a two part blog: the first, a more superficial look at my travels and the second a deeper analysis of what these travels have taught me.

 

            The first week I travelled without the school, was a trip of all sorts. Peter, my friend, had a strong, burning desire to get to Bruges in Belgium, if only to see where the movie In Bruges was filmed. We had some complications with train reservations on the way out, so instead of ironing them out we made no reservations on anything and hoped that the 18 hour trip would go without a hitch. Long and short: it did. We stopped in Brussels, originally a twenty minute stop that we decided to make a two hour respite. On the city subway Monica made friends with a French speaking student (indeed, from France) and he and his friend gave us an hour tour of the city—all in French. Luckily Sam and Monica are both pretty fluent in the language so they were our translators. We all had enormous waffles topped with bananas and strawberries and cream and then headed to Bruges. The city was beautiful in its medieval splendor. Everything you’d expect to be great met our liking: the mussels were tasty, the beer: wonderful, the chocolate: exceptional.

 

I ditched my group the next day to meet up with my friend Laura. She was a foreign exchange student at my high school (junior year), and we became good friends during her time in America. Of course when I decided to go to Franciscan I told her I would visit her during my Austrian semester. We met in Maastricht, Netherlands where she attends university and then went to her home in Aachen, Germany. It was really great to see an old friend, especially in her wonderful German home. Aachen was a great city: young and vibrant with university students but also rich in history—there was a legend to go along with nearly every statue in the city. Plus the incredible Aachen Dom, built by Charlemagne (or Karl der Grosse, as the Germans call him) himself. One of the most unique churches I’ve ever encountered: it was built in the shape of an octagon. It also contains the tallest stained glass window—that is to say, it is one solid piece of glass. Truly impressive. Check it out:

Yes, each of those windows is one piece of glass.

            I departed from Aachen, alone, Sunday afternoon, knowing full well I’d be arriving back in Gaming at 6 AM Monday, only minutes before my Christian Moral Principles midterm. It’s good to be young!

 

 On the overnight train from Munich to Salzburg, while getting up to use the WC I heard a call from one of the other cabins. “Joe White. JOE WHITE!” I heard. And who was on the train, alone as well, but my good friend Daniel. I entered his cabin, and we exchanged stories—he left his passport on the train going to Bruges, and so on the last day he had to train to the very top of Belgium[1] to get it back. But he retrieved it—just as he retrieved the famous Westwleterny 12.[2] From Salzburg we rode to St. Polten where we met up with a very cold Patrick who had been trying to sleep there—unsuccessfully—for nearly half a day. Our merry band grew larger. On the train from Pöchlarn we encountered Dave, Jacob, and John who were just returning from Cinque Terre. We all returned to the Kartause safely and demolished our exams that day, followed by a long, well earned nap. Stay tuned for more!

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[1] In his own words, “I could see the English Channel from the train station.”

[2] Nearly unanimously ranked as the world’s best beer

A Language of Love: Lourdes (Part 2)

 A blog post by Leanna Praetzel, Fall 2011

She spoke Spanish.  They spoke French.  She spoke Italian, and I spoke English.  In training we were told that, in the service of the baths, the language barrier between workers was not really a barrier at all.  “The Holy Spirit takes care of it,” our advisors told us.  Cool! I thought; we’re going to be able to interpret tongues!  Not quite… 

 Day 5:  I had learned a few words in German and had taken a few years of Spanish, but not even my entire lifetime of English-speaking prepared me for the communication needed for the job at hand.  What I realized was that the language we were called to speak in was not one of words, but one of actions.  I began to pick up the classic pointing-and-nodding method, along with the “universal language of Lourdes”—a smile.  Soon I realized how astronomically effective these techniques were!  The quote by St. Francis I had so often heard of yet overlooked was actually coming to life: “Preach the Gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.”

 Day 6:  Wednesday morning was full of adventure.  If getting the lights turned off on me in the shower wasn’t adventuresome enough (still wondering why Europeans put the light switch on the outside of the door…), than getting stuck in an elevator packed aside one English-speaker and a dozen or so rowdy Frenchman definitely was!  Later on in the day I got to pray before holy relics, befriend people from other countries, and meet St. Bernadette’s great-great nephew.  (What a striking resemblance!)

 Day 7:  I went inside “the grotto” on Thursday—the same one Mary appeared to Bernadette in.  It was amazing to touch the inside of the mountain, the rock being extremely smooth from the feeling of countless hands.  I brought a candle in with me and attempted to light it off the grotto’s beautiful candle arrangement in honor of my siblings’ birthdays (shout out to Robby and Christina—HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!), but once again I got scolded at in French.   (I was, however, after exiting the grotto, able to light the candle and place it among others.)

 Day 8:  Our last day at Lourdes?  Already?  I said my three Hail Mary prayers at the statue of the “Crowned Virgin”, a tradition that will supposedly bring me back to Lourdes, and recited a few more in the hopes that family and friends might join me in my return.  (Who’s up for it?!)  That evening, when the group I was going to travel with discovered that we missed our train (by an hour!), I got very excited—Maybe we can stay in Lourdes forever! I thought.  I had solidified friendships, had been inspired by faith, and had learned the language of love.  How could I ever leave?  Alas, the perfect train showed up and I was forced to recall the words of an Italian woman I had met:  “Take Lourdes with you in your heart.”

 Day 9:  We arrived back in Paris, but since we weren’t due to depart for Gaming until the evening, I went with a couple other people to visit the incorrupt body of St. Bernadette.  Some snacks and a three-hour train ride later, I found myself gazing upon a spectacular miracle: the body of St. Bernadette, completely intact.  Although our stay was cut short by a closing for lunchtime, the trip was completely worthwhile.  Not only did I get to see Bernadette, but I also like to say that I received a gift from her.  Right next to my things I was gathering on my way out, I noticed a medal of St. Padre Pio.  Only hours earlier had I resolved to concentrate my life on Padre Pio’s saying: “Pray, and don’t worry.”

 Day 10:  That was something I realized when looking back on the week—not once did I worry.  Not once.  This is monumental for me, especially when there are so many things to do and such a small amount of time to do them in.  It felt wonderful to be anxiety-free, a quality I prayed would continue to stay with me after my leave.  I also knew that I would want to keep close to me the new language of love that I had learned… something so simple, yet so powerful.

On the way back I pondered these things, laughed with new friends, and got creamed in a game or two of Rummy—slowly changing into a new person all the while.

Kartause Peace

A blog post by Chelsea Graham, Fall 2011

This past week has been a pretty busy week! With students’ parents arriving, planning trips, talks, talent shows, and classes on top of all that, it seems like I didn’t get a second to sit back and think!

Earlier this week Matthew Kelley came to Gaming and gave a talk about our upcoming pilgrimage to Rome and Assisi. During his talk he spoke a bit about his time here in Gaming and what he said really struck me. During his time here he didn’t travel every weekend, and he didn’t try and see as many places as he could throughout the semester; he was content with staying at the Kartause. After traveling for 10- day and other weekend excursions, I can understand why. Always being on the move or planning your next trip is exhausting. It’s hard to settle down at the Kartause, because you know you’re just going to leave in a few days for another trip. And in doing all that traveling, I barely get to appreciate the place that I am so blessed to be able to call my home for the semester.

During one of my first philosophy classes of the semester, my professor told us that the Kartause is the perfect place for solitude, recollection and to find who we really are. At the time I didn’t really understand what she meant, but now I couldn’t agree more. Even with all the students around, and the Kartause kids laughing and playing outside, the Kartause seems like one of the most peaceful places. I don’t know if its because after traveling and staying in hostels, it’s nice to be somewhere familiar, or its because we are surrounded with God’s beauty everywhere we look, or just because of the spiritual “vibes” the Kartause emanates. Whatever it is, it’s amazing, but I haven’t taken full advantage of it. Even after knowing this, I am planning trips and running off to other parts of Europe, and as Matthew Kelley said, I have a feeling I’m going to regret it in the future— later the place I’ll miss most will be Gaming, not another part of Europe.

We do this throughout our whole lives, instead of enjoying where we are at in our jobs, relationships (with God, friends, and significant others). We need to know what’s next, what is going to happen, or we move too fast to see any of it happen. I’m challenging all you readers out there to stop, take a deep breath and look at the beauty and blessings around you.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Matthew Kelley’s book, Rhythm of Life: “Slow down. Breathe deeply. Reflect deeply. Pray deeply. Live deeply. Otherwise you will spend your life feeling like a bulldozer chasing butterflies or a sparrow in a hurricane.” 

Taking the Plunge: Lourdes (Part 1)

A blog post by Leanna Praetzel, Fall 2011

I wasn’t going to Lourdes.  And then I changed my mind.

The clock was winding down, and only a few hours remained before the application packet was due.  I still needed money, information, and paperwork, plus I had to hunt down the person in charge.  In the blink of an eye, it was taken care of, and I was stepping off the overnight train and into the country of France.  Just like that.

Day 1:  Upon arriving in Paris, a friend and I thought it would be fun to walk around the streets sticking our noses up in the air to “blend in” with the arrogant French stereotype… Turns out we were the only ones.  But at least we kept ourselves occupied while some people in my group tried to figure things out; supposedly the trains were booked, and it was impossible for us to get to Lourdes.  But I knew that if God wanted us to get to Lourdes, we’d find a way.

And we did!  We ended up having to get a few different types of tickets (splitting our group up a bit), but at least we were all going to end up in the same place!  My ticket was for a train leaving that evening… which meant, for the remainder of the day, Paris was calling!  I stayed with a buddy and together we climbed the Eiffel Tower!  We tackled those stairs, even with all of our luggage for the 10-day break.  I decided it would be very fitting to sing that song from Mulan (“Let’s get down to business…!”) to keep me motivated as well as keep things interesting.  It worked!  With a lively step and a lack of breath, we reached the “second floor” (about halfway up… but still very high)!  The view was beautiful, although, alas, we have no picture proof (both my camera and my iPod died, boo-hoo)!

Day 2:  Another overnight train later and I was in Lourdes!  Many adventures took place including a delicious visit to the local pastry shop, and a lady kicking me out of McDonald’s for no apparent reason (I never knew what I did wrong because I don’t know a lick of French)!  Our leaders hadn’t arrived in town yet, so I didn’t discover the heart of Lourdes until…

Day 3:  International Mass in a giant underground Basilica?  What?  I thought there would be a couple helpers and some pilgrims at Lourdes!  What a surprise it was when a gargantuan Church hidden beneath our shoes was packed with people from all over the world, armed and ready for Mass!  I got to go on the altar with other Frannies to lead the crowd in the “Our Father”.   It was amazing!

Later on in the day, we got assigned our stations for the week.  I was told that I would be serving in the baths—the miraculous waters (from the same spring Bernadette dug years ago) that people come from all over the world to wash in!  I went from being a study-abroad student to being a privileged servant in Catholic Disneyland.  God picked me up from Gaming, set me down Lourdes, and plunged me right in.

Day 4:  Monday morning we went on a tour of different places St. Bernadette lived.  It was quite fantastic; I felt like I was walking in her shoes!  Then, I, along with nine other Franciscan girls, proceeded to the “Piscines” (the Baths) wearing our nurse-like outfits.  After praying the rosary with the other women serving that day, we first-timers were split up into different baths where we would remain for the entire shift.  Then, at 2:00pm, the curtain was opened and women of all different nationalities poured in.

The very first woman I helped left me in tears (although she probably didn’t know it).  The love in her face, the determination in her eyes…  All I could think about was the magnitude of her faith.  This woman had traveled the distance and gone through only Lord knows what to reach that moment in time.  And now she was there, humbly praying before Jesus and his Mother, while stepping into the icy water.  She was seemingly unaware of its bitter coldness, and even of the fact that I was still in the room.  For the rest of my shift, and for each and every woman present, I was struck by the faith that shone before me, a faith that was visible in the form of actual human beings.  My first day serving in the baths and I was already full to the brim! 

That evening, my voice echoed throughout all of Lourdes as I was honored to introduce the First Luminous Mystery at the “Torchlight Procession.”  What a wonderful gift, and to see from a stage hundreds of candle flames poking through the night’s falling darkness!  I felt like the entire world was in front of me, and I knew that there was no place on Earth I would have rather been.

To be continued…

God's Angels

Welcome back to our readers.  Students and many of the faculty and staff have been away on the 10-day break which is why there have been few posts the past few days.  But, the students literally scattered to the winds, going to Turkey, Morocco, the Holy Land and all over the European continent.


Student Chelsea Graham, discusses some of her travels in the post below:

Hello again! I just got back from my 10 day break, and I fell in love with Europe all over again. I love America, but there is something about Europe that just draws me in everywhere I go. I went to Paris, Lourdes, Venice and Capri for my 10 day. I traveled with three others, and we had a great time. In the words of one of the girls I traveled with, Lourdes is “Disneyland for Catholics.” It was just such a blessing to go there and go in the baths, be a part of the candlelight procession, and just explore an amazing town. And while Lourdes is such a spiritually uplifting and inspiring place, Capri too was remarkable in beauty and in grandeur. Indeed, God’s creation is incredible. Capri is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to. I could go into detail of what I did in each of those places, but instead I want to tell you about a different part of my trip.

Coming over to Europe, I was told that everyone hates Americans, the French people are rude, and good luck traveling because nobody likes tourists. Well, I’d have to disagree with all of that! Over my trip, I encountered several of “God’s Angels” (what my group and I decided to call them after we realized how big of a role they played in our trip). “God’s Angels” are the people who came out of nowhere in our times of need and helped us tremendously. Not only did we encounter several of “God’s Angels” but I also cannot remember one person that was rude to us.

I’d like to share some of “God’s Angels” experiences with you, but first I have to tell you that my group, overall, did not have a lot of travel experience. For myself and one other this is our first time in Europe, and for the other two it had been awhile since they were here, so when it came to train systems, getting from one place to another, etc. we weren’t too good at it.  It was a good dose of humble pie.

Our first night was in Paris, but our hostel wasn’t exactly in Paris (that’s what happens when you look for the cheapest places instead of researching the location as well!  By the time we got to the town where our hostel was, it was close to midnight, almost nobody was around, and we had no idea how to get from where we were to our hostel. We started walking around, hoping to just stumble upon our hostel, but then we saw a girl about our age and with my very little French skills, I asked her if she knew where our hostel was. She didn’t know, but without even wasting a second, she pulled out her cell phone, called a friend and got directions for us, and we got to our hostel within the next 5 minutes. She could have just told us she didn’t know where the hostel was and went on her own way, but instead, went out of her way to call and get us directions, without which we would have been lost for hours!

Again, while looking for our hostel (this time in Lourdes) we met a man who seemed to be in his late twenties who appeared to be traveling with his mom, get off a bus, asked us where we needed to go (his first language is French, but he also spoke decent English). Then he spoke to the bus driver and arranged to have us dropped off closer to our hostel. Once we got to the bus stop, he and his mom got off with us to make sure we made it all the way to our hostel safely. We didn’t even ask for help! He just got off his bus and offered…and he was French! That’s two French people that not only didn’t hate us, but were incredibly helpful! And I’m only telling you of a few! We encountered about five others just as helpful as those two, just in France alone!

And Capri! I wasn’t kidding when I said everyone was nice! We stayed in a small hotel in and getting there wasn’t easy (I know, I know we should have found hostels that weren’t hidden!) Whenever we stopped and asked for help, everyone was incredibly friendly and happy to give us directions. When we got to the hostel, the receptionist was really kind and extremely helpful. She told us all kinds of things to do on the island, when we told her we were going to watch the sunset, she told us a better place to go so we could see it better.  Furthermore, she made phone calls for us to see if/when things were open, etc. And I know that was her job to do all of that, but she went above and beyond what she needed to do for us.

As Christians, we are called to look for Christ in everyone we encounter.  On my recent 10-day break, that was not hard to do! The four of us would have been so lost without the help all of “God’s Angels”, and it just reminded us to trust God in every situation and each hour of the day.

Germany Travel Poem

A blog post by Leanna Praetzel, Fall 2011

Grüß Gott, my dear friends!

I’ve made you a rhyme

On traveling Europe

Alone our first time.

The first stop was Munich—

What madness, I say!

Oktoberfest?  Crazy!

We had a short stay.

Though dirndls and music

And dancing is great,

A castle was calling…

And I couldn’t wait!

To my great surprise

We hopped the right train.

(Déjà vu—all my worrying

Turned out in vain.)

We arrived at “Neuschwanstein”—

A magical view!

With towers and horses and

Hang gliders, too!

We made the hike up, and

Made friends on the way.

The tour was awesome!

What a wonderful day.

A great “Mozart Mass”

The next morning, and then,

We all shuffled off

To old Österreich again

We boarded the train,

Our weekend was done.

Of course we agreed that

We had lots of fun!

Medugorje: Redemption Through & Through

A blog post by Maria Rocha, Spring 2011

Medugorje is a simple kind of beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you feel like you are a child again. The kind of beautiful that makes you want to lie down in a field and nap, run around barefoot, and sing. This is the kind of beautiful that makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning.

It’s not the kind of beautiful that makes you feel hideous. It’s not a production. Rather, it just is. It invites you to join in the unspeakable beauty.

We climbed Apparition Hill on our first day. We were to reach the top just in time for Our Lady to appear to the visionaries, who were somewhere in the city. As we climbed, I noticed a very, very old Italian woman climbing up in front of us. Her back was hunched over and her grey hair was disheveled. She wore a deep green dress and wore black worn shoes that contained her gnarled feet. Her walk up the mountain looked painful. As our group passed her, anyone who was near her would take her hand and help her for a second. The guys would take her arm and walk with her until she waved them away. The woman had a will as unrelenting as the mountain she climbed. With every difficult step she let out an exclamation like “issaahh!” She was determined to overcome this mountain. Determination does not die with age.

The next day we all climbed Cross Mountain. Most of us were barefoot. As we walked we picked our way up the mountain looking for smooth stones to set our feet upon. However, Cross Mountain was not smooth for any of us. Yet, it showed me the true men that have emerged in our group. Those men that took the time to do the littlest things like, offer others water before they took a sip, carry other people’s shoes, run down the mountain to retrieve shoes for the ladies, carry a woman down the mountain, and those who trailed behind to be available to those who would not make it to the top alone. This is the kind of man that is not always present in American society, this is the kind of man who is formed, built and molded by the hand of God through our Blessed Mother. These men were an incredible witness of male redemption to a jaded cynic like me. These are the men that will change the world for the better.

That weekend wasn’t earth shattering. I didn’t have an intense emotional experience. I didn’t see the sun dance or Our Lady in the hills. I didn’t need to see anything to know She was there. I didn’t have to be shaken, pushed, or pulled to know I’d come to see my Mother. I was a quiet feeling that crept into my soul the way a child climbs onto your lap. Our Mother has a funny way of showing you the things you have forgotten about yourself, a unique ability to reveal to you your true self, to gently push you back to who you really are. That’s what happened in Medugorje.

Many of my peers went in looking for answers about the future and I’m sure they received the words they needed. I, however, came in empty with nothing but my guitar and a few broken prayers, left Medugorje alive. I left with a song in my heart that was not new but a lovely revision of the one my very being has sung for years. I left knowing and embracing the girl I forgot I was. I left full of grace and love for our Mother and her Son.

Lourdes: The Language of Love

A blog post by Dan McNally,Spring 2011.

Please forgive the tardiness of this 10-day blog. Things have been quite busy at the Kartause, between Ultimate Frisbee season, writing philosophy papers, studying for finals, and just trying to get in time with friends when we can, but here we go.

The 10-day trip is one of the most awaited trips for students in Austria, as it has the most freedom for travel, giving us over a week to go wherever in Europe that our hearts so desire. Some people choose to visit the British Isles, some Greece; this semester, some students even went to the Holy Land! However, other students have the privilege to serve in mission trips. Some students went to Romania, I found myself in Lourdes, France, serving the many pilgrims who have come to seek healing there in the springs revealed to St. Bernadette. Of course, my group visited Paris beforehand, and some of the experience is definitely worth mentioning.

After multiple trains and eating Belgian waffles in Brussels, we found ourselves in Paris. Of course, we took advantage of the baguettes, three cheese quiche, fine wine, Eiffel Tower and other cultural opportunities, but the more significant events in our journey were at Notre Dame Cathedral and Sacre Cuore. There is a tradition at Notre Dame in Lent that every Friday, the Crown of Thorns is brought out for veneration. We had the wonderful opportunity to pray at the cathedral during this ceremony, and when our time came, we processed in line before the altar, and kissed the crown. It is hard to absorb something so powerful. The very crown that pierced the head of our Lord was now placed before me. The implement of pain and scorn was renewed by

Christ into a crown of eternal glory. This whole semester has been about making present the tradition of our faith. All of the saints, relics, churches, and holy places we have seen and experienced have brought us back in time, and connected us in a very real, tangible way with those who have gone before us in faith. It gives us something to hold onto, something to remember when we lose faith, when we doubt.

Seeing salvation history with your own eyes tends to have that effect.

We left Notre Dame to go to the Louvre, which while breathtaking in its art, wasn't quite the same thing (Although seeing the Mona Lisa and the Code of Hammurabi is incredible, and in a similar fashion, makes present our cultural history, which is not unimportant.) Finally, we rushed off to Sacre Cuore, a beautiful church in northern Paris. When we arrived, we were treated with much more hospitality than we could have expected. The boys and the girls each had entire large dormitory rooms allotted for our use. The sisters who work in the church allow pilgrims to stay there for the price of a holy hour and 5 euro.

Not a bad deal for staying the night in Paris. I must say, though, the Holy Hour at 11:00pm was indescribable. The Blessed Sacrament has been adored there constantly for over 100 years! Kneeling before God in that enormous place with nearly absolute silence through the whole church and in the dark which was only lit by the light upon the Blessed Sacrament, while I can't quite explain the experience, was something everyone should experience. I must thank Fr. Michael Scanlan for telling me that if I go anywhere in my Austrian semester, that it be Sacre Cuore in Paris. He was right.

After so much fun in Paris, we were off to Lourdes for the week. I don't know what my expectations were, but they could not prepare me for the peace and beauty of Lourdes. I don't even know how to concisely explain the experience-this is the curse of the blogger. Unfortunately, I know I will not explain everything adequately, but I will do my best to bring you there.

The town of Lourdes is located on a strong and rapid river, and the actual church, grotto, and springs, are located across the river and a short distance from the city. There are three churches, one built on top of the grotto, a crypt underneath it, and the main church which opens out into the esplanade-the main square. The baths are just past the grotto, along the river. The men were so blessed and privileged with the duties which we were assigned. We loaded and unloaded sick passengers from the train station, we assisted in the baths, altar served in the Eucharistic procession, and one of the greatest privileges was to carry the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in the Marian procession. A few things occurred to me as we went through the week. Looking at the platform on which we would carry Our Lady, you wouldn't think that it would be that heavy with eight strong young men carrying it on two separate beams. Well, you would be wrong. It was extremely heavy, and this wasn't a bad thing. The first night, halfway through the procession, my shoulder was throbbing, it was cold and rain was pouring down on us, and I was ready to be done with it. Then I realized two things. First of all, never had I been closer to really feeling the weight of the cross on my shoulders. Here we were in Lent with an enormous weight on one shoulder, cutting deep. It was the best opportunity I've ever had to unite sufferings to those of Christ's passion in such a real way. In addition, looking up at Our Lady's image, I realized that in a sense, we were carrying the ark of the new covenant, uniting the Old and New Testaments. After that, I carried her with joy and excitement.

Being able to work in the train stations, delicately carrying the sick pilgrims off the train, and the turning around the next day to welcome them into the baths of healing water instilled a feeling of reverence and awe for the dignity with which God created the human person, no matter their size, color, language, illness, or anything else. So many of the pilgrims and volunteers spoke different languages, but a universal language revealed itself to us, and that was the LANGUAGE OF LOVE. The brotherhood that we had with the Italian and French men with whom we worked all week, some of whom with whom I never spoke a single word, was powerful, despite the lack of words. Words were not necessary: smiles, nods, gestures, laughter says everything the heart needs to communicate when one is serving God in that way. Thinking of those men with whom I worked of different nationalities, ages, and walks of life almost brings tears to my eyes, because our week working together meant so much to all of us and brought us so close. The same is to be said for the pilgrims. They entered the baths, and perhaps they did not speak a language you knew, but gestures, smiles, prayer, brought your hearts together in a way that escapes language. You could feel love in that place, and it came out of our very own hearts because it had to. God brought each and every one of us to Lourdes because he wanted us to serve his children, and learn to grow in His love. In order to do that, we had to let him work through us. Indeed, you could feel God's love surging through you for each of these, His children, who made themselves vulnerable, and brought themselves before their loving Father that they might be healed. Whether he heals in mind, body, or soul, the Lord does not disappoint those who come to Him in faith. If you ever have the chance to go to Lourdes, and you're unsure, it is a place of healing and a place of beauty and peace. I pray that you could share in the graces I experienced there.

With just a few weeks left, we will be coming home to you all very soon. Please keep us in your prayers as our final trips are underway, and as we prepare for the emotional exhaustion that comes with both studying for exams, and having to say goodbye to our home here in Gaming. We will need prayers, but also please be assured of our prayers for you. We cannot wait to see you all again, and look forward to seeing you again soon. God be with you!

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!

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.

Rome at Night

There are few places as romantic or as exciting as Rome in the evening. There are all the quaint pizzerias, the classy wine bars, the fountains, and of course the beautiful Basilicas seem to make one lose track of time. Following in the students' steps, one can perhaps live a little vicariously through them--enjoying the sights and at least imagining the sensations of Rome at night: