Monday, April 15th, 2019. A day that will be written about in religious history books. I was sitting in the ground floor of the mailroom. No classes were being held because of Patriot’s Day, a state holiday in Massachusetts. The weather outside was very stormy, grey, and unseasonably cold. I was working on a project while simultaneously watching Netflix when the news alert popped up on my laptop. “Breaking news,” the reporter began, “The iconic Notre-Dame cathedral in Paris is on fire.” My jaw dropped to the floor. The only thought in my mind was, “How can this happen?” How can a cathedral that broke ground in 1163 perish in 2019 because of fire? It just did not make sense. The confusion was met with a bit of shock and fear as well. Just one month prior, I was there in Notre-Dame, kneeling in the pews, praying for those I love and for a wonderful, peaceful remainder of the school year.
When I returned to my suite after hearing the news, it was the first topic my roommate and I discussed. We couldn’t believe this was happening during Lent, a time of suffering to remember Jesus’ passion, persecution, and eventual resurrection on Easter Sunday. Then she said something the truly struck my heart: “To dust we are born, and to dust we shall return.” As Catholics, these are the words we are told on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, when we fast, attend Mass, receive the body and blood of Jesus, and receive ashes in the shape of a cross on our foreheads. It is a reminder that nothing on this Earth is permanent, and our sights should be focused on the forever: Heaven. I was truly shaken. A fellow teacher at a local Catholic school I work at gave me a book called Give up Worry for Lent. Boy, did I need that now more than ever.
Through the Boston Interfaith Leadership Initiative, I have been fortunate enough to meet about twenty to thirty students from the Boston area of all different faiths. Some of the students were in my cohort throughout the duration of the fellowship, while others were attendees of the retreat we hosted. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of non-fellowship participants who attended the retreat. To me, this was a showcase of the power of invitation, the power of the spoken word by us so-called “young’in” college students. There was one common theme amongst all of us on the retreat and in BILI: we are “passionately curious” about religion. Not everyone on the retreat had a defined religion that they practice regularly, and some were still searching. To be practicing or searching,for faith—for an identity greater than yourself—in college is very uncommon in my experience.
The college norms at Bentley University include going out and partying, staying up late on weekend nights, sleeping in on weekend mornings, and wearing whatever you want, or whatever is the trendiest and will attract the most attention. Instead, to be practicing religion and following customs means that you have to be up early Sunday morning to go to Mass or service, praying at certain times of the day that might seem inconvenient to others, or covering yourself in a certain manner to be respectful of traditions and customs and thus yourself. To be counteracting those assumed young-adult norms is seemingly wild, but it provides a great deal of peace. There is something very beautiful about belonging to an organization greater than yourself, and that is what BILI helped me to learn. Yes, we may all belong to different religious institutions or trying to figure out where is best for us, but we understand the importance of spiritual formation in such formative years.
It is difficult to be religious or spiritual in college. Sometimes there are nights of loneliness and mornings of quiet where you sit by yourself in the dining hall because you are not part of reliving everything that occurred at the parties the night before. You may receive looks from people around campus. “Oh, those are the religious people,” they mutter. Really? What is wrong with that? Praying and worshiping by yourself can be a very daunting task, but it creates growth. When you find others to join you in the spiritual journey, it becomes a beautiful representation of community.
The burning of Notre-Dame was painful to watch. Truly heartbreaking. The donations that came in afterwards to restore the cathedral showed a great deal of solidarity towards the Catholic Church, the city of Paris, and all those who appreciate the beauty in a place of worship. To me and to many, Notre-Dame is not simply a building but a place of worship. And in these places of worship, there is a home. In college it is easy to let our passions and beliefs burn to the ground to please others, instead of cultivating the practices that grow our hearts and minds. The best way to avoid letting this happen is to find a home, a sense of community with people who support and encourage you; who will help you scaffold when construction is needed, or who will provide a support beam when life is just a little too overwhelming. A home of people who believe. And in the ashes, in the dust, is when we are truly free to be made new again.
But your dead shall live, their corpses shall rise! Awake and sing, you who lie in the dust! For your dew is a dew of light, and you cause the land of shades to give birth.
Isaiah 26:19 NABRE
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