The Meaning of Notre Dame

As the opening game of the college football season draws near, I have been contemplating a post about the meaning of Football at Notre Dame. It isn't simply a case of athletics and tradition, as it may be with great football schools like Nebraska, Oklahoma, Alabama, and Southern Cal. I wanted to explain how ND's focus on football is an expression of an overall commitment to excellence founded in the vocational idea that "if you are going to do something, you should do it well." I wanted to explain how, from the early 1920s, Notre Dame's football team has unashamedly promoted both the Catholic faith and academically excellent university around the country. I wanted to explain how for Notre Dame, winning is not an end in itself but something that, through faith, we can offer to God (and His mother). I wanted to explain that Notre Dame is and will always be my team - win or lose - because they represent a piece of my life that is precious and informs my perspective deeply.

But somebody already explained it better than I could. From the Rock Report (http://therockreport.blogspot.com/), slightly abridged so as to be comprehensible to those who never attended Notre Dame:

She is - in ways perhaps unimaginable by those who've never walked her hallowed grounds - Our Mother.

Some may assume her fame to be borne of football glory, her greatness measured merely by championships and trophies, her mystique arising solely from the legend and lore of illustrious heroes past. Some, sensing that there must be more, may invoke her academic prestige or uncommon acclaim. And some - adopting the naive premise (or the wishful thought) that she must be like the rest - may choose to blithely call into question her specialness, her inimitability, and even her relevance.

But for those of us who've glimpsed the famed Golden Dome gleaming in the midmorning sun, for those who've watched the autumnal mist settling across the tranquil waters of St. Mary's Lake, for those who've spent a quiet evening embraced by the candlelit prayers of the Grotto, or simply strolled across the campus and, looking up, caught sight of Our Lady majestically standing atop the dome, surveying her university and all who call it home - for those of us who've been so blessed to have experienced these moments, we understand.

These are the sacred moments in which you feel yourself transported, and through which you become inextricably linked with those who've come before you, whose own moments of valor and victory have been inspired in and by this place for generations. How vividly I remember my first glimpse of the Golden Dome as my parents drove me to campus for freshman orientation. We had just turned north onto Notre Dame Avenue, and there it was - stately and serene, set against a clear blue sky, shimmering in the brilliant August sunlight, seeming to grow taller and brighter as we approached. Two days later, now alone, I took my first unguided tour of the campus. I gazed upon Touchdown Jesus, unaware that the mural's official name was "The Word of Life." I walked around the stadium, trying to imagine the cheers of the crowd on a football Saturday when the Irish took the field. I visited the Grotto and watched the steady stream of students whose faith compelled them to come to this sacred place and offer prayers on bended knee. I experience the breathtaking beauty that is the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, and I pondered the words inscribed above the east door - "God, Country, Notre Dame."

As I circled the Administration Building (as it was then known), I came upon two priests who were quietly conversing. One of them called me over. "You look lost," he said with a good-natured laugh. "You must be a freshman!" "I am," I confessed. "My parents just left a few minutes ago" He extended his hand. "I'm Father Ted," he said. "This is Father Ned Joyce. Welcome to Notre Dame." "Welcome home," Father Ned added. "Welcome home."

"Do you have plans for dinner?" Father Ted asked after we had chatted for several minutes. "No, Sir," I answered. "Good," he replied without hesitation. "Then join us." [D]uring dinner, Father Hesburgh sat next to me. At one point, he turned to me and said, "So, tell me about your goals while you're at Notre Dame. What do you want to accomplish during your career here?" I answered honestly, and, I must admit, in a way that I thought would've impressed the University's President.

I answered honestly, and, I must admit, in a way that I thought would've impressed the University's President. "I want to make straight A's and graduate at the top of my class," I boldly proclaimed. Father Ted studied my face for a moment, and then leaned closer. "Son," he said in a gentle voice befitting a man of wisdom, "I'm sure you have the academic credentials to make all A's and to be one of these super students at Notre Dame. I have no doubt of it. But that would require you to lock yourself in your room and do nothing but study for the next four years. Now some people do that, but I don't think they should. Now, of course I want you to do well academically, but I also want you to promise me that you'll go out and live the Notre Dame Experience. You're going to make great friends here - enjoy your time with them. Enjoy the campus. Enjoy all that Notre Dame has to offer."

I would come to learn over time that the experience of which he spoke was indeed made of moments just such as these, each more special than any test score, each more meaningful than a grade point average, each more brilliant than even a dome of gold. From my window in Alumni Hall, I could see both the Golden Dome and Notre Dame Stadium - one, the iconic symbol of a world-renowned university, and the other, her celebrated field of legends. But in between the two, I found autumn afternoons and trees ablaze with color. I found guys tossing footballs on the quad, and the band playing the Fight Song as they marched across the campus. I found the calming waters of the lakes, and the profound serenity of the Grotto. I found quiet snowfalls that could mesmerize with their magical beauty, yet could chill a Southern boy like me to the bone.

I found students volunteering their time in the service of those less fortunate, raising money for those in need, and selflessly performing small acts of kindness without the slightest thought of repayment. I found passion and purpose, I found loyalty and honor, and I found friendships that have endured to this day. And through it all, I found that the Notre Dame Experience, as Father Hesburgh had described it on my very first day, was more than anyone could ever grasp by simply reading a book, or writing a paper, or even becoming a valedictorian. That experience, that spirit, dwells deep within the hearts of all who've lived here, of all who've studied here, and of all who've come to know and love this place we call Notre Dame.

What some may find most extraordinary is that the Spirit of Notre Dame doesn't emanate from her championships, as important as they are. In fact, just the opposite is true - the championships of Notre Dame emanate from her spirit. And that spirit is unique. It's real, it's palpable, and it's clean. There's a freshness about it that couldn't exist if it weren't authentic.

What I've learned to be true is that for all the spectacle and splendor of a football weekend at Notre Dame, she reserves her most treasured gifts for those quiet moments when one strolls across the campus, admiring the freshly fallen snow, breathing in the crisp, clean pine-scented air, listening to her beating heart, warm beneath the mantle that is her embrace. These are the times when one discovers her truest blessings - the grace that must be sought, the spirit that must be nurtured, and the irresistible beauty that is Our Mother and our home. And so it is that we willingly defend her honor on Saturdays in the fall when we do strong battle against those who would dare to take that which she has bequeathed to us. We strap on our pads, we don our helmets, and we rise up with explosive force to engage in titanic struggle for the ultimate victory of the Lady on the Dome.

Victory is a decision. And it is a decision that we make without apology. No matter the foe, no matter the price, we seek victory and nothing less. We shall not be defined by circumstance, and we shall never ask anyone for permission to succeed. Those who openly pine for Notre Dame's luster to be tarnished, or who brashly claim that she'd prefer to live in the glory of a bygone era, indict themselves by their very words, for it is they who do not understand the nature of this place. While we rightly honor the towering achievements of those who've gone before us, let it be known by one and all that we hold forever firm the ideal that our greatest dreams have yet to be dreamed, our greatest works have yet to be done, our greatest heights have yet to be scaled, and our greatest victories have yet to be won.

We, the sons and daughters of Notre Dame, share a common heritage. We speak a common language, are united by a common destiny, and are inspired by a common vision. We are, therefore, a nation - bound together not simply by golden helmets or athletic fame, but more so by the very ideals that set us apart, that define who we are, that enlighten our path and enrich our journey as we navigate the glory and travail of this life. We are poised at the front line of history, our heroes of the past standing shoulder to shoulder behind us, their mythical deeds echoing through time, supplying us with courage and hope for the future. Now it is our turn, and we are both humbled and honored by the privilege of lifting her banner high for the world to see.

We are a nation triumphant. We are a nation compassionate. We are a nation accomplished, yet forever aspiring. We are a nation sublime, a nation united, and a nation set apart, destined to be loved, to be feared, to be admired, and to be envied, but, above all, destined to prevail. We are, in the final analysis, a nation of champions, who, with Our Mother atop the dome, stand victorious.

We are Notre Dame.

On gluttony and sin in America

I found an interesting article online today about obesity in America, wherein the author points out that Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins and the rapidly growing rate of obesity in the United States is strong evidence that it is one of our worst temptations. Furthermore, as the "temple of the Holy Spirit," the author argues that we are called to take care of our physical selves by staying healthy, even if that means finding time to work out or eat somewhere besides fast food. All of this seems very logical to me.

Unfortunately, the article drew a very strong reaction. As it was posted in a blog, readers are able to publicly comment on it, and the tone of the comments I read is surprising. One jeering poster calls the blog "the most right wing evangelical bigoted publication in the history of journalism" (presumably partially for the fact that the article was posted there in the first place) and asks the blogger (but not, interestingly enough, the author of the article) "who will go to hell the quickest, the overeater, the Catholic, the Jew, or the homo?" Others defensively and angrily remind her of Jesus' scriptural admonishment not to judge. I was appalled at responses to what seemed to me a non-judgmental, logical, and morally sound argument. In fact, I think such responses bring up a myriad of additional issues on contemporary American sinfulness and religious perception.

From the tone of the blog itself (and the comments that follow), the blogger is probably some kind of Evangelical Christian--perhaps Southern Baptist, perhaps another organized sect, perhaps simply non-denominational. I don't know if she thinks Jews, homosexuals, or Catholics are going to hell, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she doesn't condemn others arbitrarily. That, however, is undeniably a problem in the American Christian community. I don't know why certain conservative (and often high-profile) Christian sects are so eager to condemn everyone else to hell, but it is presumptuous (only God really knows the content of our hearts), it is insulting, it is hypocritical (they are surely as sinful and needful of Grace as those they condemn), and it is almost absurdly opposite to the recorded scriptural actions of Jesus. Instead of condemning them, Jesus reached out to sinners with authority and compassion in order to inspire them to be better people (c.f. the woman accused of adultery, John 8:11), and prevented his followers from punishing those who rejected his message (e.g. Luke 9:51-56). In fact, the only people Jesus condemned were those who condemned others, calling them "hypocrites" and "whited sepulchers" (Matthew 23).

The claim that Christians should "judge not, lest [we] be judged" (Matthew 7:1), while scripturally accurate, is also scripturally incomplete--a classic case of taking a bible verse out of context. Jesus follows this statement by declaring "in the same way you judge others, you will be judged...How can you say to your brother, 'let me remove that splinter from your eye,' while the wooden beam is in your eye? You hypocrite, remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from your brother's eye" (italics mine). It is very clear that Jesus does not forbid us to remove the metaphorical splinter from our brothers' eyes. In fact, He actually instructs us how to do so: by attending to our own failings first. Besides, it makes practical sense that our understanding of our own sinfulness should inform our judgment of others. Indeed, admonishing the sinner is considered by the Church to be one of the corporeal acts of mercy, since as a community of faith it is important that we thus help our fellow Christians on the journey. Certainly one of the best ways we learn about our own flaws is hearing them from family, friends, and even complete strangers (who all have a different and perhaps more accurate picture of us than we ourselves do). To lash out at well-meant judgment by throwing a bible verse in the offender's face or is prideful, juvenile and petty. If we are serious about our spiritual health, we will accept God's rebukes no matter how they come to us.

So I maintain that the article on gluttony was necessary and worthwhile. The evidence of my own eyes and that of numerous studies shows that we Americans are indeed gluttons. In the southern states, where obesity is most rampant, there is a lifestyle culture flourishing that centers around hearty American breakfasts, lots of fried food, and red meat dinners. Worse, to justify this appallingly unhealthy menu, the culture implies that such fare is "all-American" and therefore right. But the phenomenon is not limited to the south: fast food restaurants inundate every town and freeway stop in this country, peddling tasty french fries and mayonnaise-heavy sandwiches. Lately various national agencies have talked about legally blaming fast food companies for our country's obesity problem, but I find this ridiculous--it is nothing more or less than a denial of our own accountability in this matter. Walking into any restaurant does not obligate you to buy any of their food, least of all the unhealthy food. And I know that you can find healthy food most places you go. At McDonald's, for example, they offer grilled-chicken sandwiches and "snack wraps" right alongside their double cheeseburgers and fried chicken fingers. Similar options can be found at most other fast-food places. What I find damning, then, about our collective eating habits is our lack of temperance.

It is clear that we are not "forced" into our situation--instead, we have apparently decided, as a nation, that getting obese is either all right or unavoidable. What spiritual discipline could do for us! There are many ways to avoid unhealthiness. We could circumvent the fast-food restaurants altogether by buying healthy food at the supermarket and making our own lunches. Or we could actually drive past the fast food restaurants around us and find somewhere generally healthier to eat. Failing either of those options, we could simply forgo the fries and burgers at our local fast-food joint and eat whatever's healthiest on the menu. But any of these options requires sacrifice: sacrifice of time, sacrificing our hunger a little longer, and sacrificing our desire for the better-tasting fried food. All of this is a kind of fasting--a spiritual discipline modeled by John the Baptist (who subsisted on locusts and wild honey, c.f. Mark 1:6), designed to bring us closer to God.

Yet gluttony is a sin even if our external bodies are healthy. Having the metabolism to eat whatever you want is not, in the eyes of the Church, a license to do so. And if you work out several hours a day so you "don't have to worry about what you eat," you are simply augmenting the original gluttony with a new kind, excessive exercise (which is probably accompanied by the sin of vanity). Spending an inordinate amount of time or money on finding organic or vegan food in an attempt to eat healthy is also a type of gluttony. Essentially, whenever we excessively preoccupy ourselves with food, we commit this deadly sin.

Food is one of our most basic pleasures, and I believe we are meant to enjoy it. Jesus Christ Himself dined often in the scriptures at the houses of Pharisees and tax collectors, who probably had the best food available in Roman Judea. And though scripture tells us extremely little about the manner of his eating, from the phrase "recline at table" (Luke 7:36) implies a certain leisure and luxury. Yet scripture is also filled with occasions where Jesus fasts (e.g. Matthew 4:2) or goes off by himself to pray (e.g. Mark 7:46). The point is well-taken: Jesus balances his pleasures (like food and company) with physical and spiritual fasting--alone, perhaps in the wilderness, presumably in some discomfort. By following His lead and occasionally retreating "into the wilderness" or "off to the mountain" ourselves--by sacrificing some pleasure or another (like food)--not only allows us to "tame" that desire and prevent it from turning into gluttony, but also brings us closer spiritually to God--which is, for Christians, the entire point of our earthly lives.

The importance of proper liturgical music

As I have grown older in my Catholic faith, I have begun to notice in a deeper way the differences in the way Mass is celebrated from church to church. For example, at Notre Dame, I found myself equally inspired by the reverent and dramatic Basilica High Mass and the closer, more comradely Stanford Hall Mass. I think each was appropriate to its place: the Basilica is the centerpiece of the University and should uphold the dignity and authority of the Church; the hall chapel is more evangelical--a service to the students in residence. Also, of course, I have developed negative tastes. For example, my home parish in Bellevue, Washington has a director of music who possesses both an operatic singing voice and penchant for performance. Hence the Mass is often what occurs between her performances of usually contemporary and sadly ugly music. Yet that is a difficult criticism to make, since St. Augustine once famously argued that "to sing well is to pray twice," and that choir director certainly sings well, if not necessarily pleasantly. Is there a right or wrong way to add music to the mass? And if so (on either question), can it be done without forcing smaller churches to put on a grandeur they don't possess or making larger churches get falsely folksy?

There do occur, of course, blatant departures from Canon Law. I personally have seen examples of this--In some parishes the congregation neither stands for the Offeratory nor kneels for the consecration; or instead of saying "lamb of God" three times during the Agnus Dei a church will substitute some other description of Jesus (such as "Bread of Life"), which is incorrect no matter how biblical the other description is; or perhaps the priest will be joined by a parishioner at the altar during the consecration or have a parishioner help him distribute the Eucharist from the altar. Such violations of the Nuovo Ordo undermine the very universality of the Universal Catholic Church (and the churches in question are probably being sadly irreverent along the way). But this is not specifically what I am talking about. Even in a church that worships correctly "by the book," considerable damage may be done to the atmosphere of worship when the music is wrong. And "wrong" in this case could mean "performed" (for it's own sake instead of to enhance the Mass), "irreverent," "theologically unsound," or even simply "meaningless."

In considering this question I owe a considerable debt to the IrishLaw blog (there's a link on the right of this page), whose author argues that "Putting yourself into the place of God in hymns ("I am the Bread of Life" -- well, no we're not, Christ is), applause for the choir during Mass (it's not a performance), [or] using treacly and vapid "teen" music (did I *really* have to sing "Our God is an awesome God" so much in high school?)" (7 July 2007) are some of the major ways the music can diminish the experience of Mass. And while I must disagree with her on the song "I am the Bread of Life," both because I think it beautiful and because I assume parishioners are smart enough to understand that it is not them individually that are the Bread of Life but rather Christ, who they are echoing through the lyrics, I think she has a good point. I would also like to add to her list those stupid and meaningless "Gospel" hymns like "Standing in the need of prayer," since they sometimes technically wrong--"it's not the preacher nor the teacher but it's me, oh Lord, standing in the need of prayer" strikes me as a selfish and unchristian sentiment--and often say very little beyond their one refrain. Church should be a celebration, yes; however celebrations needn't be mindless fun.

I think much of the happy, pop- or gospel-style music that has inundated the contemporary American Mass is due to a well-meant, but actually hurtful intention. Faced with emptier churches and the grand Vatican II mandate of opening the arms of the Church in welcome to the world, many Catholics who provide or direct music for liturgy attempted to make Catholicism more appealing both by dumbing it down and making it more happy and fun. The problem with this should be obvious: the Church should never lower itself to appeal to some "common denominator" (either when constructing the liturgy or promulgating it's teaching on faith or morals), it should rather seek to raise up humanity so that they may see and believe the great promise of Christ. As St. Paul wrote, "It is [Christ] whom we proclaim, admonishing everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone perfect in Christ" (Col 1:27-28).

So I offer two criteria for liturgical music. First, since it is the priest who administers the Mass (and the sacrament of the Eucharist), it is only fitting that the music should compliment him instead of overshadowing him. Second, the music should be meaningful and theologically sound, though not necessarily complicated--many of the most beautiful and meaningful hymns are simply re-arranged biblical passages with a very simple theme, like "Blessed are they" or "Here I am, Lord." I'll caveat my opinion by also making clear that while I don't necessarily think broader-appeal songs like "My God is an awesome God" are bad (they may, in fact, be entirely appropriate for certain situations--like a teen mass), they certainly do less to increase our understanding of God's mysteries or ennoble us than many other hymns. And older hymns that have nearly dissappeared, like "Christ the Lord has risen today" and "Eternal Father, strong to save" (look them up--they're probably only recorded by college choirs anymore) can be very powerful even to members of my (or a younger) generation.

We are creatures with a spiritual nature. A crude way of putting this is to say that we have one foot in the physical world and one foot in the spiritual. The sacraments are where we perhaps (if only for an instant) stand in both worlds at the same time, and therefore are the closest to heaven. Liturgical music should compliment this effect by inspiring us--literally, "raising us up" (to loosely quote another popular hymn) to consider the greatest mysteries of God's grace and our own condition. Otherwise, it is simply a distraction--which is, I am sad to say, exactly what much contemporary liturgical music has become.