Good biblical interpretation always begins at the literal level. While we know that the veracity of the literal level is a matter of genre – think of how epic poetry differs from history in this regard – the meaning of all texts at that deeper spiritual level is always true. Indeed, the exterior drama simply serves as an invitation to the reader to take the risk of entering into the spiritual depths, and how could that act of trust ever result in anything but truth?! The Cross is the boundary marker that makes this kind of understanding possible. When we make that move from the literal to the spiritual – and what courage is required to undertake that journey! – we are dying to self. In that moment, the certainty, familiarity and comfort of the literal level give way to an openness, vulnerability and receptivity to the Word who is really and truly speaking to us in some distant still point in the soul. Let’s not be content with a perpetually literal perspective on things or a fearful fundamentalist posture in life. Let’s instead allow our restless hearts to feel and respond to those deep promptings of the Spirit. Let’s make the Cross the lens through which we read scripture and thus understand ourselves and our lives. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Brother Ambrose (John) McCarthy (1905-1935)
Killed in An Automobile Accident*
From the writings of Brother Ernest Ryan, CSC.
Brother Ambrose died on All Souls Day, November 2, just a few months after being appointed manager of the Association of Saint Joseph. Thirty-one years of age he had pronounced his final vows on August 16 after having given every evidence of a most successful religious life. He possessed a keen, well-disciplined mind, able to brush away every interference with the business at hand, and he inspired confidence and respect.
His body lay in the Postulate Chapel overnight before removal to Notre Dame for burial in the Community Cemetery. Postulants watched, a group being relieved each hour; and all, perhaps, learning more during their vigil than they will from any other experience of the Postulate days. Death had struck swiftly; they had seen Brother at Night Prayer and in the morning were told of his death. “Let us be convinced,” said Father Dever’s (John A), beginning a Mass of the repose of Brother’s soul, “of the absolute certainty of death.”
But the impact of even sudden death is softened in the religious life. Brother Ambrose attended Mass and received Holy Communion every day of the short five years he had as a Brother. Every day, too, he had prayed at least three hours in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament; every week he had made the Way of the Cross and a Holy Hour; every summer he had made an eight-day retreat. And shortly before his death he had attended the 40 hours at the College. God gave him five years of preparation; thousands each year do not receive five minutes. Death to the good religious is the crowning experience of life.
*Brother Ambrose met death in an auto accident on the Milwaukee Highway east of Watertown, Wisconsin. Before coming to Watertown, he was stationed at Holy Cross College, New Orleans, Louisiana. His religious name was changed in 1934 from Sulpicius to Ambrose.
My grandmother was quite possibly the most intuitive person I have ever known: without measuring, she could consistently add the exact right amount of pasta to a pot of boiling water; her refrigerator was a collection of dozens of differently-shaped containers of delicious foods that fit just right among the various shelves and drawers; she always had the right thing to say; she always knew the right time to act. In a world that is obsessed with an intellectual and technical version of things, she revealed to me that there is a deeper and truer way to live. Her intuition, however, was not just a personality trait, but rather a faculty of her soul that developed over time through practices like attendance at daily Mass, regular recitation of the rosary, and prayerful reflection. Indeed, this process of removing all of the specks of dust opens up in us a knowledge that is so pure and so good that we will never rely on our exalted discursive mode of thinking again. We can especially trust this intuition if we, like my grandmother, have taken up the interior cross as the purifying agent that refines our thinking and allows resurrected light to shine forth on the other side. Let us therefore take a risk on these depths and become grandmothers in our own right, as we build up the human family with our love. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Sister M. Claudine (Marie) Lederle, CSC (1882-1918)
First CSC Member to die from Spanish Influenza
Marie Lederle was born in Endignen, Germany. She entered the Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Cross from Germany in 1905, receiving the Holy Habit on January 12 and the religious name of Sister Mary Claudine. Her first profession was on December 8, 1907 and final profession on August 15, 1911. All these ceremonies took place at Saint Mary’s, Notre Dame, Indiana. Sister’s ministry was at Holy Cross Convent, Notre Dame, Indiana from 1906 to 1918. She served in the laundry and helped with the fluting of the big cap–the headdress of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. She also helped in the kitchen and in the Student Infirmary.
In October of 1918 she was nursing a young Minim, Bob Corrigan, who died from pneumonia on October 13. In a letter printed in The Notre Dame Scholastic, vol. LII, no. 3, October 26, 1918, Notre Dame President Rev. John W. Cavanaugh’s words are preceded by the editorial statement that “The following letter of the President of Notre Dame University ought to check any wild rumors about sickness at the University.” Father Cavanaugh writes: “Altogether there are now fifty boys ill enough to require any kind of nursing. These are distributed as follows: The University Isolation Hospital (SATC) 25; The College Infirmary 16; The Minims 1; [and in] St. Joseph’s Hospital 8. At the present time there are just three very sick boys. They have pneumonia. All others are in a very satisfactory condition, and there is no cause for special worry. In general, we have very little of the presence of the so-called Spanish Influenza. I make this statement so as to prevent ignorant and malicious people from frightening the public needlessly and, also, to clip the wings of sensation mongers. I believe that the happy conditions existing at Notre Dame are due to the tireless labors and intelligent care of the Sisters of the Holy Cross.” The following obituary was published in The Notre Dame Scholastic, vol. LII, no. 4, November 2, 1918. “There was general sorrow and regret at Notre Dame on Sunday October 20, at the news of the death of Sister M. Claudine, the gentle and unselfish nurse who for several years past had ministered to the students in the college infirmary. Sister Claudine contracted pneumonia which caused her death, in caring for the sick students. She will be prayerfully remembered by the faculty and students of the University.” Sister Claudine died seven days after Bobby Corrigan. And, finally, in 1919, Father Cavanagh wrote to theologian Francisco Marín-Sola that “we have gone through serious experiences since my last letter to you. The influenza was almost the death of all human joy.”
As living beings with hands and feet, our biology informs our anthropology – we are built precisely for journeying to a destination and being of service to others along the way. Human experience nevertheless shows that we are wayward people whose feet sometimes take us to places that are dead-ends or simply cause us to get stuck in life, while our hands can often be tricked into falling into greedy and selfish patterns. The transparency of the Cross can be a great reminder of our true human identity and motivation for us to change our habits. The very hands that anointed and healed are spread wide and exposed for all to see. The same feet that made those daring steps to Jerusalem, the city of destiny, are nailed in place and put on display. Being conformed to Christ means going through that long process of purification whereby we learn to let go of all of those things in our hands which prevent us from reaching out to others, and to discern being on a pilgrimage from mere wanderlust of the feet. We shall indeed one day put out our hands in trust (cf. Jn 21:18) and run the way of the Father’s commands (cf. Ps 119:32). Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Father Jerome Lawyer, C.S.C. (1912-2006)
P.O.W. World War II
Jerry Lawyer was born in 1912 in Dayton, OH and entered Holy Cross in 1930 making perpetual profession in 1934 and being ordained in 1939 following studies at the University of Notre Dame and the Foreign Mission Seminary in Washington, DC. Following ordination, he pursued Arabic and Islamic studies at Catholic University in Washington in preparation for missionary work in East Pakistan (today Bangladesh).
In 1941 he set sail from San Francisco for East Pakistan with a group of 18 CSC priests, brothers and sisters on board the USS President Grant. On December 4, the ship arrived in Manila in the Philippines and all passengers were ordered to disembark. World War II had begun and the ship took off to avoid enemy submarines leaving all the passengers behind.
Eventually, the Japanese captured Manila and all Americans were marched off to a prison camp in Los Baňos. Until liberation in 1945, all the American CSCs suffered physical abuse and starvation. For two years he and Father Bob McKee were kept busy organizing basketball games for young men and boys to keep them off the streets. When liberated by the US forces in 1945, Lawyer recalled “Soldiers entered our barracks, glanced at our flimsy shelters, threw packages of cigarettes on our beds, told us to grab our valuables, not a lot of books or clothing, and to assemble on an open field near the camp main gate where amtraks were waiting for us. We were told to walk fast as the troops set fire to our barracks. Brother Rex raced along while Father Julien, a Canadian Holy Cross priest, who had opened a can of hidden corned beef, began feeding it to Brother Theodore who was very thin and weak. I asked a soldier, ‘Why the rush? You captured the place.’ He told me that there was a battalion of Japanese in a quarry nearby who would reach us quickly. I was being separated from the brothers and Fr. McKee so I told them I would tie a red bandana around my head so I could be identified once we reached our destination.”
Once back in the States and recuperated, Father Lawyer was assigned to assist Father Patrick Peyton in the Family Rosary Office in Albany, NY, and in 1950 he was named the Director of the Family Theater in Hollywood, CA. During this time, he designed 15 half-hour films on the Mysteries of the Rosary and went to Madrid for eight years to oversee their production. They were exhibited in the World’s Fair in Belgium, and for this project he received the Bene Merenti award from Pope Pius XII.
Back in the States he served as assistant provincial to Father Robert Sullivan from 1964-1969 and then was assigned to Christ the King Parish in the South Bronx where he worked for 17 years in a largely Black and Hispanic community. These were some of his happiest years as a priest. In 1986 declining health forced his retirement. He went to Florida for one year and then back to New York until 1998. Returning to Notre Dame, he lived in Holy Cross House until his death. Prior to his death, in 2003, he was awarded an honorary doctorate from Stonehill College in recognition for his contribution to the Church and Holy Cross.
Butterflies blossom forth from the soul that is close to the living God. This act of worship – the essence of our eternal life – nevertheless can only ever be the result of a slow and long process of dying to self where that ugly caterpillar spins its own deathbed. Enveloping its entire being, the cocoon indeed is a self-emptying project which demands the worm’s entire energy, effort and focus. Only when all things have been consumed in this single-minded undertaking, is the death final enough for some new and unexpected life to begin. Though we are built for a butterflied way of being, how easy it is to not complete the cocooning process! There are relationships we simply care not to examine, certain habits we never allow ourselves to be conscious of, and attachments that we cannot bear the thought of relinquishing. Yet, the message is unambiguous, the tomb that lets in even the slightest amount of light will spoil the brilliant colors and the glorious emergence of the new creature. Let’s therefore not be afraid to go all the way and ensure that everything is covered in silk. Then, out of this dark and narrow place, that same everything shall taste life for the first time. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
BROTHER THEODORE (DAVID) KAPES, C.S.C. (1901-1995)
P.O.W. WORLD WAR II
Brother Theodore was born in Pennsylvania and at the age of 16 convinced his family that he wanted to join the Holy Cross Brothers. He entered the Congregation in 1924 and taught one year in the States after which he was assigned to Bengal where he taught at St. Gregory High School in Dhaka (Dacca) for ten years. He was a missionary’s missionary: master of all things Bengali. In 1945 he wrote “Memories of Bengal – 1930-1940” and in the Preface he states that “The following collection of incidents, experiences, letters and articles was written in Bengal, India, and they were originally published in The Bengalese. The Diocese embraces a vast territory, including diverse races, tribes, languages and dialects.” The Table of Contents includes 51 entries with articles on everything from jungle trails, monsoon days, “Missionaries are Human,” snakes, Indian music, Bengal’s pagan noises and “The Missionary with His Camera.”
In 1940 he came back to the States for a year of study, and then while heading back to Bengal in 1941 was one of the nineteen CSCs who were interred for four years by the Japanese in Manila. Brother Rex Hennel, one of the missionaries, recalled that in December of 1941, just a month before the formal internment, “Brother Theodore was going along his merry way, making history for all of us. Teddy had obtained a movie camera before we had left on our journey, and he wanted pictures of everything. It so happened that while we were in Manila, he decided to take some pictures of the boat on which we were traveling. That would have been fine, except that the spot he chose to take the pictures was just below a large sign reading Taking pictures in this area is absolutely forbidden. Teddy got the pictures, but the police got him. How Teddy got away with keeping his camera, we do not know. He would not talk about the matter. But he was arrested and did lose the precious pictures he was taking.”
After a year of recuperation upon returning to the States, he went back to Bengal (Bangladesh) for another eight years, and then back to the States for a 34-year assignment at the Ave Maria Press. In 1990 he retired to Columba Hall where he was noted for his continuous work ethic. Not being able to work disturbed him. Gardening was his favorite pastime. He would shuffle around the house or grounds singing to himself or whistling. Although he was very hard of hearing, he always managed to know exactly what was going on. This inveterate missionary was always soliciting money for the missions, collecting stamps to be sold for mission funds, and gathering many things (some not his to give away) to send to the missions. Toward the end of his 94-years he looked very frail as he pushed a wheeled cart around the grounds picking up twigs, but he had the strength of heart to outlast a man 50 years younger.
Hallelujah! O death, where is thy sting? Hallelujah! Why do you seek the living among the dead? Hallelujah! I have seen the Lord! Hallelujah! Horse and chariot he has cast into the sea! Hallelujah! Their eyes were opened at the breaking of the bread! Hallelujah! Now have salvation and power come! Hallelujah! My Lord and my God! Hallelujah! I have been crucified with Christ! Hallelujah! Even if I walk in the dark valley, I shall not fear! Hallelujah! The wedding feast of the lamb has begun! Hallelujah! The Lord is my light and my salvation! Hallelujah! This is the night! Hallelujah! Peace be with you! Hallelujah! Do not be afraid! Hallelujah! He is not here! Hallelujah! He has risen just as he said he would! Hallelujah! Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, his love endures forever! Hallelujah! In the twinkling of an eye! Hallelujah! Who can separate us from the love of God! Hallelujah! Every knee shall bend and every tongue confess! Hallelujah! He has been raised from the dead! Hallelujah! Jesus, remember me! Hallelujah! Love is patient! Hallelujah! The Lord is my shepherd! Hallelujah! I am the resurrection and the life! Hallelujah! Ave Crux, Spes Unica! Hallelujah!
SISTER CAECILIUS (FLORENCE) ROTH, C.S.C. (1916-1990)
P.O.W. WORLD II
She was born in Los Angeles, CA in 1916 and entered the Sisters of the Holy Cross in 1934. In 1937 Sister Caecilius was assigned to Mount Carmel Hospital in Columbus, OH as a student nurse. Upon completing her nursing program in 1940, she was assigned with Sister Olivette (Whalen) to missionary work in India. On their way to India in 1941, they were arrested by the Japanese in Manila and held as prisoners of war with 17 other Holy Cross religious. In Sister Olivette’s account of the imprisonment, “Round Trip to the Philippines” (1945), she recalled, “Our first warning of disaster came on Christmas Day. After a three-hour aid raid, the captain of the U.S. Medical Corps called the entire staff into his office to inform us that General MacArthur had declared Manila an open city. We were informed that the Japanese were approaching in force from both the north and south. Within two hours there was a second air raid. In order to prevent a panic, the Sisters gathered the Filipino nurses in the chapel and kept walking up and down the aisles reciting the rosary out load. Sister Caecilius was the first to catch sight of the flag of the Rising Sun, carried by a truck-load of Japanese soldiers…as we waited in anxious suspense for the first contact with the enemy. It came at two o’clock in the morning when we heard shouting in Japanese outside the front gate. We were well aware that we were now prisoners.”
Once Sister Caecilius returned to the States and spent some time in recuperation, she became a full-time student at Saint Mary’s, completing her academic work in 1947. That year, she returned to the missions, but this time to Jaguare and Sao Paulo, Brazil where she worked in elementary education, catechetics and social work. Returning to the States in 1964, her nursing career was spent in various supervisory or directorship positions at St. Mary’s Convent. She was Administrative Assistant of Nursing Services when she died in 1990.
Prayer is the time when our lives are most authentically human. Through our fidelity to this spiritual discipline, The Greatest Commandment (Lk 10:25-28) is awakened in us: love of God, that deep interior truth, really and truly comes into contact with love of neighbor, that complex network of attachments, memories and emotions that constantly swirls through mind and heart. This privileged place of encounter is not only the edge of our existence, but it is our very vocation, where we serve, with Christ, as priests who mediate earthly and spiritual realities. It is significant that the very next lines of scripture are the telling of the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:29-37) which ironically describes how the ‘holy’ ones, on their way to ‘pray,’ fail to make the link between commitment to others and true worship. What a tragic misunderstanding of religion! Let’s therefore not be afraid to be people of prayer, who each night, in samaritan-like anonymity, kneel down and minister to our sisters and brothers who have been beaten up and abandoned on the side of the road. Let’s “go forth and do likewise.” Let’s be human. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
FATHER ROBERT McKEE, C.S.C. (1912-1990)
P.O.W. WORLD WAR II
Robert McKee was born in New York and entered Holy Cross in 1927 and was ordained in 1940. His first assignment was in 1941 to serve as a missionary in India. While he and 18 other Holy Cross priests, sisters and brothers were en route, their ship was detained by the Japanese in Manila. They were interred in concentration camps until American troops took the Philippines in 1945.
In a 1985 History Conference paper, “Holy Cross P.O.W.’s in the Philippines – 1941-1945,” that Father McKee delivered at King’s College, Wilkes-Barre, PA, he said about the CSC internment in Manila that “At a meeting in the morning [January 3, 1942] between officers of the Japanese Army and the Jesuit superiors, it was decided that all of us would move to Santo Tomas University, the designated concentration camp for all Americans and Europeans. All other Americans, with the exception of the Sisters [whose convents would serve as their concentration camps], were to go to Santo Tomas.”
On July 8, 1944, Fathers McKee and Jerome Lawyer and other male religious were loaded into a covered truck under the cover of darkness and taken to Los Banos, an internment camp 40 miles south of Manila, because the Japanese had discovered that the foreign missionaries were at the root of the guerrilla activities in the Philippines. They were stationed in a barrack with 96 other persons. He recalled that fending off starvation was a daily grind. “We received two cups of watery boiled rice per day, one at 7:30 AM, the other at 5:30 PM. In our cubicle we augmented this with so-called cheese made of fermented shredded coconut and garlic or with deep-fried banana skins, at times with grass said to have vitamin value. One morning I found one of the Canadian brothers frying something. He told me it was grub worms found beneath the plants. Several times he invited me to a plate of these gritty but deliciously fatty worms.”
As the time of this final internment was coming to an end, McKee continues, “Many persons died of starvation. Our little cemetery was gradually filling up. All told, at least 150 persons were buried there—victims of starvation and malnutrition [and two by execution].” On February 23, 1945 he writes, “Suddenly our lives were completely changed. [Nine planes of the 11th Airborne Division were coming from the north] …on the fuselage of one of the planes was the word RESCUE in big white letters shown against the dark green background.”
After returning to the States to regain his strength, he was appointed the assistant editor of the mission publication The Bengalese. In 1946 he retuned to Dhaka and was the first full-time language student for the study of Bengali. He then joined the faculty of Little Flower Seminary, just outside Dhaka. In 1948 he became rector of the seminary and was appointed Holy Cross superior of the Dhaka District in 1958. During the twelve years he held this position, he built Notre Dame College in Dhaka. After his term as superior, he remained in Bangladesh until 1983 serving in the business office of Notre Dame College as the chief organizer and director of the Renewal Program for priests in East Pakistan, and later in Manila as manager of business affairs of the Asian Pastoral Institute. When he returned to the States, he briefly served as chaplain to the brothers at Flushing, NY and a few years later as the spiritual director for the Sisters of the Holy Cross at St. Mary’s in South Bend, IN.
“You can either die now or die on your deathbed” is an existentialist’s approach to the human condition, but is it really possible to die before the literal parting that must take place on our last day? Clinging to material objects, memories, emotions, ideas or any number of things constantly leaves us dry and empty. When, however, we start to see these attachments and our identification with them – my boyfriend, my career, my house, etc. – as antithetical to the life that our hearts deeply desire, we become willing to undertake that interior work of separation that is in fact a spiritual death. Indeed, we slowly learn to purify our motives and detach from each and every thing that comes across our radar screen. Through this process, we discover a secret and sacred place within ourselves where our hearts experience deep peace akin to the “rest in peace” we wish upon our loved ones who have passed on. This state of ‘dying to self’ gives off Eucharist in all that we say, think and do, and, as such, nourishes others as they face their own need for death and journey into new life. Let us, therefore, answer this call to be true existentialists, prophets of the Cross, who call the world to encounter its glorious end not at some ambiguous future time, but right here and now in these very circumstances of our lives. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
BROTHER REX (CHARLES) HENNEL, C.S.C. (1918-2008)
PRISONER OF WWII
Brother Rex was born in Evansville, IN and graduated from Reitz Memorial High School. He joined the Congregation of Holy Cross as a Brother in 1938 and graduated from the University of Notre Dame with a BA in 1941.
He was selected to join a group of 20 Holy Cross missionaries to work in India (East Bengal). They all sailed from San Francisco and arrived in the Philippines. But World War II had broken out, and the Japanese invaded the Philippines and all Holy Cross Missionaries were placed in an internment camp for the next four years. In his memoire of that time, “Our Expedition to Manila,” written in 1951, he states that “I had my first experience of eating trees at this time. To supplement our diet, we began the practice of cutting down papaya trees, skinning them, and boiling them. The pulp was rather soft, and three hours of boiling made it possible to chew the pulp sufficiently to swallow. While the results were neither tasty or nourishing, they did at least fill up the empty space in our stomachs.” Upon his return to the States he writes that “It seemed strange to be home. No lines to stand in. Parents of boys who were serving in the Philippines came for news of their boys. Most of them I could not help. One mother called to ask about arranging for having the grave of her son cared for. He was killed in India and buried near Dacca. As the time passed, I realized more and more what had brought us back. It was the prayers of our community, our families and our friends. God had heeded their pleas: we could truly say, ‘Blessed be God’.”
Until 1957 Brother Rex worked in high schools in Chicago and Biloxi, Mississippi. When Holy Cross returned to Africa, Rex was the first superior and headmaster of the new school in Sekondi, Ghana, St. John’s. In 1963 he was appointed the headmaster of Gilmour Academy in Gates Mills, OH, and in 1967 was appointed the assistant provincial of the Midwest Province of Brothers. He returned to Ghana in 1975 to serve as the Chancellor of the Archdiocese of Cape Coast. When he returned to Notre Dame, he spent fifteen years working for the Holy Cross Mission Center and serving on the provincial office staff. He was a mentor to all he met—the “definition of compassion.” His former students at Biloxi honored him saying, “Because of you, many of us are different—more Christian, more human.”
The famous Dr. Freud, in a very insightful analysis of the human psyche, described the psyche as a composite of the ego, the superego and the id. While there are all sorts of theories out there about the dynamics of these three distinct elements of our personalities, our faith tradition offers us a clear, exciting and coherent understanding of how they actually do work together: The superego is like the Father who constantly calls us, in love and mercy, unto himself through the oftentimes confusing and altogether short-sighted circumstances of our human journeys; the id is like the Spirit, who, from the beginning, is our truest and deepest self and cannot but rejoice in the presence of the Father; and the ego is like the Son who becomes flesh because of how desperately he wants to share with others the joy of being a child of God. We all know that this psychological system can get jammed up and distorted for all sorts of reasons and in all sorts of ways, but we can take solace in the fact that Jesus, a thinking and feeling being just like us, revealed this glorious triune balance throughout his earthly life. Let us therefore not be afraid to go to the divine psychologist whose methods of spiritual alignment are guaranteed to lead us to peace of mind and fullness of life. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Sister Mary Olivette (Charlotte) Whalen, C.S.C. (1907-2001)
She was born in Fort Smith, Arkansas to John and Ellen (Hogan) Whalen, one of five children. After moving to Missouri, she attended grade school and high school, and for three years took classes at Fontbonne College, Missouri University and the St. Louis School of the Fine Arts. Upon reading through a copy of the Bengalese, a Holy Cross publication on the missions in India, she decided to enter Holy Cross and work in India. She entered the Sisters of the Holy Cross in 1933 and her wish to serve in India was granted in 1937 when she was sent to Mount Carmel School of Nursing to prepare for mission health care work.
In the fall of 1941, Sisters Olivette and Caecilius (Roth), along with Brothers Rex Hennel and Theodore Kapes and Fathers Robert McKeen and James Lawyer, sailed from San Francisco for India. Her nursing was put to use not in India but in the Philippines because the 20 CSC religious on the ship were captured by the Japanese and interred in a prisoner of war camp in Manila. They were not liberated until February 23, 1945 and were back in the States on May 3. Sister Olivette told her story to Pauline Peyton who then wrote an extensive account “Round Trip to the Philippines.” After recuperation from the privations of prison camp life, she finally got to India in October of 1945 with her superior general for the visit. She stayed but a month, never to return.
Back in the States, she earned an MA in Sacred Studies from Saint Mary’s College. Along with another Holy Cross Sister, she worked unsuccessfully to establish the Federation of Holy Cross Women. She was sent to Brazil in 1947 to work in health education, but found a greater need for elementary and secondary schools. She loved her work in Brazil, but in 1961 she was called back to Saint Mary’s to serve on the general council as missionary procurator and director of vocations. While serving on the council, she personally opened the first Sisters’ school in Uganda, and in 1967 she was elected superior general. One sister commented: “So the Sister elected to lead the community in serious renewal had experience as teacher, nurse, graduate student, administrator and foreign missionary.” She was neither a “rabid liberal” nor a “foot-dragging conservative,” yet there were members of the Congregation who saw her as one or the other. Another of her sisters commented: “She seemed to be the perfect choice for those years of renewal. In retrospect we realize that not even Christ himself would have been considered the perfect choice. He suffered contradictions and so did she.”
In 1973, Sister Olivette was liberated from the generalship. She then spent eleven years in the Holy Land along the Sea of Galilee where she was instrumental in opening a center for ongoing formation for African and Asian religious. These were the highlight of her days as a Sister of the Holy Cross. Failing health brought her back to the States in 1985. Once recuperated, she travelled to the Far East ending up in Brazil for the golden jubilee of that mission. While she spent several months in Brazil, she assisted in the organization of an archive. Her final years were spent assisting in the Congregational archives at Saint Mary’s until she no longer had the strength nor eyesight for the job. She died on May 16, 2001 and is buried in Our Lady of Peace Cemetery, Saint Mary’s. (Shortened from a biography written by Sister Campion Kuhn, C.S.C. May 18, 2001.)
Codependence is such a common trap for us human beings. Unlike substances such as alcohol or drugs that have taboo connotations in our society, this addiction appears to be absolutely normal, all the while the person inside is drowning in feelings of inadequacy and desperation. This fear-based orientation, inherited from our first parents (cf. Gen 3:5), is rooted in the core belief that we are not good enough, that we are incomplete, that we need and absolutely must have this other person in our life in order for us to be ourselves. And while society balks at such behavior and such interior attitudes, all of its own versions of “healthy relationships” either mask the neurosis with euphemistic language or propose styles of relating that simply do not offer real commitment. Let us therefore look to Jesus who perfectly images for us the posture of right relationships. Fully secure in the awareness that he is a beloved Son with whom the Father is well pleased (Mt 3:17), Jesus does not cling to or grasp at other people. Rather, grounded in trusting faith, he invites others into that same security, forming a partnership where old habits die (cf. Jn 19:30) and the truth about healthy relationships sounds forth: “Perfect love casts out all fear” (1 Jn 4:18). Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Brother Neil (Francis Xavier) Müller/Miller, C.S.C. (1835-1919)
The Regulator and Lamplighter
In the Midwest Province, Brothers of Holy Cross, archives, in a file half hidden in the back of a cabinet is the information about this brother who led a “hidden life.” Francis Xavier Müller, now and then, referred to as Miller, was misfiled for nearly 100 years. The file is rich in photos but sparse in information about his life.
He was born in Salzstatten, Wertemberg, Germany in 1835. There is no record of when he came to the States, yet he entered the juniorate at Notre Dame in 1856 and took final vows of obedience and poverty in 1861. Until his death in 1919 he had but three jobs: he was the ‘regulator’ who rang a bell to call the religious to wake in the morning, go to chapel or meals, or be called to a “special” convocation by some superior. Secondly, he mended old clothing; and third, he was the campus lamplighter. There are no other records in his file save a short obituary in an unnamed newspaper.
“A man whom St. Francis would have loved on account of his simplicity, unworldliness and spirit of poverty was the venerable Brother Neil, of the Congregation of Holy Cross, who after receiving the last aids and blessings of the Church, departed for heaven last week at Notre Dame. For more than half a century he was the community’s bell ringer and mender of old clothes. Only that! But how wondrously well he performed his humble service—ringing his bell with unfailing regularity, and plying the needle until the end of his life! A more guileless soul, or one more meek, we have never known. By some special grace, he seemed to be protected from all the world’s sordidness and exempted from all fret. Never to lose the presence of God, to do His will in all things, to keep himself unspotted from the world, and to be ever ready for the summons to depart from it—this was his only solicitude. In the Ages of Faith there were many Christians like Brother Neil; but “truths have diminished” since then, and the “fine gold has become dim.”
Depression is a problem that plagues so many of us throughout the course of our lives. There are certainly scientific explanations for this emotional phenomenon, but let us consider a theological perspective on the malady: As physical bodies paired with rational souls, we human persons have the constant task of holding our sensory experiences in tension with our spiritual being – a full time job! Two problems, however, can arise: that we close the border between senses and spirit in a way that causes us to lose the natural symbiosis that makes a human person thrive, or we simply don’t bother to mediate the relationship between the senses and spirit allowing them to blend together in a way that causes us to feel like a blob that lacks definition and meaning. The reason why Jesus, especially crucified, is the solution to this conundrum is because he is the true Mediator (1 Tim 2:5) and Great High Priest (Hebrews 8:6,9:15,12:24,6:17) who is capable of standing at that line where senses and spirit meet, confronting all of those things that want to pass through the sheepgate of our souls (Jn 10:11), keeping us both totally connected and absolutely safe. Let’s overcome the depression cycle by inviting Jesus to be the captain of our ships as we try to navigate the choppy waters of being human. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Brother Peter Fitzpatrick (1807-1881)
John Fitzpatrick joined Holy Cross when he was 45 years old. He was born in Ireland and settled in Goshen, Indiana where he became a very prominent and successful business man. When his entire family died—there is no indication of what happened—he disposed of his business and entered the Brothers of Holy Cross. Brother Peter was a master of many arts: a merchant in his younger days; a gardener who laid out the quadrangle in front of the main building; an architect; a teacher of civil engineering and astronomy at Notre Dame; and an author of a series of articles on the stars and the planets that ran in newspapers through the nation.
Brother Peter persuaded the university administration to remove the Manual Labor School to another site so he could plate out a formal garden in front of the administration building and the church. The Scholastic reported in 1868 that “Brother Peter could be seen daily by his transit, calling out his orders to the men, who all believed in his good taste, and seemed very anxious to execute his directions as if their very happiness depended on making that little garden the ‘dearest spot on earth.’” Brother Peter and his surveying class laid out this garden in an attempt to transplant a bit of the French Renaissance tradition to northern Indiana.
Archival records detail the variety and extent of the activities, and the success that came with them, that were Brother Peter’s over 25 years at Notre Dame. He was the postmaster and the storekeeper selling books to students and community members. He laid out the avenues with mathematical precision that would wind through the newly constructed park. He designed many plans for new buildings on the campus and for St. Joseph Church in South Bend. He also designed and built many vertical sun-dials that where placed around Notre Dame’s campus. One of the eleven he built stood for many years in front of the science hall at St. Mary’s and in 1955 was considered the oldest piece of scientific equipment at the college. He was also the guest master who led many tours through his marvelous gardens. By December of 1880, Brother Peter was dangerously ill and died in January of 1881. The South Bend Tribune wrote about him: “There are only a few people who have visited Notre Dame within the past quarter century that had not seen the cheerful face of the venerable Brother Peter, who took such pleasure in chaperoning visitors. He was a great favorite, not only with the faculty and students at the university, but also with those who frequently visited Notre Dame. No one knew better how to conduct visitors about the extensive grounds and buildings, and his suave manners charmed everyone, while his earnest interest in the affairs of Notre Dame impressed all.”
We human beings really are designed to be Temples of the Holy Spirit (cf. 1 Cor 6:19), but because the evil one is cunning, baffling and powerful, we collapse, cave into ourselves, and self-destruct. Indeed, just like the tragic events of 587 B.C., our temples become desecrated as we permit the profane to infect the sacred, that deepest part of ourselves, the innermost center of the temple, reserved for our one true Beloved. This is when we ought to recall that the Temple in Jerusalem was set up in such a way that one had to pass through the Altar of Sacrifice in order to get to that intimate place, the Holy of Holies. We must simply learn to insist that all of the sensory experiences, ideas, relationships, etc. that want access to our deep selves be purified by Christ crucified who dwells within us and makes us safe by the constant sacrifice he offers on our behalf. When will we finally believe that we are in fact Temples of the Holy Spirit? When will we finally remember that we are made for intimacy with the Beloved? When will we finally trust that the Cross is the sacrificial key to the door of our inner room (cf. Mt 6:6)? When will we finally start living an authentic human life? Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Mother Rose Elizabeth (Elizabeth Rose) Havican, C.S.C. (1893-1964)
Superior General 1943-1955
Earning an M.A. from the University of Notre Dame in 1924, she did additional graduate work at the University of Wisconsin and Johns Hopkins University. After serving on the faculty of Saint Mary’s College for eleven years, in 1931 she was appointed superior and principal of Saint Paul’s Academy in Washington, DC. And in 1935 she became superior of the Academy of Holy Cross also in Washington. Aware of the need for a liberal arts college for women in Washington, D.C., Sister Rose Elizabeth founded Dunbarton College of Holy Cross in 1935 on the property of the Academy of Holy Cross and became its first president.
In 1939 Mother Rose Elizabeth was elected provincial superior of the Eastern Province of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. During her term she built Moreau Hall on the campus of Dunbarton College, and she purchased the property for St. Angela Hall at Rockville, MD which would serve as the provincialate. At the General Chapter of 1943, Mother Rose was elected superior general and held the position for two terms. During her administration, she visited some 200 schools, colleges and hospitals conducted by the sisters in the United States and East Pakistan (Bangladesh). In 1947 she established the Holy Cross mission in Sao Paulo, Brazil, with an elementary and a secondary school and a catechetical center. She was also very supportive of Holy Cross College, the only women’s college in East Pakistan.
In 1947 she was awarded a Doctor of Letters, HONORIS CAUSA, from the University of Notre Dame, and in 1949 served as a witness to the sanctity of Blessed Basil Moreau when his cause was introduced in Rome.
Upon completion of her second term as superior general until her death in 1964, Mother Rose Elizabeth continued to serve in a variety of ministries: teaching in the department of education at Dunbarton; serving on the provincial council of the Eastern Province; as an advisor to the foundation of the Sister Formation Conference, being elected in 1955 as the first chairperson of the Eastern Region of the Conference. In 1956 she organized the first symposium of the Conference “Holiness is Wholeness” in Washington, and in 1958 she was elected National Vice Chairperson of the Conference. Throughout her ten years with the conference she spoke at and delivered many significant papers. During the August prior to her death, she delivered two important papers at the annual meeting for local superiors at Stonehill College in North Easton, MA.
A truly remarkable woman, Mother Rose Elizabeth is emblematic of the many Sisters of the Holy Cross who have labored in the United States from the late 1840s as collaborators with the priests and brothers of Holy Cross to cement the educational vision of Blessed Basil Moreau first at Notre Dame and then throughout the world.
It is funny how so much of our human experience is based on concepts. The world that we see is mediated by certain ideas that have been introduced to us and planted in our minds since we were born. We don’t just see a cell phone, a car, or a fellow human being, we see an iPhone, a Lexus, and a CEO. And because all of that stuff and all of those labels obscure what actually is, it is as if we are constantly walking around with scales over our eyes (Acts 9:18) never really seeing the truth of things. The Cross, upon which hangs the eternal Word, however, is literally a concept-ending machine (cf. Jn 19:30) which has the power to strip away the non-essentials and thus cure us of our pharisaic blindness (Mt 23:16,17,19,24,26). When the interior mechanism of the Cross indeed becomes the singular lens through which we encounter the world around us, purifying fires stream forth from our minds and objects begin appear to us in their naked beauty. We shall thus come to know things as they are as we look forward to spending our eternity exclaiming “Now I see!” (Jn 9:25) with all the saints forever. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Brother Philip Neri (Robert) Kunze, C.S.C. (1844-1926)
Brother Philip Neri was born in Silesia, Germany and came to the United States when he was 16 and, the following year, he received the habit of a Brother of Holy Cross. As a young brother he was the professor of penmanship and German in the Commercial course of the Preparatory Department at Notre Dame. He wrote a beautiful hand fully deserving the name calligraphy. His copy books on German and English script were bought and published by Fred Puster of New York and Cincinnati. In these copy books he introduced a system peculiarly his own, and in the case of his eight German penmanship books, critics regarded them as the finest and most complete of any others then in existence in German.
His entire 65 years in the congregation were spent at Notre Dame giving him ample time to plan and expand the University grounds. The beautifying of the main quadrangle was Brother Philip’s fancy. He lived to see the trees which he had “blessed” and planted as saplings grow to towering giants. In his latter years he walked the shaded avenues of Notre Dame, stopping now and then to admire his harvest of years in spreading boughs and flowering shrubs. They were his protégés, carefully nurtured over a lifetime. Many of his trees are still growing on the campus. Rarely, perhaps, was so much accomplished with a budget necessarily so meager. In his arboretum he introduced fifty-three species of trees because he believed that man does not plant trees for himself but for posterity. Along with his friend, Brother Peter Fitzpatrick the engineer, they wanted to bring a bit of renaissance France to the banks of the Saint Joseph River. Together they more than accomplished their goal.
A quick review of Christian anthropology reminds us that a human person is the marriage of intellect and will within a physical body. Our intellects process sensory experiences through our bodiliness, while our wills take our bodies to the next right place. The goal of the Christian life, thus, is to at last present our bodies, fully and unreservedly, to our Father in heaven, exclaiming with the Son, “This is my body!” (Mt 26:26). Nevertheless, we know all too well how, when the reality of sin enters into the picture and gums up the works, our intellects and wills break down and our bodies do not end up where they are supposed to be, and instead we either become stuck or get into trouble. Let us therefore be people who make the commitment to live like Jesus, people who spend time in prayer with the Father, who aren’t afraid to be led into the desert, who speak the truth, who see others through the eyes of compassion, who suffer for what is just, who accept the many trials and crosses that the Lord offers to us. In this way, indeed, our thinking and choosing will function as a finely-tuned machine, and our bodies will arrive at last in the heavenly Jerusalem where we will make an offering of our whole selves to the Father forever. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Brother Basil Kruse, C.S.C. (1893-1951)
Joseph Kruse (von Zelewski) was born in Berlin, Germany and came to the United States in 1907 and entered Holy Cross in September of that year. He took final vows in 1918. In 1919 he taught music and singing at Notre Dame and then was sent to Holy Cross School, New Orleans where he was a teacher of all grades and a dormitory prefect. Returning to Notre Dame for one year, he was sent to Bengal in 1927. He was an expert photographer and took and developed many of the photos that appeared in the mission’s magazine The Bengalese. After 11 years as a missionary, he returned to New Orleans in 1934 where he lived and worked until his death in 1951.
Perhaps Brother Basil’s life as a teacher and missionary is not as remarkable as many priests, brothers and sister of Holy Cross, but there was a memorable year for him. Sometime during his years at Holy Cross School, he wrote on Holy Cross School letterhead an undated letter to Brother Columba O’Neil, the hailed healer and miracle man of Notre Dame.
My dear Brother Columba,
I wish to thank you for your devoted efforts in asking the help of the Sacred Heart for my mother. She has fully recovered [from Spanish Flu], although her case was very serious and her physicians gave her up. May the Sacred Heart increase still more favors upon you.
Through your kindness I owe you also the cure of my father, who was pronounced incurable [from Spanish Flu] by several physicians. The only acknowledgement I can show you for your kindness is to pray for you often.
I have spoken about you to some of my boys up here and you must probably have received some letters from them asking you for your help.
Another request I wish to make to you is that you remember Brother Augustine [Alderidge] who is very badly paralyzed. He suffers intensely and I hope Almighty God may come to his help. Also, Brother Alfred [?] is not in a favorable condition. His heart is weak and it is making him almost unfit for work.
Thanking you again for your good will. I am yours devotedly in Jesus Christ.
Did you know that a shark can smell blood in the water up to a third of a mile away? Perhaps you have seen these maritime beasts attack when they finally come to their wounded prey – it is not a pretty sight! Nevertheless, this natural phenomenon does offer an excellent warning for us, as we should not be naïve about the sharks in our lives who smell the blood of our emotional, psychological and spiritual wounds. There are those, who, plagued by insecurity, desperately seek the consolation of another’s inner room (Mt 6:6) and intimacy with the Father (Jn 10:30). Wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing (Mt 7:15) looking for someone to devour (1 Pet 5:8), they will win our trust, get us to expose our vulnerabilities, then go for the kill. You and I must both take ownership of our relationship with the Father by inviting the Good Shepherd (Jn 10:11) to stand guard and protect that sacred place. In an unexpected twist, his blood not only repels the sharks, but nourishes them and invites them into intimacy with the Father in the peace and security of their own inner rooms. As such, no one’s vocation in life is to be a shark or a victim, but, through Christ, all are destined to, together, become children of the Father forever. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Brother Conrad Heiser, C.S.C. (1860-1936)
John Heiser was born in Sterling, Illinois and entered Holy Cross in 1876 when he was sixteen. Young though he was, his intellectual ability was soon recognized. He professed his final vows in Austin, Texas in 1887. After teaching for five years in Fort Wayne, Indiana, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Indiana doctors declared that his case was hopeless and told him to prepare for death. His superior was not about to let this young and enthusiastic religious die and sent him to Austin, Texas where, with hard work and plenty of exercise, he managed to teach for another forty years. Brother Conrad had an old broken-down shot gun in his room at St. Edward’s College [now University] and told many students that “that gun helped me to regain and keep my health.” He became an avid hunter with a dead eye. He frequently regaled students with the story of bagging 250 doves on a single day’s hunt, which was enough food for 200 students and faculty for dinner. He also never failed to mention “that slaughter” was done long before the state legislature began to have regulations for the protection of wildlife.
There are no records of exactly what courses Brother Conrad taught at the college, yet he was esteemed as a teacher. During his 34 years at St. Edward’s his name became intimately bound up with the beginnings of Catholic education in Texas. When he left the university to return to Notre Dame, the following appeared in the St. Edward’s Echo: “The example set by Brother Conrad is one that any of us might follow. His was a life of service, dedicated wholly and entirely to the education of youth. Although he expected to live but a short time, he refused to remain idle. Those of us who had the pleasure of knowing him will not soon forget Brother Conrad. The gentle religious, with his flowing white beard, with his kind manner and his friendly greeting, was sincerely loved by all who knew him.”
I once heard of a man who struggled with drinking too much. His alcoholic tendencies just kept bringing his lips back to that bottle again and again. After trying twelve step recovery groups, therapy and “taking the pledge,” he was cured of this problem in an instant when he heard the opening line to the Song of Songs for the first time: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, more delightful than wine is his love” (1:2). That man never drank again after hearing these words. Truly, it was as if a light bulb went off in his head, and he finally understood that he did not need that bottle, that taking is a fear-based spiritual posture that leads to death, and that by making the turn to the Beloved, out of whose very side life-giving wine eternally flows (Jn 19:34), we learn to receive and enjoy a life of partnership, trust and love. Where do we put our lips? What will it take for us to make that same turn in our lives? When will we finally come to rest in the Beloved? O Crux Ave, Spes Unica.
Ave Crux Spes Unica!
Father Louis Putz, C.S.C. (1909-1998)
The Proponent of the New Theology
Louis Putz was born in Simbach, Bavaria and at the age of nine, he decided to become a priest. His aunt, a Holy Cross sister stationed in America, arranged for him to enter the Holy Cross minor seminary at Notre Dame. He was 14 and spoke only German and French when he arrived at Ellis Island displaying a clothing tag which read “Deliver me to South Bend, Indiana.” He entered the novitiate in 1927 and after graduating from Notre Dame in 1932 was sent to study theology in Paris where he was ordained in 1936. He remained teaching in France until the outbreak of World War II when he returned to Notre Dame. From 1940-1961 he was a teacher, a prefect, the director of Catholic Action and the president of Fides Press. Over the remainder of his life he was Superior of Moreau Seminary, Diocesan Director of Family Life Service and Director of Harvest House. For a while he worked with senior citizens at Casa Santa Cruz in Phoenix. Father Louis retired in 1995 moving to Holy Cross House in 1997. His list of assignments is typical of a Holy Cross priest, yet Father Putz profoundly influenced American Catholics of his generation.
Father Putz’s years spent in France were “crucially” formative for him. It was there that “…he was trained in the theology called ‘new’ yet which was thoroughly patristic in character—a theology which would be promulgated to the entire church thirty years later in Vatican II, along with the corresponding practice which emphasized the priesthood of all the faithful.” His work with Young Christian Students prodded Notre Dame to admit people of color, re-cycle books for student use, open avenues of communication and publicity, and revise the residence hall system—all with the over-riding purpose of forming young men and women as lay apostles, that is, people whose lives radiated the gospel.
In the sixties this work blossomed into a translation project designed to bring the “new theology” then animating Vatican II into the English-speaking world: Fides Publishers. Provincial Father Howard Kenna asked Father Putz to guide Moreau Seminary into the church which Vatican II envisaged. While doing this, he published the ground-breaking Seminary Education in a Time of Change, which proved to be a beacon for many religious congregations and dioceses.
Father Louis’s life “…was a vision of faith opened up in his family, articulated in the ‘new theology’ he so vividly absorbed, the church: male and female, lay and clerical.” He envisioned a church in which lay women and lay men—of all ages and with many different gifts and abilities—pool their talents as they work for the coming of God’s kingdom.” He brought this ecclesiology to all of his many initiatives for over sixty years. (Adapted from his community obituary 1998)
The word resurrection literally means “made standing again.” In an American society that tells us that we ought pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, the thought of resurrection should attract and excite us. How is it possible to pull ourselves up when we are worn down and beaten up by the many challenges of life in this world? What power do we have over the fact of gravity? And, is the act of pulling oneself up by bootstraps even possible? The conventional American mindset of building up riches for ourselves so that we might have the autonomy and the resources to always help ourselves results in a closed-off system that simply does not lead to life. The pattern of resurrection, however, is the exact opposite: being poured out completely – as our Lord upon the Cross – and then being brought into new life by another. Let’s therefore be like the lost son who admits that his life is a mess (Lk 15:17). Let’s pour out all of our ego-delusion and become prepared to receive the saving power of God in our lives (Lk 15:18). And from that low place, of stooping down to eat with the swine (Lk 15:16), let’s entrust ourselves to our loving Father who stands at the edge of his property (cf. Lk 15:20) and invites us to be raised up and stand with him forever. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Brother Cajetan (Austin) Gallagher, C.S.C. (1855-1928)
Caj, as he was called, was a simple soul. He was born in Avon, New York, and it was in 1881 when he began to care for Father Sorin’s princes in St. Edward Hall. He had charge of the Minims and was the male counterpart of Sister Aloysius Mulcaire. Brother Caj worked with the minims for 46 years until the school was terminated in 1927.
He marched around the campus of the University of Notre Dame with a sawed-off broom-handle, which he called his wand, and he would gently tap the ankles of his charges to keep them in line when they were out on a walk. Caj was so gentle that he seemed like a shepherd guarding his lambs. Sister Aloysius was the disciplinarian!
Brother Cajetan was a man of piety and wrestled with God in prayer. Once, when Father Cavanaugh received a letter from a parent of one of the minims complaining that Caj was a man of uncommon profanity, he thought the matter worth investigation. So, he interrogated the minim, who volunteered the information that “Brother Cajetan swears after we go to bed at night.” Father Cavanaugh stationed someone to listen. After the children had retired, sure enough, sighs and groans emanated from the Brother’s chamber in awesome waves through the walls of his tiny cell: “Lord, God! Lord, God! be merciful to me, a sinner! Oh, God Almighty! have pity on me!” Father Cavanaugh expressed himself satisfied with Brother Cajetan’s profanity. He made the remark: “If Brother Cajetan’s prayers are not heard in heaven, they certainly have been heard on earth!” (Adapted from Scholastic 1885; Religious Bulletin 1928; and the South Bend News-Time 1928)
What does Jesus mean when he says that he will make his disciples “fishers of men” (Mt 14:9)? Think about how the world works. English teachers train young writers to start with a “hook” to get their readers’ attention. A girlfriend, boyfriend or spouse may refer to their significant other as a great “catch.” Companies hire marketing departments to “reel in” potential customers. All of that is well and good, simply part of the rhythm of life in the world, but Jesus wants to elevate our vocation to some nobler and more enduring vision of the human person. Thus, he will take the same image of fishing, but change the rules of the game. Instead of bait, he will ask us to give our very flesh and blood. Instead of trying to get something, he will invite us to give of ourselves. Instead of pulling others to us, he asks us to take the risk of going out to where they already are. To be a “fisher of men,” indeed, means that no fish will ever be too small, that there will never be one that gets away, that our “big fish story” will always impress, and that we will spend eternity “gone fishing” in the communion of saints. In this way, we will discover that our salvation is synonymous with the miraculous catch that is constantly unfolding in the cosmos (cf. Jn 21:1-14). Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Father Daniel Spillard, CSC (1839-1926)
He Responded to Whatever He Was Called to Do
During his time as Prefect, Notre Dame took a very firm stance on temperance, and Father Spillard expelled seven students for trying to smuggle whiskey onto the campus. Almost simultaneously, he was appointed pastor of St. Patrick’s Church in South Bend. In 1874 he was appointed pastor of St. Mary’s Church in Austin, Texas, and he also ran offense for Father Sorin as the two priests attempted to sever the congregation from St. Mary’s College in Galveston.
He returned to Notre Dame to serve as Master of Novices in 1883. In 1886 he was appointed superior of Holy Cross Seminary at Notre Dame, and in 1890 he was reappointed pastor of St. Patrick’s in South Bend. In 1893, he was named the superior of the Community House at Notre Dame, and he was also appointed as the Vice President of the University of Notre Dame, the Prefect of Religion and as a professor of Ecclesiastical History.
From 1896-1912, Father Spillard began his only long tenure of office as President of Holy Cross College and pastor of Sacred Heart Church both in New Orleans. He returned to Notre Dame in 1912 and acted as assistant chaplain at St. Mary’s through 1923. He then retired to the Community House where he died on February 12, 1926. (Adapted from Hope, Father Arthur Notre Dame—One Hundred Years)
Rejoice! It is the start of a new year! How might we consecrate the next three hundred and sixty-five days to the Lord and thus grow as disciples of Jesus? Here is an idea: Carry a rosary in your pocket and literally grasp onto the Cross throughout the day. When we are commuting to work and anxieties fill our mind, reach in and grasp onto the Cross. When we are waiting in line at the grocery store or the bank, reach in and grasp onto the Cross. When we are having a difficult phone conversation or are receiving bad news in an email, reach in and grasp onto the Cross. When we are driving around on a lazy Saturday morning doing errands, reach in and grasp onto the Cross. We spend our days reaching out and grabbing onto all sorts of things – for good or for bad – as our first parents did (Gen 3:6), but if we learn to get into the habit of reaching for the Cross, there is a guaranteed outcome, namely, we will slowly become conformed to that crucified figure through the course of the year – open, trusting, loving, good. Let’s therefore not be afraid; let’s not live with sleepy hearts; let’s make the effort; let’s take the risk; let’s make this the decisive year of the Cross. Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Invite Blessed Moreau into your 2021!
This recently recovered text includes meditations from our founder for each day of the entire new year. May Blessed Basil Moreau’s words be the daily bread which sustains each of us on this daily journey of discipleship.
Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Sister M. Gabriella Doran, CSC (1922 -2015)
In the 75 years Sister Gabriella served the people of God as a Sister of the Holy Cross, she embraced each one of her assigned ministries with enthusiasm and zeal. Whether it was as a classroom teacher, principal, social worker, advocate for the elderly, health care coordinator or volunteer, she became totally involved in meeting the needs and challenges of each role. It was never enough to do only what was expected. Sister Gabriella extended herself to go beyond the demands of the position and reached out to others with whom she worked. During her 30-plus years as an elementary school teacher in the schools of the Midwest, she used every opportunity to help not only the students but also the parents and others involved with the school and its activities. When she was changed from one mission to the next, she left behind many friends and associates who remained loyal to her for years.
In 1976 Sister Gabriella began a new type of ministry. She assisted Father Louis Putz, CSC, in establishing Harvest House in the South Bend-Mishawaka area. Father Putz had established these groups all across the country, and Sister Gabriella was enthusiastic to help the program get started locally. The program is active today at St. Adalbert Parish in South Bend, Indiana, and its purpose has remained the same: “The seniors in Harvest House are a lively group of Catholics who rejoice in the God-given gift of dear friendship …. If you are looking for a place to belong, as well as a place where God can use your gifts, then Harvest House is the place for you!”
Working with these energetic senior citizens sparked in Sister Gabriella a real desire to continue working as an advocate for the elderly, so it was a natural transition for her to spend the next five years as a caseworker in R.E.A.L. Services (Resources for Enriching Adult Living). Sister Gabriella then moved to related services in health care as nursing home director of pastoral services at St. John’s Medical Center in Anderson, Indiana, before taking that same position at Saint Joseph’s Care Center in South Bend for the next 13 years. Her retirement from that position sparked a farewell that reflected the appreciation and love of her fellow workers. Never to rest on her laurels, Sister Gabriella became an avid member of the congregation’s vocation outreach team, pouring her energy into one of her favorite causes. She contacted numerous local parishes and urged them to form vocation committees that would identify and promote vocations. This zeal, for which Sister Gabriella was valued, was typical of her pursuit of what she considered a worthy cause.
From 2002 until her death, Sister Gabriella worked to gain recognition of the service of the Sisters of the Holy Cross at St. Columba School and Saint Mary’s Hospital in Cairo, Illinois. She was sad to see the sisters withdrawn from the school in 1963 where she had been principal for 13 years. The school initially was established as a mission to serve the African-American children in the area, but the state ordered the school to integrate, removing the aspect of special ministry to the poor. Saint Mary’s Hospital was established in 1867 and remained staffed by Holy Cross until 1973 when it was sold. This lack of recognition became Sister Gabriella’s and numerous parishioners’ burning cause and together they launched a campaign to attempt to gain recognition for the years of work of the Sisters of the Holy Cross among the people of Cairo.
The word infant literally means “one who cannot speak.” How ironic, then, that the eternal Word is born into the world as a helpless infant who utters not a single syllable. While some will see such a contradiction as absurd, our faith nevertheless invites us to trust that there is a lesson in it all. What if the Word’s humble acceptance of this particular plan of salvation actually sounds forth more powerfully than all the wavelengths that ever existed? What if, by this divine risk of incarnation, the Word is modeling for us the meaning of our human existence? What if instead of “speaking our minds,” “voicing our opinions” and “telling our tales,” we are called to be co-listeners with the Word, to be vulnerable by our openness, and to speak a message of hope to others through the very witness of our lives? One day that little baby will become a man and the wooden manger will become the Cross, and we will learn that the meaning of our lives, from the feeding trough to that gushing side, is eucharistic. In the meantime, let us simply enjoy the silence of this most holy night and allow our hearts to be captivated by the mystery and beauty of the Word-made-infant. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.
Father Timothy Maher, C.S.C. (1831-1925)
“Timothy Maher was born in Tipperary, Ireland, and he came to Notre Dame in 1846. His first thought was to become a Brother of Holy Cross, and that he did, taking the name of Brother John Chrysostom. Later on, in 1861, he decided that he would like to become a priest of the Congregation, a change that was permitted in those days. He was ordained in New Orleans, together with two other men, who had likewise been Brothers, on August 15, 1869. Father Cavanaugh writes about Father Maher: ‘. . . Even before profession, Father Maher had been charged with the financial accounts of the University. In a little room opposite the treasurer’s office now, on the ground floor of the (old infirmary), the difficult duties of the Secretary of the University were carried on. . . [He] continued in charge of the University ledgers for many years and was then transferred to a similar work as Postmaster of the University, an office he held not merely for years, but for decades. He had already attained extreme old age, but he remained a charming and cheerful figure on the campus, taking a young man’s delight in every incident of importance, cheering younger men with his light-heartedness, his genial humor and his incomparable courage, and lending his natural gaiety to the Community recreation in a way that created universal happiness and content. Until his strength so far failed him that he had to retire to the gentle shades of the Community House, he remained the inspiration of the younger members of the Community, and indeed it was their love and devotion to him and his rare and beautiful ascendancy over them that won for him, by the common voice and out of the common heart, the title of President of the Young Men’s Club. Academically, Father Maher was not a scholar, but I have hardly ever known a better judge of a good book, a strong magazine article or a substantial and inspiring speech. What other men got by a long scholastic training, he seemed to possess by a sort of natural instinct, as he knew without teaching how to detect shoddy in a coat, a book, or a man’.
“Father Maher was a model religious. He never missed an exercise of piety through neglect. There never was a more charitable tongue in a monk and never was a Soldier of Christ less a pharisee. When he passed away in the early morning of Friday, May 15, 1925, there disappeared from the life of the campus and the Community one of the rarest figures Notre Dame has known. He slipped out of life as unostentatiously as he had slipped into everything and out of everything for the past sixty years of his abiding here. True, he had been anointed a few days before, but the intervening days had been comfortable and normal and no one dreamed the end was so near. Indeed, the Superior was actually on his way from the chapel to the room of the venerable priest to bring him Holy Communion when Brother Julius hurried out to tell the Sister that Father Maher suddenly seemed to be sinking. Before Sister could reach his bedside, he had gently and almost imperceptibly ceased to breathe”. Hope, Father Arthur Notre Dame—One Hundred Years.
Were you afraid of the dark as a kid? Waking up in a dark room, walking into the basement, or being outside in the late hours of the night can still make my heart pound and cause my breath to become shallow! The uncertainty and the powerlessness of our senses during these moments are, nevertheless, an excellent analogy for our spiritual lives. Indeed, it is when scientific certainty and clarity of intellect give way to that slow process of trust, that we begin to really and truly walk in intimacy and friendship with the Lord who calls us forth from the shadows of the night (cf. Jn 3:2). Indeed, maybe the darkness really is not that dark after all. Maybe our minds, which have become the seedbeds for all sorts of expectations and illusions and ideas about life and the way things should be have been dark all along and we just don’t recall what the light is like! Let us, therefore, learn to not be afraid of the dark (Jn 6:20). Let us remember that “the light of the world” (Jn 8:12) can only be perceived at the level of the heart (cf. Rom 10:9). And above all else, let us not forget that Jesus rose from the dead “while it was still dark” (Jn 20:1) . Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Sister M. St. Brigid (Hilda) Bromeling, C. S. C. (1916-2020)
The Least Likely to Become a Nun
When Hilda Bromeling applied to the Sisters of the Holy Cross in May 1941, after graduating from Saint Mary’s College in 1940, her motivation was “to serve God and to remove the obstacles which hinder my perfection.” She was accepted into the Congregation and entered a few months later. Among her college classmates, Hilda was viewed as “the least likely to become a nun.” Yet, she spent over 75 years seeking perfection in charity as a consecrated woman religious as Sister Mary St. Brigid. There were obstacles along the way, whether due to her personal history or restless spirit.
She was born in Woodlawn (now Aliquippa), Pennsylvania, September 1, 1916. Hilda was the youngest of eight children born to Czechoslovakian immigrants. When the children’s mother died, their father needed help raising the youngest siblings, one boy and two girls, as the rest were older or close to adulthood. Since no one was able to care for all three children as the father insisted, they were placed in a home for adoption. It is known that Merton and Margaret Blacker Bromeling adopted Hilda, “who was a very sweet child,” giving her every advantage, providing for an excellent education and extensive travel. In adulthood she called them her guardians.
Sister St. Brigid developed a very deep faith. At the end of her novitiate formation at Saint Mary’s, Notre Dame, Indiana, she seriously considered entering a contemplative order instead of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. After counsel by her spiritual director and the Congregation’s superior general, she accepted God’s will and freely pronounced vows. Two other times she felt called again to enter a monastery and twice more, her discernment led her to remain in Holy Cross.
Sister earned a master’s in theology in 1952 from Saint Mary’s School of Theology, Notre Dame, the first of its kind for Catholic women. The first 28 years of her ministry were spent mostly in elementary education in Utah, California, Indiana and Michigan.
In her pursuit of perfection, Sister St. Brigid always wanted to be or do something more. Not only had she felt drawn to the sacrifice and silence of the contemplative life, she simultaneously felt compelled to throw herself into being a missionary in the new Holy Cross foundation in São Paulo, Brazil, where she taught at the Colégio Santa Maria from 1956 to 1961. Later, in 1971, having given two previous summers of service in the leper settlement of Kaulapapa on the island of Molokai, Hawaii, she managed to secure an extraordinary permission from the state’s Department of Health to live for one year on the island, lest she develop the infectious Hansen’s disease herself. Her mission was to write for blind and handless lepers, visit them in their cottages, and read them the Bible and other books. Upon advice of the Sisters of the Third Order of St. Francis of Syracuse, New York, who trained her for this ministry and with whom she lived, Sister St. Brigid returned to Saint Mary’s in 1972 and gave service to the Congregation in various capacities for many more years. She retired to a fully contemplative life of prayer in 2000 at Saint Mary’s Convent. [Adapted from an obituary written by Sister Catherine Osimo, CSC]
Question: What’s the difference between the mythological figure Atlas, who spent eternity bearing the literal weight of the world on his shoulders, and Jesus, on whose shoulders the heavy wood of the Cross rested? Answer: only one of them was going somewhere! The Cross is indeed a weight but it is not a punishment – as the famous god had to endure. Rather, the Cross is heavy so as to keep us focused, grounded and on track on the way to transformation. And while we can sometimes find ourselves in an Atlas-situation during our journeys through life, we must not give into the temptation to simply “shrug” and go on our merry way (as a popular twentieth century author suggests). No, we must learn to ask for the desire to move forward, the grace to walk in true freedom, and the humility to let go of attachments that simply add to our load without giving us life. And so, the next time we catch ourselves complaining about how we have the weight of the world on our shoulders, we should look to Jesus whose “yoke was easy and burden light” (Mt 11:30) and be reminded that we have only truly taken up the Cross when our feet are taking us somewhere in life (cf. Mt 16:24). Ave Crux, Spes Unica!
Brother Charles Borromeo Harding, C.S.C. (1838-1922)
Patrick Harding was born in Ireland and entered the Congregation of Holy Cross in 1862. A carpenter’s son, he became a self-taught institutional builder and construction manager involved in almost every new addition to Notre Dame’s physical plant between 1868 and 1911. St. Edward’s Hall, Corby Hall, Dujarié Hall (now Carroll Hall), the Institute of Technology (now Crowley Hall of Music), the current Sacred Heart Basilica, and the boat house are all his extent designs. He also built two wings of Sorin Hall, the Fieldhouse Gymnasium (no longer on the campus), the Manual Labor School, the Ave Maria Offices, the Community House (now Columba Hall), the Portiuncula Chapel (no longer on campus), and the first post office. In 1879 he also served as the supervising architect of the Main Building. Finally, in the 1880’s he oversaw the building of the dome and a spire each going up simultaneously. There are no records that indicate that he had taken any courses in construction nor architectural renderings. Tradition has it that Brother Charles used unsawn tree trunks from the Michigan hardwood forests as the inner structural supports around which he fashioned the piers that support Sacred Heart’s vaulted roof. (Adapted from Schlereth, Thomas J. “A Spire of Faith: The University of Notre Dame’s Sacred Heart Church,” 1991)
The minutes from the meetings of the Notre Dame Council of Administration for 1897-1900 illustrate how greatly Brother Charles’ services were in demand and how extensive his contributions to the growth of Notre Dame:
22 January 1897: Brother Charles Borromeo is authorized to build the two wings at Sorin Hall at an estimate of $12,000.
26 March 1897: Brother Charles is requested to make a plan and an estimate to enlarge the gymnasium.
9 April 1897: Brother Charles is directed to make plans and specifications for the new Manual Labor School to be ready for September.
18 March 1898: The Portiuncula Chapel is to be taken down and the bricks used for the new gymnasium.
22 September 1899: Brother Charles was appointed to draw the plans for the new Community House. Stones and bricks are to be ordered and the construction begun at once.
23 March 1900: It was directed to erect one more wing to the new Community House at Mount St. Vincent.
His competence extended beyond Notre Dame to the University of Portland where he worked from 1911-1922 and built the sisters’ convent. Because of his age, he was sent back to Notre Dame, but had to stop in Salt Lake City and seek assistance from the Sisters’ hospital where he died. He is buried in Holy Cross Cemetery. In 1983 archivist Brother Edward Sniatecki wrote, “Brother Charles Borromeo was always quiet and retired in manner: a genuine, gentle and courageous religious. A man of deep faith and sincere piety which was never showy. He loved the rule and practiced it with fidelity.” The Columbiad of the University of Portland carried the following obituary notice in October, 1922:
Once more I missed Him on the accustomed hill,
Along the heath and near his favorite tree;
Another came, nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.