More than a Musing: Encountering Notre Dame

Back when I was a young adult (in the eyes of the Church), an outspoken member of our group asked me about this blog. “It’s just a bunch of your musings, right?”

Given the time, energy, and thought I had invested in Sports and Spirituality, I was surprised—and miffed—that this was her interpretation of my writing. I have always come to this space intending to do much more than share a story or market a musing. I pen a post because I have something to say: a lesson I’ve learned, a connection I want to make, or a hope I want to share.

I’ve been writing this blog for almost 17 years, and I haven’t let go of that intention or of that comment. I think I know why: I recently returned from a short but sweet trip to Notre Dame, and what I want to share are my musings. I guess she was right. And perhaps what you read here with resonate with you, too.

Pilgrimage Made Easy
Travel to Notre Dame has never been easy. Growing up in the Bay Area, I didn't have the luxury—let alone the option—of driving to campus. Getting there required planes, occasionally a train (the South Shore), and certainly automobiles. Given the weather conditions in and around South Bend and the stress of getting from point A to point B—or, in this case, point ND—the journey itself is an unknown venture. But, this weekend, United Airlines offered a great assist: a direct flight from SFO to SBN.

In fact, I'm still thinking about it. Effortless. Smooth. Not only was it Easy like Sunday Morning, it was easy on Sunday morning. We left at 11:00 a.m. and landed at 12:45 p.m. Pacific time.

A sight to see every other year. SFO-->SBN

This flight is offered every other year when Stanford plays at Notre Dame. I felt like I was on an airbus chartered by Irish fans. It is however, but a temporary luxury. 

One chapter of my book, Caminos on Campus, addresses the effort it takes to get to Notre Dame. To me, that speaks to the very notion of pilgrimage. The journey matters. The effort matters. Although this trip was much easier, the destination is my spiritual home. And I take heart in knowing that, even when the journey gets easier, pilgrimage remains.

Culture of Encounter
One of the joys of returning to Notre Dame, especially for a fall football game, is walking familiar paths. I love taking in the beauty of campus, noticing what has changed, and discovering what's new. I never have to worry about meeting my daily step count! But what keeps me coming back is not simply the beauty of this walkable space. It's the people I encounter along the way.

Some encounters are expected. I walked past Father Pete McCormick, C.S.C., whose joy is palpable. From across the Quad I could see the joy oozing out of him. Other encounters unfold over a weekend spent with some of my favorite people: a glass of wine with one of my closest friends on the patio of the Morris Inn, a reception at Mendoza College of Business with her daughter, and time sharing space with my dear friend Erin and her family. These are some of the reasons Notre Dame feels like home.

My talented classmate and friend, Garret Gray '96.

Then came game day.

After Pete's Pregame, where Notre Dame Athletic Director Pete Bevacqua interviewed Stanford's new AD, Jon Donahoe, I was leaving Jordan Hall of Science when I recognized an alum whose story I had recently read in the summer issue of Notre Dame Magazine.

I had to stop him. I was so moved by the profile piece: Send a Volley and I wanted him to know. I told Ron that he could have been interviewed by Pete, too. A former varsity tennis player who competed on Notre Dame's national championship team, he continues to play the sport he loves, now in a wheelchair.

Reading his story had inspired me. Meeting him gave me the opportunity to tell him so.

It was a brief encounter, just a few moments carved out of a busy football weekend. But it reminded me how much can happen when we pay attention to the people around us. I could have kept walking. I could have admired the campus, checked off the familiar landmarks, and moved on to the next event. Instead, I had the chance break open his story a little more and share that his life and example have made a difference to someone else.

That's what a culture of encounter makes possible. It asks us to look up and around, to recognize that the people sharing our paths are more than passing faces. Each carries a story worth hearing, and sometimes we get the privilege of telling someone that their story matters.

Less Music in this Musing.
I am very happy to report that a change has been made! In what is more than a musing, one year ago I wrote "Stay Different Irish." In that post I opined

We're Not Different #3: Speaking of music...

My friend Bill and I caught the Player Walk, a game day tradition whereby coaches and players  process from the Basilica of the Sacred Heart to the Stadium. I love seeing  the team in dress ware—a uniform navy blazer and dress shirt. A few wore ties; all carry their own backpacks.

I realize they are moving from a place of introspection and prayer to a public space that is loud and demands a lot from them. I get that they want to be "in the zone," but I wish they would remove their head phones/ take out their ear buds. To me, silencing the cheers and potential jeers creates a barrier. For example, when I saw Cooper Flanagan, I yelled out "Go Spartans!" I wanted to make a connection to his high school alma mater, De La Salle high school. Those AirPods prevent any sort of communique.

These athletes are modeling what we see every week in the NFL and among their peer group. Am I asking too much in requesting that they be open and stay open to family, friends and fans who call their name and cheer for Old Notre Dame?!

I came to the Player Walk in fear of what I might see. Would they all be wearing over the ear, padded, noise canceling headwear? Turns out, many were BUT they were not covering their ears. All but two players had earbuds/AirPods/a headset out and away (or above their ears). I have to believe a coach said something to the team. Consequently, I felt they were more in the moment. And that singular small gesture allowed me to be, too.

With the People
I had the privilege of joining a friend in a box seat to watch the game. The padded seats were on the press-box side, facing the opposing team. Our view was unobstructed, delicious food was included in the ticket price, and getting up and out of our seats was no bother. I'm grateful for any chance to see the Irish, especially when they get the W. But given the choice, I'd rather sit somewhere else.

This isn't a complaint. I'm grateful for the opportunity and for an amazing seat. It's just that I think a football game asks something of us. We sit on bleachers, often packed tightly together. We stand up and squeeze past one another to let people in and out. We're close enough to engage with the people around us. We high-five strangers, catch bits of their conversations, and, if you're lucky enough to sit  with my Uncle Jay, you get a referee's POV.

You leave the game feeling as though you played a part in it. When you sit in a climate-controlled box, the experience is different.

Let me be clear: for older fans, people with mobility challenges, or anyone facing extreme weather, box seats can be the way to go. In my mind, I'm still a bit of a young adult, and I think there's something to be said for sitting with and among the people. Part of the Culture of Encounter is showing up, sharing space, and being in the mix. For me, that means sitting in the stands.

In Conclusion
The last visit to Notre Dame was for my class reunion in June. At that time, my mom was still alive and I found solace in talking to my classmates who had already lost a parent. This time, I arrived carrying her memory and talking to others about her life and her death. She provided for a wonderful home where I grew up and returning to Notre Dame felt no different. It is a another home, overseen by a holy Mother where I too have grown up.

Perhaps that's part of what makes returning to Notre Dame so meaningful. We come for all sorts of reasons: the beauty, the traditions, the football, the friendships, the feeling of being home. But we also return as different people than we were the last time we walked these familiar paths. We bring our joys and our losses, our stories and our questions. And we discover that even in a place we know so well, there are still people to meet, stories to hear, and opportunities to encounter something—or someone—that changes the way we see the world.

Photo Credits