Ms. Erin Mulrooney's '13 Grad at Grad Reflection

The following speech was delivered by Erin Mulrooney (’13) at morning assembly on January 30, 2013.

A Loyola Student is Becoming More Religious

When I was first invited to give a talk about becoming more religious, I got very nervous. I knew I would love to do it, but wondered what I could have to say about becoming more religious. This is an odd time in one’s life, at age seventeen, to be asked about this process when so many questions are still forming within me. As someone who has been struggling with the presence of God in my life, I was unsure what I could offer to others. But maybe I underestimate what others might take from my story, so I leave it to you to decide.

I grew up in a practicing Roman Catholic family and have been in Catholic school since nursery school. Therefore, I have been guided towards religious belief since I was about three years old.

Admittedly, introduction to the faith at the nursery school level is light: even in Catholic school, it’s about flowers and God’s creation, love, and the fact that we’re all sisters and brothers; I’m grateful for having received this foundation. I also enjoyed acquiring lovely little keepsakes of my faith – an ivory cross for my room, a special prayer book, a rosary of colored glass, and for my First Communion, a bible with my name inscribed on it. Each of these items, beautiful in itself, was a sweet reward for following a faith being handed down to me.

Then the sweet positive reinforcements for the faith I knew in grade school seemed to stop. In the whir of activity surrounding graduation and moving on to high school, I was eager to leave childhood behind me, and sadly, although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was setting aside an important part of my childhood – my faith. Now that I was in high school, I didn’t see how I could fit Sunday Mass into a day that was filled with preparing all kinds of assignments for Monday morning. I was now attending high school in Manhattan, so I spent most of my day away from my family, my Catholic grade school friends, from my comfortable everyday environment. Coming home after seven o’clock some

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days, grace at dinnertime had already been said. Religion class now figured into my GPA, and exhaustion dragged me past those sweet moments before I closed my eyes at night when I would reflectively pray my way to sleep. The lovely keepsakes of my earlier religious growth seemed to have worn down in their meaning before I had time to notice. All the activities of high school created enough noise around me that I didn’t realize that the bubble of my daily, busy life no longer included God. Luckily, the new world of my distractions was a wonderfully spiritual place called Loyola School. Thinking about it, it would be practically impossible to be immersed in this environment of loving teachers, priests, and support staff without grasping a sense of God’s love and concern for all of us. From Ms. Guevera’s friendly greeting by name of each student who walks into the school, to Mr. Lyness’s Friday chocolate distribution to students worn down by the week, or Mr. Tram’s spectacular Christmas decorations, and the Masses that call us as a community, the spirit of God’s love was infusing my day even when I was not conscious of it happening.

Even more, the curriculum seemed specially designed to expand my horizons of religious growth as key to my personal growth. One of my most influential courses was my sophomore Morality class, in which we honestly confronted the conflicts and connections between reason, religion, and modern life. We were taught to see that our choices and responsibilities grow out of our faith. With the help of a strong foundation of faith, I needed to think through moral predicaments. What are the constraints of the situation? Who stands to be harmed, physically, emotionally or spiritually, and what are a person’s true choices? Ultimately, where best can Jesus’ love enter this situation? Asking such questions does not guarantee our answers will always match up with a faith that relies on the standard principles. But hopefully, it is does guarantee a responsible, moral outlook. So I’ve learned to see morality as

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something we all have to struggle with whenever presented with a new problem that either we or a good friend might face.

Taking responsibility for one’s faith is a lot harder than it sounds. To me, it started with realizing the weaknesses of my relationship with God and taking the steps to strengthen it. In my junior theology class with Fr. Paredes we read much of the Bible which I learned to see as relevant to my life. In particular, I began to understand the theme of struggle with faith, as in the story of Abraham and Isaac.

At first, I remember my impulse to discount this story: what parent would willingly set his or her child upon an altar as a burnt offering to God? And what kind of God would make such a horrible request?

Together, we read this story and other stories from scripture in light of the audience for whom they were written, the time period, and the truth-value behind each story. Suddenly, the Bible was truly believable through the eyes of faith. Even old man Abraham could be a model for me: He took responsibility for his faith by understanding that God’s will is not going to be easy to carry out, but he trusted God anyway. From then on, I wondered how I could trust God more. Regardless of what the situation is, I have faith that there is a reason for it. Just as God tested Abraham, God puts us all through his own tests of faith. Maybe in these cases, our biggest responsibility is to let God help us stay strong.

This spring semester, I am looking forward to my next class on appreciating world religions. I expect to develop more of my feeling that God communicates to us through others’ stories and experiences, that we can grow through understanding experiences that feel very remote to us, such as the story of Abraham, who heard God’s calling. Last summer, I went on the French Exchange Program and stayed with a Catholic family in Southern France. Although going to Mass on a Sunday was not at the top of their priority list, they still had a lot to share about Christianity. At first I was taken aback by how open they were talking about their religious beliefs with me, considering that religion seemed to be an off-limits topic there. They prayed before meals without hesitation, often in song. My exchange

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partner Marie in fact had many songs to express grace, all of them learned in childhood. It also struck me how her life on the Mediterranean offered many reminders of Christianity’s holy simplicity: fresh olive oil and bread blessed every meal. Her father worked in a winery and so wine was also a part of their family gatherings. Their rural life symbolized a Christian spirit of simple pleasures that I could also imagine were enjoyed and blessed by Christ. I found it prayerful and inspiring and I know Fr. Paredes’s world religions class will soon lead me to more insights like this.

Finally, I cannot discuss this story of my religious growth without acknowledging the challenge of having a hearing loss, which I discovered in the midst of my time at Loyola. When I learned that I had been dealing with hearing loss since birth but hadn’t realized it, all the assurances I had grown up with were up for questioning, which translated to again questioning my faith. I was angry with God for making me feel as if I had been fooled into missing a big chunk of my life. There were missed steps in math; confusion about the lines of plays; and little understanding of French phrases I knew the teacher had gone over. Why had I been left alone to figure out these things?

Luckily, God did not leave me in this forlorn place for long. My parents met with teachers and accommodations were made. Great technology allowed me to hear not only all the comments and discussion of the classroom, but whispers in the hall. I suddenly was able to absorb more in class, doing less self‐teaching and more review; my grades began to match my effort and I excelled.

My friends here helped as well. As I slowly revealed my imperfection to others, I felt less embarrassed about it. Later, a good friend told me that she marveled at what she had always observed about me: that I had a tremendous ability to listen to my own sense of right and wrong, to understand others, and to carry out good decisions. These qualities, I thought, were the best I 4

could aspire to—that is, to listen well to myself and others. I realized that God had equipped me quite well for the challenges of life and that my growth in faith was a full part of this story.

With the foundation of faith I have gained at Loyola, I hope to always hear well the ways in which God calls me to Him. I aspire with confidence to hear every word.

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