Ranking the mysteries of the rosary

Peter Breen Twitter Platform manager

I’m not a superstitious person, although I do bring a rosary around with me to fight off potential demons. The rosary I carry is a stretch of blue yarn I tied up one week in elementary school religion class. I’d like to imagine that the untainted soul of a more naïve, the world is your oyster Peter is somehow captured in my rosary’s knots.

It wasn’t too long ago, albeit before I became too tangled in a career at The observer, when it was a goal of mine to pray this rosary every day. At a point in my life when I had considered giving up notre dame, I turned hard toward religion as one means to manage melancholy.

o ut of my zeal, I developed refined attitudes about the four sets of mysteries: the joyful, the sorrowful, the glorious and the luminous. I began to look forward every Thursday, the day to meditate on the luminous mysteries — an opportunity to celebrate my own little Last supper. e ach Friday, prompted to remember c hrist’s passion by the sorrowful mysteries, I went to confession in the basilica.

What follows is a semi-satirical, perhaps sardonic, account of my most treasured mysteries. When feeling down, one ought to take humor where one can get it. I find comfort knowing that the rosary will always be there for me to fall back on wherever my life may go.

5. The wedding feast at Cana v ince vaughn in “Wedding c rashers,” weighing in on the irrefutable attraction of live music integrated with nuptial celebrations, famously remarks, “It’s a great band, it’s a bad band, it’s like pizza, baby. It’s good no matter what. There’s music in the air!” I dare argue that the debauchery of v ince vaughn and o wen Wilson in “Wedding c rashers” is a direct extension of Jesus turning water into wine. As a member of the notre dame student body, a deeply c atholic culture obsessed with marriage and alcohol, this mystery is fascinating to me. I turned toward the daily rosary to bring stability into my life. Another way I found structure in the void at the onset of my religious fervor was avoiding alcohol completely. s ome old wise guy wrote in e cclesiastes that there is “a season for every activity under the heavens.” Perhaps I squandered my allotted time for drinking festivities by vaping too much in high school.

4. The finding in the temple

Like Taylor swift’s out-of-reach love interest in “You belong With me,” mary and Joseph were probably not expecting to wake up and find that Jesus had been in the temple the whole time. It’s up for debate whether I’ve pulled worse stunts on my parents than what Jesus did at age 12 over Passover in Jerusalem. What harm can a kid do with a car if he’s already got a bike? The drive to not worry my parents — though I still try to keep things interesting — fundamentally informs the decisions I make on this day and on my days moving forward. I don’t ever want my parents to feel as if they’ve lost me. I’m here.

3. The descent of the Holy Spirit

As I enter my third semester of German, bracing to be butchered at least twice a week with vocabulary pop quizzes, I could really use being filled with the holy spirit. If a mighty wind would have entered my room on Pentecost, there’s no doubt I’d still be a classics major with a concentration in Ancient Greek. I definitely wouldn’t have failed that roman history class in the fall of my sophomore year. c onceivably I’d even be a bit quicker picking up AP style. When this mystery doesn’t have me thinking about language, my mind skips right past thoughts of evangelization onto the tongues of fire. my fondest life memories related to combustion include: playing hot potato with rocks yanked from euclid beach bonfires on summer nights and sticking my fingers in the hot wax of blown out Advent wreath candles after family dinners over c hristmastime.

2. The crowning with thorns

I basically read an entire book inspired by this event called “showings” in a Program of Liberal studies seminar. maybe the text is actually about the delusions caused by intense suffering — anyway, great imagery. The author, Julian of norwich, was a 14th century e nglish anchoress who lived through the black death. she lived in permanent seclusion in a cell sealed to a church, and you thought the chastity requirement of priesthood was bad. despite being the first woman known to have written a book in e nglish, Julian of norwich hasn’t even been made a saint. I guess life could always be worse.

1. The agony in the garden honorable mentions:

At this point I embrace being the person who asks God to pass me the cup. Let’s see what they next try to throw at me, and then, fiat voluntas tua!

The baptism of c hrist in the Jordan, The scourging at the pillar, The transfiguration.

You can contact Peter at pbreen2@nd.edu.

The views expressed in this Inside Column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.