“As we all come together as a family, no matter our faith backgrounds, this spring season can be a time of a much-needed renewal for all of us,” he said.

Last year’s Easter celebrations at University Church were attended by a handful of Jesuits and scholastics. As the year progressed, attendance at Sunday Mass steadily increased with safety precautions, including Vital Check, strictly adhered to. By Holy Thursday of this year, Joseph M. McShane, S.J., president of Fordham, was able to begin the series of Easter services starting with the Triduum, which marks the Last Supper and eventual removal of the Eucharist from the altar. The bells and music are silenced until the Sacrament returns, signifying the risen Christ at the Easter Vigil Mass celebrated on Holy Saturday, April 3.

This year, the Easter Vigil Mass represented not just a return of the Eucharist, but of long-postponed sacraments, such as Confirmation. At this year’s vigil, five members of the Fordham community were confirmed as Catholics by Lito Salazar, S.J., executive director of campus ministry. Director of University Church Ministries Mark Zittle, O.Carm., oversaw the rites and initiation. Nearly 70 members of the Fordham community—including students and families—were present to witness their full entry into the Church.

Gownley said that while the healing process and the work toward racial justice has only just begun, so too has the Easter season.

“We still have 50 days till Pentecost,” he said. “So, there’s still time to process, to pray, and to do the much-needed interior work that needs to be done to heal.”

I write to wish you and your loved ones the blessings of Easter and Passover: those of family, fellowship, and food, and the peace that comes from knowing you are a part of cultures and traditions that reach back centuries.

It is fortuitous this year that the celebrations of these two great faiths overlap on Sunday, celebrating the renewal of hope and freedom from bondage, just as the end of this yearlong pandemic is in sight.

Those of you who would like to participate in Easter services at the University may attend virtually:

Easter Sunday Masses | April 4

Rose Hill | University Church
11 a.m. (Broadcast on WFUV FM 90.7), 2 p.m.

Lincoln Center | Bl. Rupert Mayer, S.J., Chapel | 5 p.m.

Livestream:
Lincoln Center Services: fordham.edu/lcmass
Rose Hill Services: fordham.edu/UC

I wish you all a joyous Easter and Passover.

Sincerely,

Joseph M. McShane, S.J.

Peace of Christ.

All right. I admit it. I missed it. I really missed Easter as I have always experienced it. Every detail. Large and small. I missed the solemn majesty and the warm, energizing chaos of it.

If the truth were told, I think I missed the drama of the Easter Vigil most of all: from the lighting of the Easter fire and the Paschal Candle, to the soft glow of the flickering tapers (lit from that candle) that suffused the darkened church with an ethereal light, to the sudden blinding illumination of the Church as the first strains of the Gloria are heard. From the staid chanting of the Exultet to the full-throated singing of Easter hymns accompanied by a thundering pipe organ, a veritable exaltation of trumpets, and the full, rich pealing of bells. Clouds of incense filling the church with celestial fragrances. I missed leaving the Vigil singing The Strife is O’er, The Battle Won as I walked home. Off-key, of course. But let’s be honest. Easter is one of the only days of the year when even the tone-deaf find a few right notes and create rhythms, harmonies, and descants that rival those of the angels. (At least that is what I tell myself.)

And so, yes. I admit it. I missed a normal Easter. The kind of Easter that I remembered. The kind of Easter that I needed, especially this year. Admit it. You missed it too. While we are at it, I will also admit that I find it hard to speak of Easter in the oxymoronic terms that have been used to describe this year’s Easter. Subdued exuberance. Understated splendor. Muted glory. Spare beauty. Admit it. You find it hard too.

How then, can we describe the Easter that we have just celebrated? To tell you the truth, I honestly think that the best (and perhaps only) way to describe it is that it was an Easter of biblical proportions. Now, don’t get carried away. Or at least let me explain what I mean before you do get carried away. But before I tackle that challenge, let me come clean on another point. What I said above is absolutely true: I did miss having the chance to celebrate a “normal Easter” this year, but I have to confess (it would appear that I am doing a lot of confessing these days) that the Easter that we celebrated (with its subdued exuberance, understated splendor, muted glory, and spare beauty) was an Easter for the moment in which we find ourselves. To celebrate the feast in any other way would have been reckless and irresponsible. And yes: It did have a powerful beauty to it, just a kind of beauty that we were not expecting. Among other things, this Easter of Solitude (as Pope Francis has called it) was a defiant exercise of spiritual closeness in a time of social distancing. And spiritual closeness touched our hearts and carried the day. It allowed us to experience in a rich new way both our deep longing for God and our need to experience God’s presence in the sanctity of our homes in these very difficult times, surrounded by those whom we love most dearly. So there. I know that you will accuse me of being Jesuitical for saying this. So be it. I don’t mind. I am, after all, a Jesuit.

But back to what you may think is an absurd claim, namely that this year’s Easter was an Easter of biblical proportions. Let me stare down your doubts and allay your suspicion that I am being either insane or disingenuous in making that claim.

My dear friends, the first Easter was not a moment of splendor, exuberance, or trumpeted glory. Rather, it was a moment and an event that was experienced by the Apostles and the Holy Women in a surprisingly intimate way and on what we would call a small scale. Reflect on it. The appearance to Our Lady, the encounter with Mary Magdalene, the interrupted dinner at Emmaus, the first appearance in the Upper Room. They were all quiet, even understated, encounters with the Risen One. As intimate and consoling as they were, however, these encounters still left the Lord’s followers with questions. How could it have been otherwise?

Even though they had indeed seen Him on Easter, the disciples and the Holy Women could not make complete sense of what they had seen and heard. Moreover, since they were known to have been Jesus’ friends, they lived with a strong suspicion that they were marked people. Therefore, they locked themselves away in the Upper Room and got to work trying to figure things out. Having lived in lockdown mode of late ourselves, we can imagine what that experience must have been like. The anxiety in the Upper Room must have been palpable. The smell of fear must have clung to them. And then the debates. Spirited, heartfelt debates during which they weighed what they had clearly seen and heard against what their minds told them, namely that what they had seen was utterly impossible. And let’s make no mistake here. The disciples were not rubes. Far from it. They were savvy sorts. Just think of Matthew, a man who knew his way around numbers. Or Peter, a man who was clearly a practical entrepreneurial guy very much at home in the challenging world of business. A worldly wise group, then, they knew that the outside world would find the secret that had been revealed to them simply incomprehensible. And so, as I said, they spent the week after Easter trying to figure out just what Jesus’ “rising from the dead” actually meant. Both for them and for the world. And trying to find words they could use to explain what they had seen to anyone outside the safe (but frightened) circle gathered in the Upper Room. Ah, my friends, the issues they debated were titanic, but the setting in which their debates took place was small, tight, and crowded. The biblical proportions of the first Easter.

And what of us? Well, my sisters and brothers, our experience of Easter this year was much the same as the disciples’ experience on the first Easter. Ours was an Easter celebrated (or experienced) in a locked-down setting, heavy with weariness, tinged with (mortal) fear, and filled with questions about what the Lord’s Resurrection means for us and our wounded world. Ours was an Easter dominated, therefore, by a desire for comforting certainty. And since our Easter was like the first Easter, I think that we earned our way into the Upper Room this year. Therefore, let us cross the threshold and join the disciples there.

Tucked away in a small corner of the Upper Room seven days after the Resurrection, in the company of the Apostles and the Holy Women, we get the answers to our prayers and questions in and through the Gospel for today. (Today’s Gospel in two ways: the Gospel that will be read in Christian churches throughout the world today, and the Gospel for the wearying today that we are living through.) Taken from the twentieth chapter of John’s Gospel, the scene opens with the appearance of Thomas the Apostle. A member of the Lord’s inner circle, he had not been in the Upper Room on Easter when the Lord had appeared after His Resurrection. Although he loved both Jesus and His companions, Thomas utterly refused to believe what the others had told him. In fact, he bluntly told them that he would not believe what they were saying until he put his own hands into the Lord’s wounds. God bless Thomas. He wanted to make sure that what they had seen wasn’t a ghost, a figment of their imaginations, or an imposter. (I say it again: God bless Thomas. Admit it. You feel the same way I do. You know that you are as grateful as I am for Thomas’ bold insistence on getting some proof for the Resurrection.) God bless his questioning heart.

The words are no sooner out of Thomas’ mouth than the Lord appears in the Upper Room. Much to our relief, He doesn’t berate Thomas. Quite the opposite, He invites Thomas to do what he asked for. The scene is irresistible. For us. For all who have ever yearned for reassurance. For all who want to believe. It has also been irresistible to painters. And no painter has captured the drama of the moment more powerfully than Caravaggio. In his The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, we see Jesus taking Thomas’ hand in His own and bringing it to His pierced side as two of the other Apostles lean in to watch. Thomas’ face is a study in determination, fascination, and embarrassment. I would imagine, however, that the rest of the onlookers were not at all embarrassed. Rather, I would imagine that they were grateful (as we are) for this moment. It is here, my sisters and brothers, that faith is born. With that faith comes hope. And with that hope comes courage. But a very specific kind of courage: the courage to love without fear and without boundaries.

And so, my dear friends, I rest my case. The first Easter was an Easter of biblical proportions: small, intimate, and suffused with urgent love. And our Easter, spent in the company of the Apostles in our own Upper Rooms and theirs, has also been an Easter moment of those same biblical proportions. There are no trumpets blaring. No thunderclaps. Nothing like that. This is the moment, however, that changed and changes everything. For the Apostles. For Christians across time. For us. This changes everything. This makes the courage to love and to console possible. Even urgent.

Let us love boldly and without fear in this Easter Season, when we were welcomed to the Upper Room, that sacred place where hope and courage were born. Let us continue to console the weary, comfort the grieving, accompany the dying with our prayers, honor the heroes who spend themselves in service, and sweep light into the hearts of those who are afraid.

Please be assured of my constant and fervent prayers for you and all whom you love. Every day.

Prayers and blessings,

Joseph M. McShane, S.J.

A Prayer in the Midst of the Present Crisis

God of all mercies, grant:
To the Fordham family, safety and good health:
To those afflicted with COVID-19, swift healing;
To the frightened, courage;
To the dying, comfort;
To the dead, eternal life;
To health care providers, strength and stamina;
To our leaders, wisdom and compassion;
To our nation, unity of purpose;
To the Church, the grace to serve the suffering selflessly;
To all believers, strong faith in Your presence;
To the whole human family, unity of heart; and
To us, Your servants, the reward of knowing that we are doing Your will when we spend ourselves in loving service of others.

Peace of Christ.

I remember Sunday, the sixth of April 1969, as if it were yesterday. I was a second-year novice at Saint Andrew-on-Hudson in Poughkeepsie. It was a spectacular spring day in the Hudson Valley, and the grounds were at their best. The trees were almost in full leaf. The daffodils and tulips were out. The forsythia and azaleas were riots of color. The lilac bushes behind the house were drooping under the weight of their blooms. And a deranged woodpecker was busy hammering away at the metal cross on top of the domestic chapel in the quadrangle.

Wakened at the crack of dawn by the woodpecker’s drumming, I hopped out of bed and headed down to the kitchen to make breakfast for the 120 Jesuits in the Novitiate community. (Another novice did the cooking. I just cracked eggs and washed the pots, pans, and dishes. In other words, no one got sick.) Since we had already been working together in the kitchen for three weeks, the two of us were able to do our work in almost complete silence. When we had finished up, we parted in silence while the rest of the community ate a first-class feast: steak-and-eggs breakfast in the refectory. Lest you get the impression that that was our usual Sunday morning fare, I should tell you that it was not. Steaks and eggs were served only on the great feasts of the year. And this was the greatest of all feasts: it was Easter Sunday.

That Easter Sunday was, however, not just any Easter Sunday for me. It was also the first day of the fourth and final week of my first Long Retreat, the 30-day silent journey of prayer and reflection laid out in the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius. (And yes, I was keeping count: 25 days down, five more to go.)

After a quick solitary walk on the grounds, I returned to my room, picked up my copy of the Exercises, and got ready to pray. When I opened the Exercises, I expected to find myself directed to one of the Resurrection accounts in the Gospels. I was thrown for a loop, however, when I saw what Saint Ignatius presented for my consideration. He did not direct me to the scene at the empty tomb, nor to the Lord’s encounter with Mary Magdalene in the garden, nor to His appearance to the apostles in the Upper Room, nor to His conversation with the disciples on the road to Emmaus, and not to His preparing breakfast for the apostles on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. No. No. None of those. Rather, what he put before me was Jesus’ appearance to His mother on Easter morning.

I stared at the text. I scratched my head. I didn’t remember ever reading that story before. Now I know what you’re thinking. That since I was a Catholic, I was probably not all that familiar with the scriptures. Point well taken. But I had spent the better part of two years in the Jesuits. I had taken a course in the New Testament. And I still could not recall ever seeing this particular Easter story. So, I pulled my Bible from the bookshelf to see if I had somehow missed it. Matthew was silent. Mark was mum. Luke had nothing to say about it. Surely, I thought, John will come through. He didn’t. I was perplexed. Then I saw at the top of the page: “The Apparition of Christ our Lord to Our Lady #299,” a reference to the list of the events in the life of Christ that Ignatius had placed at the end of the Exercises. I rifled through the pages and came to #299 where I found this terse statement: “He appeared to the Virgin Mary; and although this is not mentioned in Scripture, still it is considered as mentioned when it says that He appeared to so many others, for the Scripture supposes us to have understanding as it is written: ‘Are you also without understanding?'” (a reference to a statement Jesus made to St. Peter in Matthew 15: 16). I smiled. Actually, I think I chuckled. That clever Ignatius!

As you might imagine, I did not want to be counted among those without understanding. Therefore, with that gentle swat from Ignatius, I went back to his outline for the prayer on this event-not-recorded-in-scripture. In his notes, Ignatius gave this simple advice: “Consider the office of consoler that Christ our Lord exercises, and compare it with the way in which friends are wont to console one another,” as well as the suggestion that I place myself into the scene on which I was to meditate. Hmmm. I was just to watch with open eyes and listen with an attentive heart to what transpired.

I saw in my mind’s eye (and continue to see in my mind’s eye every time I pray over this mystery), Mary sitting alone mourning the death of her only Son. I imagined her doing what all mothers who have lost a child do. That is to say, I imagined her looking back at and dwelling lovingly on the rich memories that she had of His life: His birth in the poverty of a stable, the presentation in the Temple, finding Him among the teachers in the Temple, His upbringing in Nazareth, His sassy comment to her at the wedding feast at Cana, and, of course, the awful events of Holy Week. I could see her (loving mother that she was) rocking back and forth, softly humming some lullabies from long ago as she grieved for her son.

I could also imagine Jesus watching her silently from a distance, overcome with sorrow for all that she had gone through. And then gently calling to her. Walking to her and standing before her. I could imagine her disbelief. I could imagine her desire to make sure her eyes, heart, and mind were not playing tricks on her. I could imagine her doing what any mother would do to get the proof that she needed before she would believe what she was seeing and hearing. Touch. Touch is the basis of proof. Therefore, I imagined her touching His face. Tentatively at first. Then becoming bolder and caressing His face. Tenderly as a mother would do. Then, calling Him by name (or by the pet name that she had for him—surely the latter rather than the former). Consoled by the sure knowledge that her Son was alive, I could see and hear her returning to full maternal mode. That is to say, I could hear her berating Him lovingly for leaving her alone. And then, I saw Mother and Son falling into a long embrace.

And this, my brothers and sisters, is the way that Easter of 1969 began for me. To tell you the truth, it is an Easter that I have (clearly) never forgotten, as well as an Easter that has shaped my understanding of the greatest of all Christian mysteries, the mystery of Christ’s Resurrection. It has also informed my image of Christ. As a result of having meditated (over and over again over the years) on that luminously beautiful and intimate moment during which the risen Christ visited His grieving mother, I have learned with my heart that Ignatius was right: Christ is the Great Consoler who comes to us at moments of loss or crisis, reassures us and shows us how to live lives that are meaningful, transformative, and holy. But what would such a life look like? Just this: a life lived in imitation of the Lord Himself. It means living a life of unselfish and compassionate service. Service that is born of love. Service that comes from a heart that is deeply touched by the sufferings of others and that yearns to relieve them.

My dear friends, our city, our nation, and our world are wounded. Deeply. Tears seem to come more naturally to us these days than smiles and laughter. Therefore, I think that the best way to celebrate this Easter is to celebrate it as the Easter of Christ the Consoler. To do so, let us commit ourselves to being consolers after Christ’s own heart. That may seem to be an impossible task. In his Palm Sunday homily, however, Pope Francis reminded us (as if we needed to be reminded) that we already have in our midst saintly role models whose service can and does inspire us to take up the ministry of consolation: “The path of service is the victorious and life-giving path by which we were saved. Dear friends, look at the real heroes who come to light in these days: they are those who are giving themselves in order to serve others. Feel called yourselves to put your lives on the line. For life is a gift we receive only when we give ourselves away, and our deepest joy comes from saying yes to love, without ifs and buts. To truly say yes to love, without ifs and buts.” And he is right: life really is a gift that we receive only when we give ourselves away, and our deepest joy comes from saying yes to love, without ifs and buts. We all know that. We really do.

Taking up the challenge that Pope Francis has placed before us, on this Easter of Christ the Consoler, then, let us make it our special duty to strengthen the fainthearted, to support the weak, to comfort those who mourn, to dispel darkness with light, to bring hope to those paralyzed with anxiety, and to coax a smile onto the face of a frightened child. I assure you that, no matter what your faith may be, this is the celebration in which the God of All Consolation (by whatever name we call Him) delights, and the service that will restore our city, our nation, and our world at this fraught time in human history.

Be assured of my constant prayers for you, your families, and all whom you love. And may the graces and blessings of Passover and Easter be yours in overflowing abundance.

Prayers and blessings,

Joseph M. McShane, S.J.

A Prayer in the Midst of the Present Crisis

God of all mercies, grant:
To the Fordham family, safety and good health:
To those afflicted with COVID-19, swift healing;
To the frightened, courage;
To the dying, comfort;
To the dead, eternal life;
To health care providers, strength and stamina;
To our leaders, wisdom and compassion;
To our nation, unity of purpose;
To the Church, the grace to serve the suffering selflessly;
To all believers, strong faith in Your presence;
To the whole human family, unity of heart; and
To us, Your servants, the reward of knowing that we are doing Your will when we spend ourselves in loving service of others.

For Christians, the week allows the faithful to commemorate the events of Jesus’ Passion, to mourn his death on Good Friday, and to celebrate his rising from the dead on Easter Sunday. Passover brings Jewish families together to share in the Seder, the ritual dinner that consists of storytelling, prayers, and symbolic food items.

But this year, with the COVID-19 pandemic forcing people to stay apart, families will miss out on these traditions.

“Normally, I would enter the Week in the company of a great throng of other believers and be buoyed up, consoled, and strengthened by their faith,” Joseph M. McShane, S.J., president of Fordham wrote in his April 5 pastoral message. “Normally, I would enter with holy dread holding a bit of the upper hand over eager longing. Normally I would pause before plunging into the Week to ask for the grace to walk with the Lord Jesus with unflinching courage. Normally. But this year and this Holy Week are anything but normal. We will not find ourselves in the company of large throngs. We will enter it and walk through it in a solitary way. We will all of us enter it with more longing than usual.”

This solitude is in contrast with the instinct people of faith have during times like these, said J. Patrick Hornbeck, II, Ph.D., chair and professor of theology.

“Think about the last major set of crises in New York City—9/11, the financial crisis of [2008 to 2009], people in these moments reported coming together,” he said. “Folks came together in their houses of worship, whether those be churches, synagogues, mosques, or whatever it might be, and that of course parallels trends throughout history. People, when faced with life and death catastrophes, very often turn to their religious leaders for solace or guidance or comfort. I think it’s been particularly painful for believers, and for clergy too.”

Feeling the Absence

For Anne Golomb Hoffman, a professor of English and comparative literature at Fordham, this means moving her family’s ritual into a “Zoom Seder.”

While this will still allow them, and many other families who decide to celebrate virtually, to gather and participate in some of the songs and storytelling that goes along with the evening, it will be shorter and will lack the physical connection they are used to.

“We’ll acknowledge the difference and at the same time acknowledge the bonds that tie us together,” she said.

Around Passover, there’s always extra room at the table for people who might not have somewhere to go, Hoffman said, so that piece will be missing this year.

“This is so deeply a time when people gather together, and within my own synagogue community, there’s always an awareness of who might need a place at the Seder table,” she said. “There’s always that opening to a larger bringing of people together so I think there’s a terrible awareness of social isolation, social distancing, and our efforts to connect and to affirm.”

For Christians, the days leading up to Easter Sunday often incorporate many physical traditions that the church community participates in.

“Think of the foot washing on Holy Thursday, remembering how Jesus knelt before his disciples, like a lowly servant, to wash their feet,” said Thomas J. Scirghi, S.J., associate professor of theology. “On Good Friday, we will miss the veneration of the cross, when we individually express our gratitude for Christ’s suffering and accept the truth, that through the cross we have been saved. On Saturday night, at the Easter Vigil, we will miss seeing the new fire symbolizing Christ as the light of the world, leading us out of the darkness of sin to the light of eternal life.”

A Deeper, Personal Connection

But despite the absence of being physically present, both Scirghi and Hoffman said that these holy days, with the readings that come with them, are well suited to help believers get through these uncertain and challenging times.

Scirghi said that even during normal times, many Christians around the world don’t often have access to a priest or local church. For those who usually do have a local congregation, this experience of self-prayer and isolation can allow them to connect to those who usually don’t, as well as make their own connections with Jesus.

“It is a way to identify with Christ even more,” he said. “Your own experience of feeling isolated may give you an idea of what Jesus experienced. And, as we believe, he accepted all of this out of obedience to his Father, and for love of humanity. “

He also said that the Lenten season in general often has a feeling that “something is missing,” whether it’s the Gloria or the Alleluia that are removed from the liturgy for the entire 40 days, or how the altar is stripped on Holy Thursday and crucifixes and statues are covered throughout the week.

“We are living in the “absence,” that is, the awareness that something is missing, and we need to wait for it to be filled again,” Scrighi said. “Catholics do not fear absence. The Lenten liturgy is “filled with” the absence … all this time we live in the absence. How countercultural. The popular culture would have us fill up whenever we feel empty. But now we wait, aware of what is missing, praying patiently for the day when the Lord will return in glory.”

Hoffman said for Passover, the story of how the Jewish people escaped bondage in Egypt also offers a chance to reflect on current events.

“An amazing facet of this retelling is the commandment that each person should experience this coming out of bondage, this liberation, as if it’s happening to you,” she said. “In the modern era, the Haggadah, this text that sort of guides your prayers and retelling, is open to contemporary (issues)—to the Holocaust, to the birth of the state of Israel, to the refugee crisis—it is a text that opens up to acknowledging a particular historical moment that people are in.”

For this moment, in the midst of a pandemic, Hoffman said people can look to the Passover story and see how a collective group can get through a struggle together.

“There’s a collective affirmation of ‘we come through this together’ and it’s really open toward the larger human community—I think that’s really a facet of the Seder in the modern era,” she said. “It’s very Jewish and very historically Jewish and at the same time, it incorporates a recognition that the narratives of liberation, of bondage, are something shared with the larger human community.”

Connecting Virtually

The COVID-19 pandemic has required many faith leaders to get creative with how they can provide virtual offerings to their communities, Hornbeck said.

“The starter version of this for religious communities seems to be live streaming services that they previously did not livestream,” he said. “There’s obviously advantages to that—people who are looking for something like “normal” in their lives, they can pull up a video and they can see something like their ordinary service. The downside though, is a unidirectional experience—you watch passively while someone somewhere else does something.”

Some communities, such as the Church of Heavenly Rest, an Episcopal church in New York City, have taken to adding new offerings to connect people during this time, such as a daily prayer group with an active live chat, Hornbeck said.

“The chat function there has proven to be really valuable because folks can write out their prayers and everyone can see them,” he said. “You can have the official service going on and then also individual reflections going on.”

Scirghi said that he believes there’s something for the clergy and participants to learn from this period of virtual worship.

“Perhaps this new experience will provide a new perspective on our regular worship, so that we may come to see and hear in a new way,” he said. “We may notice our prayers and rituals anew. If nothing else, the virtual worship may leave us longing for ‘the real thing,’ that is, to get back inside the church alongside the people of God.”

WFUV 90.7 FM and wfuv.org will air Fordham’s Good Friday service at 8 p.m. on April 10 and Easter Sunday Mass at 11 a.m. on April 12. Easter Sunday’s Mass will also be live streamed.

For more information, visit fordham.edu/info/20094/campus_ministry.

But in 2012, her older sister Michelle, who’d begun re-exploring her own faith, invited her to attend a Christmas Vigil Mass at the Roman Catholic Church of the Korean Martyrs in Saddle Brook. Jeong, a junior majoring in theater at Fordham College at Lincoln Center, remembers the moment the lights dimmed and the congregation sat silent in prayer.

“I’m not exactly sure what happened, but when I was praying, I started sobbing, and I couldn’t stop. That was something so new to me that I had never felt before. It the most exhilarating, amazing, loving, new experience,” she said.

“I realized that I wanted to be Catholic.”

An Easter Tradition

On Easter weekend, Jeong and five others will do just that in a ceremony at the University Church on the Rose Hill campus. She and two other catechumens will receive the sacraments of initiation (baptism, first communion, and confirmation), while three others who have already been baptized as members of other Christian communities will join the Catholic faith through the sacraments of holy communion and confirmation.

All have participated in the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA) led by the Office of Campus Ministry. Father Mark Zittle, director of University Church Ministries, said the number of catechumens varies from year to year, with as many as 19 one year and as few as three in the next. Students and non-students alike participate.

Connecting with a Fellow Veteran

Like Jeong, Michael Tanner, GABELLI ’17, found himself drawn to Catholicism through a close acquaintance. Tanner, a native of Raleigh, North Carolina, and a veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps, was raised a Southern Baptist but was never baptized. His roommate at the Rose Hill campus, a fellow Marine, participated in RCIA. Although Tanner was busy working full time and getting his bachelor’s degree, the idea appealed to him as well.

Last fall, when he began pursuing an M.B.A. in finance and information systems at the Gabelli School of Business, he also took the RCIA plunge.

“It’s something that I felt was important to me. I can’t really describe it in in one word or sentence; my inner voice just told me this is the direction I need to go,” he said.

Fordham’s Catholic identity factored in his decision to attend, and he said he liked what he learned in his undergraduate classes.

“I like that the Catholic faith has an open mind to other religions. I think it’s the right thing to do. Pope Francis is also an amazing man. I did a research paper on him and realized how he genuinely wants to make the world a better place,” he said.

One Family United in Faith

Jeong’s journey has dovetailed with a simultaneous reawakening in her family. She said her father has been affected the most. A skeptic of organized religion, he recently relented while visiting Jeong in South Korea, and joined her and her grandmother at a Mass.

“That night, he told me he had a dream where God came to him and the next day, when we went to church together, he told me he wanted to be Catholic. And this is after years of squabbling about the church. I was just amazed,” she said.

The RCIA process has taken longer for her than she initially imagined. She said she felt overwhelmed when she compared herself to fellow students who’d spent a lifetime in the faith, and she didn’t feel ready to take the leap.

One lesson she’s taken to heart is that her religion need not be separate from her everyday routines.

“As an actor, I understand my church a bit more,” she said. “I know the reason I’m doing theater is to show that every person who I end up portraying is a real human being.”

“I’m going to take people on a journey to figure out who this character is, what their flaws are, and what their positive points are. I want to convey messages of diversity and acceptance, because that’s really what theater is about.”

(Photos by Bruce Gilbert)

Magda Teter, PhD, the Shvidler Chair in Judaic Studies, mounted the exhibition, her second this year, with Fordham Libraries in the O’Hare Special Collections Library at the Rose Hill campus.

In the exhibition, however, she said the sacred is counterbalanced by the profane, as it captures both the meaning the holidays have had for Jews and Christians, and displays their painful convergence through several items that depict nearly 600 years’ worth of anti-Jewish imagery.

Teter said that she didn’t want to gloss over the reality of the violence and hatred that Christians subjected Jews to during Easter and Passover festivals. Some of the materials in the show served as propaganda to stoke hatred of the Jews.

Some of the images are disturbing.

There are several depictions of a child being bled by Jews. A frequent anti-Semitic accusation against Jews was that they murdered Christians for their blood and used it in Passover rituals, an accusation known as the blood libel. Some of the images were inspired by the cult of Simon of Trent, a boy whose disappearance around Easter in 1475 was blamed on the Jews of this northern Italian town. Many Catholics venerated Simon, until in the aftermath of the Church’s Vatican II the cult of the boy was abolished.

Among the items on display are:

• engravings from two editions of the famous 15^th century world chronicle that portray the bleeding of a child, with images of Jews as grotesque characters
• the Easter issue of an Italian magazine, La difesa della razza (The Defense of Race), from 1940 that once again return to the theme of blood libel;
• German currency from 1922 that celebrates burning Jews;
• an 1884 parody of the Haggadah by German artist Carl Maria Seyppel.

Teter noted that Fordham is an appropriate setting for the exhibition, as the Jesuits are not known for shying away from difficult issues.

What is disturbing is balanced by beauty, however, as precious facsimiles of the famous 14th-century Barcelona Haggadah, the Gradual of Gisela, and the magnificent 13th-century Biblia de San Luis are also on display. All are gifts of longtime library patron James Leach, MD. The books use contemporary color printing methods to achieve exacting color replications. The gold leaf, however, is applied by hand and can be found throughout both texts.

Although not an alumnus, Dr. Leach has developed a relationship with Fordham based on his love for the Church and for lifelong knowledge, he said. He remembers the first time he heard Mass in Latin at Holy Trinity Church in Passaic, New Jersey. From there his interest in medieval texts and manuscripts grew, he said.

“I think people say you see God in church architecture, and in the stained glass, but God is also in the illuminations alongside the printed word,” he said.

The aesthetic and intellectual intensity of the exhibit’s three main showcases are complemented with a display of ephemera as well. Some ephemera alongside the back wall of the special collections gallery includes Haggadot in many languages, including in Arabic and Amharic. There are also a few printed as commercial promotions for Streit’s Matzos and Maxwell House Coffee—which are ubiquitous to American Jewish households, said Teter, and which often became household keepsakes.

On behalf of the University and the Board of Trustees, please accept our fond wishes for a Blessed Easter and a Chag Sameach. We hope this week ushers in a season of joy for every member of the Fordham family, of every faith, every day.

Sincerely,

Joseph M. McShane, SJ
President

In addition to the traditional hunt for eggs on the lawn, the morning’s festivities featured magician John Turdo, who performed tricks and pulled a certain floppy-eared mammal out of a hat for an audience of 118 children of Fordham staff and faculty. And as she does every year, former Fordham board member Georgi Arendacs did her part by donning a bunny costume and showing the University’s littlest Rams how to hop down the path to an egg-cellent time.