Young Voices

Unless you were under a computer-free rock these past few weeks, you've probably seen the YouTube video "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus." With more than 16 million views, this video has stirred up quite the conversation on my Facebook feed. Many people, young people especially, resonate with the message of the video, featuring Jefferson Bethke of Mars Hill Church. His poem amplifies a common trend among today's youth, a trend that distrusts hierarchical institutions, a trend that says, "We're spiritual but not religious."

Many videos have been posted in response, but one in particular caught the eye of my Catholic friends, conservative and liberal alike. In this video, Fr. Claude Burns, aka Fr. Pontifex, sets out to prove that Jesus and the church can't be separated. He suggests that to do so fuels "atheistic opinions."

This is where the church got it right: the season of Christmas (roughly 12 days) lasts for 15 days this year. This season overflows with celebration -- from the birth of Christ to the inspiration of martyrs and holy people. In the fashion of My Life with the Saints by Jesuit Fr. James Martin, the following is a reflection of the Christmas season through the lives and events of inspiration that we celebrate. Take some time each day to contemplate your life within the bigger picture of Christmas.

Day 1: Nativity of Christ
The birth of God's only son who came to offer light in the darkness, freedom to those oppressed and reconciliation to a broken world. Born in a manger and born along a journey, Christ is God's promise to those born vulnerable on the margins of society.

How does Christ's birth affect the way you express care to the least of these? Consider sharing your home with those in need so that others may never experience "no room in the inn."

Day 2: Feast of St. Stephen, first martyr

Usually I go to the sports sections of newspapers to get past all the depressing news of the front page. The sports section has stories about athletic feats. But lately, the sports section has (rightfully so) been burdened by college sports scandals.

First it was pay-for-play stories about Auburn University quarterback Cam Newton (now in the NFL with the Carolina Panthers), and then the stories of Ohio State University football players selling merchandise. More recently, the crimes have been much more egregious, beginning with former Penn State University football coach Jerry Sandusky allegedly sexually molesting several young boys on and around the Penn State campus. Head coach Joe Paterno, who was always thought of as a stand-up guy you wanted your kid to play football for, admitted that he wishes he done more with the knowledge he had of the situation. And even more recently, Syracuse men's basketball assistant coach Bernie Fine was fired for allegedly sexually molesting young boys.

These are all secular schools making the news. I think these situations could unfortunately happen just as easily at Catholic and other faith-based institutions of higher education.

Walker Percy's Lost in the Cosmos is one of the funniest books I've ever read.

A parody of 1980s self-help books, Cosmos, published in 2000, is structured as a set of 20 questions and thought experiments, each revealing the absurdity of pat answers to the place of human beings in the universe. The book's humor is the segue to its thoughtfulness: Its questions force a laugh and lead a thought.

In one question, Percy asks his readers to explain why the talk show host Johnny Carson described himself as panicked at the prospect of one-on-one conversation at parties. The reader is provided options from the straightforward (the fear of boredom) to the absurd (the fear that an awkward silence will lead to global Armageddon) to the tragic (that someone's feelings are bound to get hurt) to the final, most existential option:

"That you will be exposed, that is, that the unique unformulability, the singular nought, which you secretly believe yourself to be, will be exposed at last, the one black hole among a billion other ordinary stars?"

As with each question, Percy follows with the note "(CHECK ONE)."

Today marks the 90th anniversary of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Having been killed during World War I in France, his unidentified body was interred at Arlington Cemetery outside of Washington, D.C., to stand as a symbolic memorial for the thousands of other soldiers who died without their identities being known. Since then, other soldiers' unidentified bodies from additional wars have been buried at the tomb.

Three weeks ago, I traveled to another burial ground: the Catacomb of Priscilla outside the ancient walls of Rome. In the early 200s, a wealthy woman named Priscilla allowed Christians, Pagans and Jews to bury their dead below the grounds of her large estate. Winding and deep chambers were cut into the volcanic rock below, where bodies were placed in stacked tombs, marked by stone carvings. The wealthy were given entire rooms for their burial chambers and frescoes were painted on the ceiling and walls. While most of the tombs held the remains of people unknown to us now, at the time of burial, these humans were known.

Not only were they known, but some were known in a particular way: as women priests and other women ministers in early Christian communities.

"What gifts do you bring?" I asked a young woman named Sandie recently as I was interviewing students for Campus Ministry's faith-based service immersion trips.

"I give the gift of my time," she replied. "Last weekend, I went to Tijuana with a group (of college students). Sure, we went down and did a couple building projects that will improve a home; but the women in the community kept thanking us for to choosing to spend our time, our presence with them. So that is what I offer, that is my gift."

My life changed at 22. On Sunday, Nov. 21, 1999, I prayerfully “crossed the line” onto the property of Fort Benning, Ga., in an act of civil disobedience.

My act of resistance came out of a desire to live my life for and with others. Like other resisters, I wanted to draw attention to the actions of what was once known as the School of the Americas, a military training school located at Fort Benning and responsible for training Latin American insurgents U.S. military tactics.

From the very second I was old enough, I was an altar server. I couldn’t wait to don the garb, light the candles, ring the bells, wash the hands.

I performed my duties with the most piety any 9-year-old could muster, crossing my thumbs for perfect prayer hands, kneeling as straight as possible, hanging off every word that Fr. Jerry uttered -- all the while shooting telling glares to my fellow altar servers that were chewing gum, wearing sneakers, yawning or, heaven forbid, refusing to sing aloud.

I sat in the auditorium as it bustled with excitement, people rushing up and down the aisles, smiling, shaking hands. They were dressed in academic robes, the dhotis and khes of the Jains, impressively tailored suits, hijab, and Southern California slacker gear.