by Rev. Martin Lam Nguyen ’88 M.Div.

In August 1982, I left Portland, Oregon for Notre Dame, taking the long bus ride from O’Hare after a red-eye flight. Everything for me was as new and bright as the Indiana summer sun. I had arrived in Portland in 1979 as a refugee from Vietnam; now I began my new life at Notre Dame, as a Holy Cross seminarian. That evening, the first event at my new home was the funeral of a Holy Cross priest, Father James Shilts, C.S.C., a biologist, I heard, who died of complications after a rather successful surgery.

Beginning with that funeral, I learned about Holy Cross and Notre Dame quickly. With my fairly limited English, I observed the bereavement rituals taking place right where I was staying, at Moreau Seminary, my mind still fresh with memories of Vietnam and the sights of mourning that were all-too-common during the violence of war and its aftermath. “This is my new home,” I often told myself. I stayed on and was ordained a Holy Cross priest in 1989.

I returned to Notre Dame to teach in the Art Department in 1995. Every year in November, I participate in the annual All Souls Mass in remembrance of deceased members of the Congregation. After Mass, we process to the cemetery, not unlike the walk we make after each funeral accompanying each deceased brother to his place of rest. You may have watched the funeral procession for Father Theodore Hesburgh on a snowy afternoon in February 2015. I often start my visit at the grave of Fr. Shilts, recalling that August day in 1982 and the beginning of my journey in Holy Cross. I contemplate how this journey grows longer each year, marked by row after row of my deceased brothers. At the time of this reflection, there are 248 more tombstones following Father Shilts’. After 30 years as a Holy Cross priest, I have known most of them.

Holy Cross Cemetery at Notre Dame is one of the Congregation’s most important landmarks, because in the back lies the grave of the Reverend Edward Sorin, C.S.C., the first missionary sent to the Americas, along with the Brothers, by our Founder the Blessed Basil Moreau. It’s impossible to wrap my mind around the full impact of the initial operation of journeying to America and beginning this University carried out by these men of faith. It’s truly a miracle.

Today, after dinner, while writing this reflection, I went back to visit the Cemetery. Of course, I stopped at Father Shilts’, and then the newest grave, the final place of rest of Father James (Flash) Flanigan, C.S.C. who passed away right after Ash Wednesday this year. Flash was a sculptor, professor, department chair, rector, seminary staff, assistant provincial, you name it. He first came to Notre Dame living at the former Holy Cross Hall, whose site is marked now only by an empty lot. Flash spent 70 years of his life on this campus, with the studio where he spent his days right next door to the site of his first arrival and steps away from his final resting place in the cemetery.

At each Baccalaureate Mass, the graduates are reminded that this campus will always be their home; they are always welcome back. I am amazed at how so many Domers have really taken up on this invitation, considering this campus an essential place in their formation. A few years ago, I ran into two Domers in Dallas, Texas, both originally from China, one a former student. They came to see me at an exhibition of my work at the University of Dallas. Both have moved on after graduating from Notre Dame to graduate school and professional life, yet both firmly underscored how Notre Dame has remained their foundational identity and inspiration. Many alumni have come back for games, weddings, and other events. Fewer venture back to the Cemetery to visit priests they have known. Last year, I brought Bernie Allard (Class of 1960), his wife Ruth, and Caroline, their grand-daughter, to visit Father Hesburgh’s grave. Bernie used to serve at Father Ted’s table at Corby Hall. When I stopped by this evening, I saw someone had left a cigar on Fr. Ted’s tombstone cross.

There are two cemeteries at Notre Dame: the Cedar Grove Cemetery is well known for its location on Notre Dame Avenue right next to the Main Entrance of the University; Holy Cross Cemetery is on the less-trafficked road to Saint Mary’s College. The life of Holy Cross religious and the University have intertwined for over 177 years. The Cemetery is not only a vital sign of history and tradition; it confirms the mission of the Congregation to the University and its vast standing and operation in the academic, religious and civil world.

As we approach the holiest days of Holy Week and the Easter Triduum, the Holy Cross Cemetery reminds us that God is both the beginning and the end of our life and mission. For those who believe, the grave is not simply our unavoidable destiny. Since humans find ways consciously and unconsciously to deny death, the Cemetery is a powerful part of our Holy Cross apostolate. Mary’s presence suffuses both Cedar Grove and the Holy Cross Cemeteries. At the first, a statue of the Mother of Sorrows stands guard, at the second, the Pieta holds her dead son and comforts us in our grief. The new construction going on at Notre Dame that often amazes, if not shocks, visitors, is surrounded by the graves of our constructors. The graves of these bold men remind us that, from day one, Notre Dame has been a mission and, until its last day, it will remain so. The visual and intellectual developments of this campus belong to men and women who labor as believers and not as masters.

Lent opens each year with the Gospel of Matthew on Ash Wednesday calling us to give alms, pray, and fast only for God to see. The graves of our Holy Cross religious on campus remind us of that reality. In the humble lot at the edge of Notre Dame’s campus lie the quiet, gentle rows of those crosses. We can read their names, their dates of birth and death. There is no record of positions and ranks. All are equal as brothers and believers awaiting the Resurrection. They remind us that education is about learning not only what to do but learning the person we are called to be. We become this person first and foremost in the sight of God, and God alone.