Notre Dame’s parting gift to the Class of 2017 was a master class in civil discourse and civil disobedience, and the options available to well-educated men and women in a multicultural democracy.
Society & Culture
The not-so-normal early years of Theodore Martin Hesburgh, in honor of his 100th birthday.
Notre Dame fencer Lee Kiefer, the first American woman ever ranked No. 1 in the world, foils her competition.
Having spent most of my life in small Danish towns, I’ve only once experienced someone actually wanting to do me harm — and that was in a bar during my teenage years when I made a ‘Your Mama’ joke aimed at someone whose mama was a sore topic. He forgave me, fortunately.
I’d been hunting for a new fantasy author to read for a while when I came across the name Brent Weeks. He’s relatively new on the scene, with only one completed series and another halfway done. So I set about getting a copy of his finished The Night Angel Trilogy to see if I could add another author to my list of all-time favorites.
The 6th through 12th graders of the Robinson Shakespeare Company, part of Notre Dame’s Robinson Community Learning Center, have been invited to perform this summer in Stratford-upon-Avon and present a workshop at Shakespeare’s Globe in London. Notre Dame Magazine will report on their journey over the coming months.
Disregarding the antiquated “no politics at the dinner table” rule, Notre Dame students have met regularly for “Pizza, Pop and Politics” discussions this semester. On April 18, over the smell of Bruno’s pizza and the sound of fizzing Coca Cola cans, some 40 of us discussed how Notre Dame students voted in the November election.
It began in the stillness of night, an hour before dawn. Illuminated by only a few flecks of starlight, the Mount of Olives and its surrounding villages had merged into a sea of darkness under the tranquil night sky.
When I was a child, I complained every time my grandfather listened to NPR in the car. I didn’t want to listen to adults talk about adult things like news and politics — I wanted to listen to The Backstreet Boys. Now, I still listen to The Backstreet Boys, but I’m also now addicted to talk radio and, by extension, podcasts.
My experience of Holy Week in Jerusalem this year was marked by deep tragedy and profound compassion, tied together by . . . tattoos.
If the hundreds of people who walked into Washington Hall weren’t already chanting “U-S-A!” in their heads last Tuesday, April 18, around noon, the organizers of the “special naturalization oath ceremony” did everything in their power to change that.
Participating in a Mass from a chapel overlooking Jerusalem during a Spring Break pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the writer remembers how Jesus wept over the city from that very same spot. The vision was both beautiful and terrifying.
While cervical cancer has dropped out of the top 10 cancer killers in most developed countries — thanks to a simple screening test, the Pap smear — it tops the list in Haiti, where Ange is my patient. Yet Ange’s story is no different from the stories of many women in the United States, particularly among the poor and uninsured.
Today should be different. Such were the author’s sentiments on a Good Friday long ago in Seattle, Washington.
Frank, my brother-in-law, works in the emergency room of a medical center in Arkansas. About twice a year our families get together for the holidays. We catch up on news, share meals and hear how Frank comes to terms with carnage.
Our senior university photographer spent a day and a night at the Bengal Bouts finals, getting behind the scenes and up close to the action to capture the spirit of a boxing tournament that has raised essential funds for Holy Cross’ work in Bangladesh since 1931.
How do you turn the home of Fighting Irish basketball into the Notre Dame equivalent of Madison Square Garden on fight night? Watch it all unfold in 30 seconds through the lens of senior university photographer Matt Cashore ’94.
A decision on sanctuary status, a commencement speaker, and more campus news.
Creative works by Notre Dame people
Foxes walk on their toes. The female is called a vixen. A group is called a “skulk” or “leash,” although foxes are largely solitary except when nestled as a family with young in their lair. They may weigh 7 to 24 pounds. They are nocturnal. Have vertical slit pupils like cats, see quite well at night. When hunting they stalk and pounce, rarely chasing. Omnivorous, they eat two pounds per day, have a superior sense of smell. They reproduce once a year, have a life span generally of one to four years. These are some of the facts I have gathered about foxes. But it doesn’t mean I know foxes, or understand the fox.
One day in my rambles I found the school’s tiny basketball court in a copse of sassafras and bottlebrush trees. Four boys were playing on it, and I stopped to watch, as I love basketball above all other games, love its grace and humor and creativity and generosity and simplicity, a game that can be played beautifully by anyone of any size, a game that does not reward violence, a game that does reward selflessness and inventiveness and speed and liquidity.
It was a cold spring day in 2011 when Jess, my sister, asked me to meet her at a barn to see the Arabian horse she wanted to buy. “I need your help to decide whether I should take him home,” she said, which really meant Jess had already bought the gelding and needed me to tell her husband that she’d found a great horse. Act first; then assess. That’s her way.
From a distance they looked like new lovers. Their steps didn’t match as they walked in the soft foam and back again onto the sweet wet sand. Their bodies strained toward each other with a kind of unfulfilled longing. Up close an observer could see that he was old and she middle-aged. They shared the same blue eyes framed by dark lashes and brows. His were red and watery; hers set in a new Florida tan. Their conversation was intense with effort.
Dante scholars give Notre Dame’s collection a glorious afterlife
Letters from readers
The problems facing our species at this moment in history, says Roy Scranton, suggest grim passage ahead, although some kind of redemption might be possible through art and the imagination.
‘About the time my son went into Gaza as a soldier with the Israeli Defense forces, I started learning to play Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” which expresses in music my own longing to give my heart to God.’
Father Bob Pelton went to Latin America to serve the people there, but he didn’t envision his work for social justice would put his life in danger — as subversive to government efforts there, and here.
When Father Scully launched ACE to send college grads to serve and teach in Catholic schools with designated needs, he wasn’t expecting this.
A trip on the Atchafalaya Swamp prompted this prescription for living the good life.