I would not consider myself a religious person. I grew up in a small town, attended Christmas Eve and Easter services and went to Sunday school when a family member was teaching. But, if asked how I identify my religion, I’d probably say that I don’t know. Before beginning my time at University of Dayton, I was always hoping that I’d feel the “call to God” that everyone talked about, but it wasn’t happening. I kept waiting. Then I began working at the Marian Library.
I was more than likely a couple of minutes late for my first shift. I kept stopping to stare at the iconography throughout campus. I didn’t know why it made me feel so much, but I often got teary eyed, staring at Mother Mary, Father Chaminade or the Chapel. When I walked into the Marian Library lobby, I was greeted by the comforting smell of old books. Touring the stacks was like seeing the Chapel for the first time again. Years of stories and preservation was jaw dropping. The history was palpable. Throughout my shift, I kept looking into the Crèche Museum, seeing this huge Nativity. For some reason, I never took the time to look at it closely.
The first semester came and went. When I returned to the Library after winter break, I finally took the time to look at the “Mirror of Hope” up close. I stood in front of the towering installation, looking deeply into the faces of the figures placed about the scene. I could hear their cries, begging for a different way. I saw Joseph, a worried father, trying to protect his Holy newborn son. I saw Mary, looking to her baby, not as an embodiment of Christ, but as a little soul to nourish. I could feel the depth of every story.
I saw myself in the “Mirror of Hope.” I realized that this “call” that I was waiting for was not some mystical, divine intervention, but rather it was in the details. In every leaf that grows on a tree, the whisper of the wind on a cool day, the warmth in a friend’s greeting after being apart. It is in a call from a loved one, the crash of thunder at midnight and the quiet messages in the ink of a book. It is everywhere if you choose to see it.
While I probably couldn’t tell you every story in the “Mirror of Hope,” I can tell you that I hope you go to visit it. I hope you take time to stare at every face you see. Let it tell you its name and story. Let the depth wash over you. Let its message shine on your face when you walk out. Let it move you, just as it has moved so many. Just as it moved me.
– Grace Long ’29 is an international studies and political science major and a student employee in the Marian Library.