At no other University is tradition more important than at Notre Dame, and with “Notre Dame Traditions,” we want to uncover the most cherished traditions of our readers. In the last issue of ND Today, we asked about the places on campus that helped shape your college experience. Here we share a couple of responses:

“Our dorm Masses at Breen-Phillips were blessed with fantastic musical accompaniment led by rectress Judy Hutchinson and her band of women. Perhaps it was the spirituality of their music that drew me down to the BP chapel when I needed time to myself. I would sit alone for a while to pray and reflect, or plunk around on the old piano myself. In spite of my limited repertoire, which matched my limited skills, there was something mystical that settled within me when I played that old piano. A calming serenity pervaded the sparse room. God speaks in quiet places such as these.”

—Colleen (Greenthal) Mas ’92
West Bend, WI

“According to one of the many Notre Dame urban legends, the Mendoza College of Business’ Our Lady of the Rosary Chapel used to be a janitorial closet; it was certainly small enough. At some point along the way, a member of the Notre Dame family dusted off the stained-glass windows and other decor from the razed Holy Cross Hall and converted the second-floor closet into a chapel. During my sophomore year at Notre Dame, I, too, experienced a conversion of my own after having spent most of my high school years alienated from my Catholic faith. Perhaps that is why I had such a strong attachment to this converted closet, or, as I lovingly referred to it, ‘my chapel’.

My roommates always joked that I was a business major with the study habits of architecture major. Indeed, I spent many hours studying in the basement of Mendoza because I had something to prove. Many people told me that they just didn’t see me as an accounting major—I was too creative and enthusiastic—and I wanted to prove them wrong. I also wanted to prove to myself that I could successfully take on the highly ranked and challenging accounting program.

Even though my accounting professors were fantastic and the major was a solid resume credential, it was an uphill struggle. Many nights, I spent hours burrowed in Giovanini Commons trying to make sense out of the tax code and cash flow statements when I was much more interested in other business-related topics, like the term paper for my organizational behavior class, my upcoming marketing presentation, or the next Women in Business event.

As I listened to my classmates talk enthusiastically about their future careers as CPAs and tax attorneys, I began to doubt my own choice of major. 

It was a confusing time, and I might have gotten burnt out had it not been for the presence of my little chapel on the second floor. For the first year and a half in the business school, I had passed by the door to the chapel on the way to my professors’ daytime office hours, but never bothered to step inside. 

During my sophomore year, partly on a whim, I wandered into the chapel after a late night of studying. To my surprise, this tiny closet-sized chapel was one of the most beautiful spots on campus. Rich embroidery lined the mahogany chairs and kneelers. The walls were painted in a shade of deep Notre Dame blue. A little red candle flickered to indicate God’s presence in the golden tabernacle. An antique rosary hung on the wall next to a traditional statue of the Virgin Mary, peacefully smiling with her hands outstretched. The most distinctive features of the chapel were the authentic stained glass “windows” on the sidewalls, lit up at all times by electric bulbs.

In the silence of this intimate chapel, I experienced God's peace and encouragement. Now that I had offered my worries, frustrations, and hopes to God in prayer, it seemed as though my entire day had a purpose. 

For the next two-and-a-half years, I visited the chapel so regularly that the building janitors left the door unlocked for me—I became a late night fixture. No visit was ever the same; sometimes I would only stay for a few minutes to say some structured prayers, and on other nights, I remained in the chapel for over a half hour, silently pouring out my heart before God. 

Whether I said a full rosary or silently reflected upon the crucifix, my chapel time was always the focal point in which God brought meaning to the day’s activities. In fact, I was so enthusiastic about my chapel that it became a running joke with my friends. Each Thursday night after we walked back from the nearby Legends, I would always ask them, ‘have you all seen my chapel yet?’ It got to the point that everyone knew where we would be headed after Legends closed—even if we had to ask the custodian to open the outside door.”

—Lynn Fogarty ’06
Williamsburg, VA