Reflection by: Erin Herrmann, Associate Director, Writing Center

“I believe that you work with one another to grow in perfection in keeping with the divine plan. All the actions of our lives can serve this purpose even those which might appear destined to withdraw you from that intimate union with God which you so ardently desire. Very often this union is established in us through no action of our own in a manner known only to God and not as we would wish to imagine it.” — Louise de Marillac[1]

When I began my role at DePaul in the summer of 2017, I was excited but also nervous. As an associate director, I felt responsible to represent the Writing Center well. As I started attending meetings with people from departments across campus, I felt intimidated; everyone knew so much and knew one another quite well. What could I contribute to this tight-knit community as someone so new, practically still an outsider?

Fast forward to autumn quarter 2024, which was perhaps my busiest quarter to date in my time at DePaul. Now in my eighth academic year, I found this quarter offered numerous ways in which I could readily contribute as part of the vibrant DePaul community: teaching two courses on top of my full-time staff role, serving as chair of the Communication Committee for Staff Council, and completing training as a staff professional for FY@broad with Study Abroad. While these commitments meant significant time and seemingly innumerable meetings and tasks added to my calendar, they also shared something else in common. These opportunities, alongside my daily work in the Writing Center collaborating with colleagues and supporting our student employees, were purposefully busy.

I define purposefully busy as those tasks that are more than productivity; rather, they are people-centered activities that enable me to serve others through the work. All the while, I, too, am being fed through my interactions with students, faculty, and staff who offer care and collaboration. As Saint Louise de Marillac says in the quote above, we must work with one another to fulfill our purposes.

In my life outside of work, I was experiencing emotional difficulty during autumn quarter. I walked through the final denouement of a long-term relationship in which I’d long held hope for a shared future. The fullness of my days attending to the numerous purposes I engaged in at DePaul offered a meaningful focus, but the grief of loss lingered in the background, at times coming full force in my mind.

Then, grief showed up in perhaps its most recognizable form: on November 5, my Uncle Roger died. It was the day of the presidential election, a fraught, precipitous day for each of us, and all I could think was “My uncle died today.” While he had been in ill health for quite some time, it was one of those times where things moved quickly, in a matter of days, from hospice care to his passing. My uncle and his immediate family live in northeast Ohio; my closest family members live in the suburbs of Chicago. So, on a weekday, it wasn’t feasible to be together. I didn’t have anyone in the immediate vicinity or in the schedule of my day to hug me. I was deeply sad and felt rather alone.

But when grief shows up, so, too, does love.

In the days following my uncle’s passing, I shared with colleagues about the loss; I received more than one hug. I even shared with one of my classes, and a room full of students offered looks and words of compassion and comfort. On November 13, I attended the Gathering of Remembrance hosted by the Division of Mission and Ministry. While I feel like a well-connected DePaul community member at this point, this was the first time I had attended. I’d considered going in past years but hadn’t been able to fit it into my schedule. This year also required some schedule adjustment to make it work, but now that I was experiencing loss, this special event came just when I needed it most.

At the event, I saw many faces I know and many I have come to cherish. Most were people from various parts of my “extra-curricular” life at DePaul, that is, not part of my official job description in the Writing Center but connected to me through engagement in our community. The staff members from Mission and Ministry hosted the event with such reverence, grace, and hospitality. The love in the room, even amid our tears, was palpable and comforting. At that point, I hadn’t yet seen anyone in my family since my uncle’s passing, but there I was surrounded by my Vincentian family nonetheless.

My purposefully busy autumn quarter ended with great fulfillment for me. My students were largely successful in their courses, and grades have been submitted. The Communications Committee of Staff Council has collaboratively published three newsletters to date. The training for FY@broad is complete, and I am ready to begin winter quarter with preparing an intrepid group of students for our trip to Ireland over spring break. I continued therapy and reflection, and my heart has started to recover. I said yes to the beautiful invitation for community when faced with loss.

The people within my Vincentian family and the DePaul community are the throughline—the accompaniment we offer to one another is beyond what I ever could have imagined when I first came here. It must be, as Saint Louise believed, that our unions to God and to one another are “… established in us through no action of our own in a manner known only to God.” God knew what he was doing in bringing me to DePaul and in bringing the DePaul community to flourish in my life.

Considerations for Reflection:

• How is being purposefully busy different from just being busy? Do you see yourself engaging in being purposefully busy?
• How have you experienced love in times of grief?

Reflection by: Erin Herrmann, Associate Director, Writing Center

[1] L.531B, “To Sister Carcireux,” July 18 (1656), Spiritual Writings of Louise de Marillac, 514. Available at:  https://via.library.depaul.edu/ldm/.

Exactly eighteen years ago, on this day, December 9^th, I became the first woman in my family to chant publicly from the Torah. I still remember the opening words like a catchy song.

In Vayishlach, the Torah portion for this week, there are two brothers—twins—Jacob and Esau, who never really get along. One is smooth, one is hairy. One is scheming, one is brusque. In fact, they wrestle together in the womb. Jacob tricks his nearly blind father into giving him the blessing that belongs to Esau as the firstborn. The brothers’ relationship is a disaster from the get-go.

Jacob eventually settles in Canaan, with status, material wealth, and many offspring. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps because he truly misses his brother (the Torah often lets us infer emotional subtext), Jacob invites Esau to reconcile with him. The night before Esau’s arrival, Jacob finds himself alone, wrestling with an angel.

Hold up. Wrestling with an angel?

Was he hallucinating? Was he having a bad case of sleep paralysis?

In the Torah, it says that Jacob came panim-el-panim (Hebrew for “face-to-face”) with God.

What does it mean to come face-to-face with God? When was the last time you felt God’s presence? Was it during a moment of tranquility, connection, solitude, despair? Do you ever wrestle with God? Perhaps with the concept of God itself?

There are, of course, many interpretations, from rabbis and scholars, about what Jacob endured that night. But here’s mine: Jacob, alone in the dark, finally faces himself. He wrestles with his conscience. He admits to himself that he has, in some way, wronged his brother.

One of the Vincentian values we espouse at DePaul is humility. And not just humility when it comes to our successes or material possessions, but humility in the context of our personal and communal relationships. Saint Vincent de Paul writes, “You must ask God to give you power to fight against the sin of pride which is your greatest enemy—the root of all that is evil, and the failure of all that is good.”[1]

“Sin” and “failure” are charged words that don’t always sit well with me. But Saint Vincent had a good point. Holding onto our pride—nursing past resentments, harboring the belief that we are always right—detracts from our ability to empathize and see the humanity in those who hold different perspectives from us.

It’s a vicious cycle: when we can’t see the humanity in others, it’s hard for others to see the humanity in us.

The morning after Jacob wrestles with God, Esau approaches him in the desert, and, in an unexpected turn of events, forgives him. The brothers fall into one another’s arms, weeping. In a deep act of humility, Esau declines the many gifts Jacob offers him, but Jacob insists, telling his brother that seeing his face is like “seeing the face of God.”[2]

Panim-el-panim. Face-to-face. We can only really glimpse the divine in others when we come face-to-face with ourselves. Because we only exist in relationship. Never alone. And there are always angels.

Reflection Questions

1. When was the last time you came face-to-face with someone who deeply disagreed with you?
2. When was the last time you came face-to-face with yourself?

Reflection by: Kayla Schneider-Smith, Assistant Director, Religious Diversity & Pastoral Care and Jewish Life Chaplain

[1] “St. Vincent de Paul—You Must Ask God to Give You Power to Fight Against the Sin of Pride,” Catholic Digest Magazine, 14 October 2021, https://www.catholicdigest.com/from-the-magazine/quiet-moment/‌st vincent-depaul-you-must ask-god-to-give-you-power-to-fight-against-the-sin-of-pride/.

[2] Genesis 33:10, The Contemporary Torah (Jewish Publication Society, 2006), https://‌www.‌sefaria.‌org/‌Genesis.33.11?lang=bi&aliyot=0.