The New Friday
Finding an hour of calm and connection in a
hectic world
By Claire Nowak
“What are you doing Tuesday night?”
I mentally run through my to-do list for the week. Memorize vocab words for French, read the next three chapters of Paradise Lost, work on an upcoming article for The Marquette Tribune — not to mention the assignments from my three other classes and the 5 hours I need to intern for my professor.
Now an upperclassman I barely know wants me to make another commitment. Doesn’t he know how much work us freshmen have to do?
“Uhh, I’m not sure yet.”
“Well, you should come sing with us at the Joan of Arc Mass. Even if you don’t want to sing, you should come anyway. I think you’d enjoy it.”
I ended up not singing that Tuesday, but I did the following week. And the week after that. And every week since.
There’s no obvious reason why Tuesday Night Mass at the Joan of Arc Chapel is one of the most popular liturgies at Marquette. Yet every week just before 10 p.m., at least 150 students pack the 500-year-old stone building, violating all conventional standards of personal space and probably a few fire codes. Those who can’t squeeze in sit outside and strain to hear the voices of presiders Fr. Nicky Santos and Fr. Kent Beausoleil or the music from the 15-student choir in front of the altar.
Caff’s and Murph’s wish they could pack in customers like JOA.
But what exactly makes a 10 p.m. Mass on a Tuesday so special?
The Music
No Gregorian chants here. The Tuesday Night choir sings contemoprary Christian songs and revamps traditional church music. Most of their repertoire is familiar to students in the congregation, but if you’re new to the Mass, don’t worry. You catch on fast when everyone around you is singing along. Between the choir’s four-part harmonies and an array of accompanying instruments (guitar, keyboard, drums, flute, occasionally a trumpet or triangle), it’s hard not to feel the spirit move you through the music.
The Homilies
But they’re not so much homilies as they are enlightened chats with friends. Fr. Nicky and Fr. Kent make first-century writings relatable to college life — with a bit of humor, of course. Consider, for instance, how Mary told her friends she would be the mother of Jesus. Fr. Kent imagines that conversation would go something like: “Yep. I’m pregnant. … No, not him, the Holy Spirit. … He’s gonna be the Son of God. … An angel told me so!” Occasionally, Fr. Nicky will borrow a guitar from the musicians for a little mid-sermon medley.
Tuesday Night Mass is known for its enthusiastic priests. Fr. Nicky and Fr. Kent’s predecessor, Fr. John Naus, went to the Barnum and Bailey clown college so he could perform at hospitals and nursing homes. Naus presided at the service for 28 years, bringing a contagious smile and Hershey kisses to throw from behind the altar. Since he passed in 2013, the Joan of Arc community celebrates the “Fr. Naus Mass” on the Tuesday after the anniversary of his death. They sing Fr. Naus’ favorite hymns and even wear red clown noses to remember their beloved clown priest.
The Community
For such a small chapel, Joan of Arc draws a large crowd, but a close-knit one. At the beginning of each Mass, Fr. Nicky asks if anyone is attending the Mass for the first time. The response is always the same: a few cautiously raised hands met with applause and cheers. The choir leads a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” before the closing hymn for anyone celebrating that week. During the intercessions, students voice their own prayers for their loved ones and the world. Hugs replace handshakes for the Sign of Peace, even when greeting people you don’t know.
That community also includes President Lovell, who makes a point to come every week, as long as he is free of prior commitments. Tuesday Night regulars can count on him sitting in the same spot near the altar and ministering Holy Communion. For Lovell, it’s an opportunity to get to know the students and find common ground with them through faith.
“With all the chaos and hectic things I have in my day, I can go there and I just feel so good when I leave,” he says. “It’s so uplifting … I always leave there in a better place than when I came.”
Now I’m a senior, and a lot has changed at Tuesday Night Mass. That upperclassman I barely knew is now one of my closest friends, as are the other musicians who played and sang at the service over the last three years. Some have graduated, and younger musicians have taken their places. We’ve added new songs to our repertoire. The priests bring different insights and anecdotes with every homily. Faces in the crowd change as we all grow older and (we hope) wiser.
But one thing that stays constant is the enthusiastic spirit of the Mass and everyone in attendance — the way people close their eyes in fervent prayer, or laugh at Fr. Nicky’s jokes, or smile at each other when the choir plays a crowd favorite. Religion becomes as social as it is prayerful. Friends turn church into an outing, where they eat, drink, and be merry on food for the soul.
Whether it wants to or not, Marquette is making Tuesday the new Friday.
Sometimes the most unlikely players are the ones who change the game. St. Joan of Arc was only a teenager when she led a French army to victory over the English. Joan of Arc Chapel is nothing more than stone and stained windows, yet it’s the intangible reasons that keep students coming back: a welcoming community, a sense of belonging. Home is a hot, crowded chapel filled with voices resonating their love for God and neighbor. It is a hidden sanctuary where strangers become friends and friends become family. It is a joy that strengthens the weary soul to persevere through a chaotic week. It is the power of the spirit moving each person to live as Christ did, as men and women for others.
So, what are you doing Tuesday night?
