The Path Ahead
Vincent DiFrancesco
I’ve walked a long and winding road to DePaul. As a child, I was raised studying classical music from the age of three and continued pursuing this through high school. During my junior year, I transferred to a boarding school in Interlochen, Michigan. This was, I still believe, my most formative education to date. My teachers fostered an environment of open artistic self-exploration and cared deeply about their students. At this time, I began to doubt that music was my sole passion in life. After two months at a music school in California, I dropped out, and spent the rest of my would-be freshman year at home in Cincinnati, Ohio. My therapist at the time called it my “quarter-life crisis.” Between volunteer hours at an afterschool program, I applied to a second round of colleges. DePaul was one of the only schools outside of Ohio that I applied to because of the opportunity for a scholarship. I was fortunate and grateful to receive funds to attend.
During my first year, I received a preliminary education on Vincentian values. I resonated with this discussion just as much as any freshman would. Like most of my peers, I was naturally more concerned with the stress of socializing and adapting to a new city than immediately pursuing leadership. Once settled, however, I began to explore more opportunities to deepen my faith and engage in service. The pandemic, however, threw a wrench into those plans. I was sent home and paused any attempts to engage meaningfully in DePaul’s community. During my months spent in aloneness, I learned the value of sitting in silence and interrogating my values. I spent long hours running and cycling, car camped in Michigan and the Appalachians, and realized that having a connection to the outdoors is fundamentally important to who I am.
These discoveries informed the opportunities I pursued in the following years, including working over 700 hours for the U.S. Forest Service with a trail maintenance non-profit in Oregon. I came to admire the people I met in this community, and their dedication to the idea of service. They worked selflessly for causes far greater than themselves and were seldom thanked or recognized for it. I decided I wanted to dedicate myself to something just as meaningful.
In 2023, I applied and was accepted to the Vincentian Heritage Tour. I was beyond excited to travel to Paris and become more enriched in the values of simplicity and service preached by St. Vincent DePaul. Immersed both in deep history and a dynamic contemporary political crisis, the city of Paris was gripping. I loved our choice of lodging; staying at the Mother House of the Congregation of the Mission, while more spartan than a 4-star hotel, helped me keep grounded in the purpose and intention of the trip. I felt less distracted and more focused on my goals. As a bonus, we were a short walk down the street from the Daughters of Charity, whom we visited not long after arriving in the city.
It was a specific moment in this experience visiting the Daughters that I found most impactful. The sheer age of the building and the institution astounded me, coded in the thick volumes of records where every Daughter’s name was written. One book in particular held special significance, but not for the reason one might suspect. I came across it during our tour and paused to acknowledge the large tome displayed under glass, opened half-way through the text. Its pages were fraying and yellowing; it was obviously very old. What caught my eye was the oblong-shaped hole cut through the middle of the book. As I examined it, I couldn’t help but wonder why in the world someone would damage a book like this, let alone display it. As the Daughter who was leading our tour passed the glass case, she explained that, during the French Revolution, the Church had come under attack, both symbolically and literally. One of the Daughters, anticipating the worst, decided to smuggle the preserved heart of St. Vincent DePaul out of the city. In a moment of resourcefulness, (and perhaps desperation) she had carved out the center of the book and placed the relic inside, closing the book again so that it would be easily concealed. I generally admire history, but this story was different. It viscerally transported me back in time. I could clearly imagine the events of that long-ago time playing out before me and was fascinated by the dedication of the Daughters to go to such lengths to preserve something that they valued, something they knew might inspire others in the years after them. I wondered if there are ways in which I could implement the same principle in my own life. While I may not be smuggling body parts in books, there is certainly room for me to grow in the seriousness with which I confront issues in my own life, and the level of effort I put into the causes I believe in.
Several days after visiting the Daughters of Charity, we took a bus to the regional headquarters of DePaul France, a small building located in a poorer neighborhood of the city. It mainly served the homeless. Their staff provided meals, showers, counseling, and legal help — all for free. I deeply admired the work they performed, and the intensity of empathy they showed. I felt so called in that moment to express the same compassion in my own life, in whatever way I could. I began to feel a sense of duty and desire. One moment, however, showed there were significant gaps in my own empathy. The director of the organization, during his presentation, mentioned how the staff try their best to provide a variety of foods to the people who attend meals. He cited studies have shown how even giving a simple option between two or three types of jam at breakfast can make someone feel cared for and ultimately a bit happier. I found this so moving because it went beyond simple charity and was a demonstration of the radical hospitality I had learned about at DePaul. How had I not considered this before, that my own basic preferences might be shared by everyone I meet, even someone who is begging on the street? I came to terms with some serious lapses in my own thinking.
These moments on the Vincentian Heritage Tour, as well as lectures from both Joyana Dvorak and guest speakers during our Peace and Justice course, gave me new insight into my values. Most importantly, I learned what I struggle with, and the areas where I need to improve. I found that I most admire the ideas of “servant leadership” and “radical hospitality.” These values have been expressed not only in the stories of the Vincentian Family itself, but also through various role models in my life. One of these role models was my high school film teacher, Mr. H. I was not formally enrolled in the film program, but Mr. H still made time to work with me. As a teenager, I was headstrong and had rigid views. I was eager to speak and share my opinions, but hesitant to dive deeply into what proved my positions. Mr. H. was the direct opposite. He was gentle, and softspoken, open-minded and optimistic. He was a skilled listener, and when he spoke, he chose his words with great care. During my studies, Mr. H. helped expose me to new ideas through film and recognize greater nuance in the artistic process. Now that I reflect on my years under his tutelage, I recognize how difficult I must have been to work with. I was argumentative and dismissive of ideas I hadn’t yet given a chance. No matter my flaws, Mr. H. never felt the need to assert his power over me, never cut me off or lost his patience. He accepted me as I was. In listening with patience, he exercised servant leadership as a teacher. In creating a space for me to share my work and giving me the freedom to come to him as I was, he practiced radical hospitality. Several years ago, Mr. H. passed away unexpectedly, and the large alumni community who had studied with me began writing sharing their own experiences of him online. In reading their stories, I realized that Mr. H. had had a profound effect on many students, not just me and my immediate peers. Countless had studied with him for much longer than I, and had continued to use him as a resource after graduation. I wondered … if I was so moved by his teaching, and yet only knew him for a brief two years, how deep was the impact he’d had on other students who’d known him longer? Mr. H. did not act only for himself, or for his own gain. He gave a small part of himself to each student he met. They each carried a bit of his patience, his kindness, his listening skills. He contributed to a network far larger than himself, one likely beyond his own imagining. When I began to understand this, I realized that it was my duty to carry my small experience of him to others, and act as he had. In this way, I could spread his kindness, and extend this network he had created.
Moving into the future, I recognize that I must turn the passion that I have for change into real action. I cannot continue to learn without doing, appreciate without emulating. As part of my participation in the Peace and Justice course with Professor Dvorak, I decided to produce a short documentary highlighting the work of DePaul students in the urban gardening club, and how this reflects the university’s mission of sustainability. This project speaks to a larger commitment I have towards protecting the outdoors. The joy that I felt during my time away from Chicago during the pandemic and the long hours I spent in nature helped form my vocation. After graduation, I will begin working in communications for the same non-profit I interned with in the summer of 2022. My role will be to shed light on their tireless work maintaining hiking trails in Oregon wilderness and stewarding public lands. This will place me on a path that aligns my passions with my occupation, and directly couples service and career. However, if at any time I decide to pursue a different job, one that does not involve service, I still can dedicate my free time to my local community. This might involve something as simple as being an advocate for others, but could extend further, and include volunteering at a non-profit or even being on the board of such an organization. The opportunities before me can be daunting, but I feel confident knowing that I have been formed by my community at DePaul. My experience in VHT has assured that I will ground my future decisions in the Vincentian spirit of service, no matter where life may take me.
