At the center of campus yet away from the busy turmoil of life, there is a place to question, and to listen for answers.

Cathedrals, Hindu temples, synagogues, Quaker meeting houses, mosques, Zen gardens, Buddhist shrines: these are all sacred places, consecrated spaces, holy ground where billions have gathered over the centuries to celebrate, pray, worship, mourn, and listen for answers to questions that we cannot answer on our own. The Chapel of Saint Michael the Archangel, at the center of campus, is one of those: a quiet, secluded place away from the turmoil of everyday life, a place where concerns of jobs, deadlines, investments, shopping malls, car troubles and tomorrow’s election fade into insignificance. This is a special place where we can look for a path through the wilderness.

This is where generations of Catholics and non-Catholics alike have come to struggle with the unknown, to quell their fears, and to face life’s eternal questions.

This is where swaddled babies are introduced to the congregation, baptized, and prayed over. This is where young children learn to pray on their knees, taste unleavened bread, bow in practiced humility, and sing to a baby in a manger, a crucified man who was raised from the tomb, and an omnipotent God who could part the seas.

This where a little girl kneels and prays for her father to never go away again, or for her mother to stop doing the things that make her mean. This is where a middle-school boy prays that he will finally make a goal, that the bullies will leave him alone and that the pretty girl will someday smile back.

This is where so many people first struggle with their own mortality—death and resurrection, sin and salvation, heaven and hell, and eternity.

At the late August orientation service for new students, a thousand mothers and fathers come here with their sons and daughters to pray with emotion-filled hearts for what the coming four years will hold and mentally rehearse the words for their goodbyes.

At graduation ceremonies, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles come here and pray that their daughters and sons, grandchildren, nieces and nephews will somehow find their rightful place in a promising but unforgiving world.

At the June Reunion Mass, alumni pray for their fallen classmates, old faculty mentors long in their graves, and the beloved Edmundites whose French names now grace our campus buildings.

This is that special place where thousands of loving couples take their vows to have and to hold each other until death do they part. Here those hopes for undying love are elevated in celestial songs and prayers, but it’s also the place where many have come back to pray that love may be rekindled in a dying relationship or a place where someone begs for the strength to keep a vow.

This is where tens of thousands of mourners have come to say their last goodbye to an old friend, husband or wife, child or parent. This is where we eulogize and celebrate their lives and pray for their salvation—and ours too.

This is where we prayed for the souls of four vacationing sophomores whose lives ended when a bolt came loose on their car.

This is where we prayed for a young man who died from a drug overdose;
another from falling from a dormitory window;
another from tumbling down the steps; another by his own hand;
and another from the swirling waters of the Winooski.
This is the sacred space where people bring their fears:
Fears of dying
Fears of living too long
Fears of being pregnant or fears of never being able to be pregnant
Fears that a soldier will not return from a war
Fears of being alone.

This is where we came on September 11, 2001, and joined hands in an enormous circle to comfort each other and face terrifying new fears for our country, to weep and pray and read the Bible and the Koran and wonder who or what could have attacked our country, and what was to come next.

This is where pain-wracked people pray that the pain will finally stop.
Where we pray that the lump will be benign;
where we pray that the operation will be a success;
where we pray that a grandchild will overcome leukemia;
where we pray that the end will be painless.

This is where we pray that a daughter will get into medical school, where we will ask for a safe journey, a bountiful crop, an easy birth, a wise choice, a certain path to follow.

This is where we pray to get a job, get a promotion, get a raise. This is where we ask if we are really obligated to care for the poor and love even those who sometimes seem unworthy of love. This is where we worry that we are materialists after all, where we ask if we have too much, where we ask how to satisfy our deepest longings.

This chapel has heard students pray for a victory over Assumption; for success on exams; for compassionate professors; for As and sometimes even for a generous D.

This is where people pray to not get caught, to not get fired, to not lose patience, to not tell lies, to not do harm, to not drink so much, to not be envious, to not be seduced by false gods, to not lose heart. This is where we pray for the moral strength to say “no” when we ought to.

This is where we pray for virtue, faith and charity;
for courage and fortitude;
for grace and wisdom;
for prudence and temperance;
This is where we ask to be forgiven when we fail.
Holy places are where people go to ask for great healing.
To see again,
To walk again,
To feel again,
To love again,
To be made whole again.

Holy ground is where people pray for peace, pray for understanding, pray for forgiveness, and pray for hope. People sometimes come to holy places like this to ask for miracles great and small. It is a welcoming place for anyone to sit quietly and listen for answers to our deepest questions: Who am I meant to be? How ought I to live? What am I to do with my one precious life?

Vince Bolduc has been a professor in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology for 35 years. He has lately focused his research on student religiousness.