We are pleased to present to you this second-place essay from the 2024 Holy Cross Missions Student Essay Contest, which invited students to reflect on the ways an encounter at an international Holy Cross ministry drew them “to completeness” as understood by the person of Jesus Christ.

Kylene Coyle is a 2024 graduate of Archbishop Hoban High School, a Holy Cross brothers’ school in Akron, Ohio. In the spring of 2024, she participated in her school’s immersion to Nuestra Madre Santísima de la Luz Parish in Monterrey, Mexico twice throughout her high school experience. These trips inspired her to study Spanish at the Ohio State University in hopes of becoming an English teacher for Spanish speakers.

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“Thin Places: Where Heaven and Humanity Meet”

In Christian teachings, “thin places” are the locales where the distance from earth to heaven collapses, blending together the space between. This is where a divine presence is tangibly felt, or where some may encounter an overwhelming presence of peace or spirituality. While thin places resonate differently for everyone, for me, they manifest as profound moments of love and connection – but more specifically as a place that I have had the privilege of traveling to on a Holy Cross mission trip. That place showed me a middle ground between perfection and earth. That place was where I witnessed heaven and humanity meet. That place was Monterrey, Mexico. I did not know I was seeking completeness until I found it in the Holy Cross parish of La Luz.

As I navigated the halls of Archbishop Hoban High School, a Catholic Holy Cross high school, my senior year granted me the opportunity to serve on my second mission trip in Monterrey, Mexico. In February of 2024, I boarded a flight to Monterrey and returned a week later with more gratitude and love in my heart than I had ever felt before. My peers and I were welcomed into the homes of strangers we visited, and I believe I received far more than what we came there to give. I discovered that the connections we forged transcended language barriers. I made connections with children in the parish, spoke Spanish to form new relations, and became immersed in the life of the beautiful people of La Luz Parish. This profound experience built a bridge between heaven and Earth, making a lasting mark on my heart as a human being. It gave me the clarity to see the thin veil that unites our souls. 

One distinct moment from the trip has played in my mind every single day since I returned home in February: the Immigration House. We visited to learn more about the process of immigration from South America, which was something us Americans could never have imagined until we saw the faces of the families taking refuge in this home during the midst of their journeys. We stood in the office of the director and listened tentatively, and although our chaperone translated exactly what the lady told us, I will never forget the way my heart dropped to my stomach when I heard her say “selva,” the Spanish word for jungle. She told us of the treks of the women, children, and families living there. She told us of the psychologist with nightmares so terrible, she had to quit from hearing the horror stories any longer. However, when we walked through the building where the families were staying, I looked into the eyes of the children and saw no fear. I saw hope. Hope for a better life, away from the terrors they were escaping. I saw hope for rest, and a warm, safe place to sleep at night. This hope can only be found through the completeness that is Jesus Christ. Although the families experienced hardships that many of us could never imagine, hope was never lost. And as those innocent people flee from danger and violence of their home countries, they carry with them the most valuable possession of all: faith. I remember one specific moment as we were walking through the immigration home, where a young couple was comforting their ill son. They were huddled together in bed, able to be seen by anyone in the communal bedroom, and as we quickly walked by without wanting to disturb their privacy, I noticed something remarkable. The young mother had a rosary in her hand as she prayed over her child. At that moment, I saw this and wondered if praying to God was all that they had left to hope for. But after all this time thinking about that moment, I realized that faith is not just a last resort but a source of completeness, filling the spaces where uncertainty lingers and providing a steady ground when nothing else seems certain. Faith, in its essence, is not simply a desperate act when all other options are exhausted. Instead, it represents a sense of wholeness and completeness that transcends circumstances. When I saw the mother with her rosary, it initially appeared as if prayer was her final hope, as though everything else had been stripped away. But in reflecting on that moment, I came to understand that faith is not about the absence of control or resources. It’s about the presence of a profound trust—an acceptance that even in uncertainty, there is something greater holding things together. Faith fills the voids of fear and doubt, bringing a sense of completeness to the human experience. It’s not just what we turn to when all else fails, but what sustains us even in times of plenty, a continuous thread that gives meaning to both our struggles and our triumphs. 

This beautiful moment was just one of many that makes Monterrey a thin place. From meeting the youth group on their retreat, to delivering communion to people’s homes, and watching everyone who drives by the church make the Sign of the Cross, it is so clear that if nothing else, there is faith. Being able to witness this immense strength and faithfulness has given me endless inspiration. I will be attending university in the fall, studying Spanish in hopes of one day teaching Spanish speakers English. I hope someday I can return to La Luz again, my thin place where heaven and earth intertwine.

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Published: November 15, 2024