A City on a Hill

By Ben Wulpi
Creative Non-Fiction
Spring 2010

It seems that there are some places in this world that are much more special than what we

observe in our ordinary lives. Places that evoke in us something we perhaps didn’t know was there,

places where the physical collides with the spiritual in a way that wakes us up to the beauty of God’s

creation and the sacredness of life. These places seem to offer an escape from the everyday hassles and

problems of life, where we can go and simply be. For me, Victory Noll in Huntington, Indiana is one of

those places. To sit on one of its benches and observe the sounds of the birds chirping a symphonic

cacophony of praise to their Creator, or to gaze out on the scenery of the trees and soon-to-be-

blooming bushes contrasted with the subtle richness of the Spanish mission-style buildings of the

complex, or to simply walk around and feel the peace of a place dedicated to the Lord—all of this is

somehow transformed into an act of worship, everything pointing to the One to whom it is devoted. In

this way, it’s almost as if the very existence of this place is an act of worship.

Victory Noll, perched on a secluded hill overlooking Huntington, was initially the headquarters

and training center for Our Lady of Victory Missionary Sisters, a community dedicated to mission and

service, caring for those who fall through the cracks of society, and devoting itself to the Lord in the

example of Mary. “Omnia pro Jesu per Mariam” reads the dedication at the entrance into its rear

courtyard—“All for Jesus through Mary.” Although Victory Noll now serves more as a community for the

sisters to go when they are older or require assisted living, it still retains, almost tangibly, that sense of

devotion and mission.

I think that’s what strikes me most about the place—the mysterious way in which its physical

attributes meld together with its meta-physical purpose. The mission-style building complex speaks of

the old missions in the Southwest to minister to the poor and outcast, which was how the Our Lady of

Victory sisters were founded. The retreat center testifies to their invitation to their community to come
in and receive rest and renewal. The statue of Saint Bernadette on bended knee before the Virgin Mary,

looking up at the Lady with an expectant reverence, bears witness to the sisters’ submission to Mary to

guide them and lead them to Jesus. The statue of Jesus on top of a hill overlooking Huntington stands

arms outstretched, as if inviting the outside world into His loving embrace. The prayer labyrinth seems

to be a small representation of the entire place, beckoning you toward the center, leaving all your

troubles behind as you draw near the heart of God.

There is something so peaceful about the place itself. Even though you can hear the sounds of

the outside world, the rushing of trains and the clanging of construction, these are somehow distant and

drowned out by the soft chirping of birds and the fullness of silence that pervades the campus of Victory

Noll, drawing you in to something deeper than what the outside world has to offer. There is a serenity

that seems to penetrate every last detail. At one point, while walking around, I came upon a crunchy

leaf on the sidewalk. Usually, my distracted mind would automatically want to step on it, feeling the

satisfying crunch underfoot. But this time I went around it, perhaps fearful to disturb the quiet of the

place, or perhaps because it seemed like even the dead leaves carry a more sacred status here. Here,

even the rocks and leaves cry out praise to their Maker.

I wanted to get the perspective of someone who lived here, in comparison to my perspective as

a visitor. So I sat down to talk with Sister Rita Musante, a Victory Noll sister and spiritual director of the

Center. Her peaceful, welcoming demeanor and gentle wisdom seemed representative of a person who

had lived at Victory Noll off and on for 53 years. Maybe the peaceful qualities of Victory Noll had rubbed

off on her, or maybe it was her, along with the rest of the sisters, that rubbed off on Victory Noll. When I

brought up to her my perception of how this place is more sacred than most, she immediately disagreed

with me. To her, the constant prayer taking place here creates an atmosphere that is contagious, but

this place, in and of itself, is not any more sacred than anywhere else. She insisted that “by setting aside
a ‘sacred’ spot, God reminds us that all places are sacred” and that it is here that we can “practice how

to venerate the sacredness of all places, even prisons and hospitals.”

I think that’s what Victory Noll is, when it really comes down to it: a reminder. It’s a reminder

that all of God’s creation is sacred. It’s a reminder to the Church to remember its purpose—to invite the

world in while sending its own out. It’s a reminder of God’s presence, and the peace that surpasses all

understanding, which is always available to those who seek Him. And it reminds us to go out into the

world, knowing that God is with us, and be missionaries for His Kingdom. In this way, Victory Noll

teaches us to appreciate all of life and creation, and stands as a beacon—a city on a hill—to the world,

testifying of the God who is its Creator and beckons us all to come to Him.