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A book on postmodernist art sticks out prominently from a shelf. An unfinished watercolor painting sits on the desk below. The air carries the smell of wood and paint that permeates the rooms of the Riley Hall of Art and Design. Rev. Martin Lam Nguyen, C.S.C, sits in his chair with his hands folded in front of him.

“I think my life here is a life cut out for me, you know, on many levels,” says Nguyen. “Simple, simple.”

Nguyen is a priest in the Congregation of the Holy Cross, though he is not dressed like one now. In place of the monochromatic black ensemble and Roman collar, Nguyen is wearing casual attire, and his office on the third floor of Riley Hall feels more like a studio than an office. In addition to being a priest, Nguyen is an associate professor of painting and drawing in the university’s Department of Art, Art History and Design. But he arrived at his life as a priest and art professor by a long, winding path across countries and oceans.

“You know, big things like that happen piece by piece, I think. Especially for me, it's not a straight line for a person like me, you know, coming here.”

Nguyen did not begin his journey to the priesthood with Holy Cross. He was in the seminary in Vietnam, where he was born. However, following the war and eventual fall of Vietnam to the Communist regime, Nguyen sought a way to escape the country. Eventually, he escaped by boat in 1979. He made it to the United States and settled in Portland, where he attended the University of Portland, a Holy Cross school — a fact he was unaware of at the time.

But after arriving in America, Nguyen began to reassess the path he was on.

“You know, when life provides you with that kind of opportunity to stop like that, it gives you a chance to ask questions,” he says. “So, when I first came here, I did not want to go to the seminary … You don't just go from a river, walk up for a couple miles and then come back to the river. No. I go back to the sea.”

Nguyen described his choice to continue in the seminary as an inarticulable “decision on the deepest level.” But he felt assured in his decision as he met “really generous and open” people in the Congregation of the Holy Cross.

“They accepted me with broken English. I think that, in a way, mutually, we just have become a very good match.”

“From Vietnam, to Hong Kong, to Portland, and then here.”

His journey to becoming an artist, too, was indirect and uncertain. While Nguyen was studying theology at the university and getting his master’s in divinity, he audited art classes on the side. He recalls having his theology classes at O’Shaughnessy, then walking to Riley Hall, where his office is now, afterwards.

“I have a very strong desire for beauty, for making. And, behind that is the life experience that gives me a lot of thoughts, reflection,” says Nguyen on his becoming an artist. “Those are the two things that are very important for art, the making and the thinking. I think that I must have felt so comfortable here. It's just like a child in a very safe and wonderful environment … Just like there's no restriction or second guessing. When I was still working, learning art, I make a Christmas card for the seminary, I make myself known … And I think the Congregation just allowed me to think outside the box.” The Congregation asked Nguyen to consider pursuing advanced studies in art, and he went on to study art at Yale and UC Berkeley. Now, he teaches art at both Notre Dame and at the Westville Correctional Facility. In both places, but especially at Westville, he feels the importance of being open, loving and respectful to others.

“I was very afraid of prison in Vietnam. I was very afraid of it … And that's why, it's just very big for me to be free,” he says. “And that's why I think that for me, the presence of God is very important. And that's why I go there [Westville] every week. I remind the man that even in the dark place like that of their life, God is still there for them in a very special way.”

Ultimately, Nguyen emphasizes the importance of people in his life and art. “I relate to people at a pretty serious, deep level, both in art and in religion.”

“You know, I just share with you. I'm interested. I can share with you. There's a lot of people to know. Share, so that people can see that a person, on an unconventional path, at Notre Dame, can serve with joy in my profession as priest and artist.”

“And I'm still working on Christmas cards,” Nguyen says, referring to the watercolor project on his desk. A light blue image of Mary at the Annunciation lies in the center of the card.

***

“That's the closest that I'll ever come to art.”

Rev. Michael F. Ryan, C.S.C., motions to a picture of 150 North Riverside in Chicago framed on the wall behind him. He is not referring to photography — Ryan helped construct the geometric glass building itself. In the picture, he stands on the left of with a group of people in Chicago Cubs gear.

“I worked with a cool team and was given a surprising amount of responsibility for a 23-year-old. That was the day the Cubs won the World Series,” he says, “so we went out and took a picture in front of the building.”

Next to that picture, there’s an old black and white photograph of construction workers seated on a steel beam suspended hundreds of feet in the air. This photo was a gift from one of his brothers — another homage to Ryan’s years in construction before he became a priest and the rector of O’Neill Family Hall.

From 2008 to 2012, Ryan studied civil engineering at Notre Dame. “I've always loved, since I was a little kid, been fascinated with construction, and Legos, and just the tangible aspect of life. That's partially why I chose civil engineering.” After graduating, he spent five years working as a construction engineer and superintendent in Detroit and Chicago.

“I loved it,” he says of his experience. “I joke that it’s not too dissimilar from a men’s dorm.”

“It's a very fast paced environment, I would say. And it relies, not on community in the sense that we think of it here, but a heavy reliance on teamwork. Everybody's gotta pull their weight or else you're missing some pretty crucial pieces. So it taught me how to work on a team, but also how to be really flexible and step in when needed, in a variety of roles.”

But Ryan had a calling beyond the tangible. On the other wall of his residence, a wood carving of da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” hangs near the image of the black-and-white construction workers. Jesus and the twelve apostles stretch out in a straight line along the table, not unlike the workers sitting along the steel beam. Ryan’s sister-in-law repaired it as a gift for his ordination in April 2024.

“My junior year, I went on a pilgrimage to Rome with the Vocations Office, and then I just started to discern more and more deeply and really felt called to be a priest.” His father, though, encouraged him to get more experience rather than entering the seminary immediately after graduation. “He really advocates that people get different experience … And at the time, I was a little bit frustrated by it, but looking back to see the wisdom in it, I'm very grateful.”

The experience, while valuable, was not built to last.

“At the end of the day, it was, like, empty, I described it,” Ryan says, “There’s kind of a thirst for something more. So, I started to pick up the discernment question again. And, over the course of about a year, it became pretty clear. God was calling me to enter seminary… It was a winding path to get to seminary, but I am very grateful for the experience both at work, but also, just, life experience.”

On how construction has helped him as a priest, Ryan says, “I just learned to work with all sorts of people. I'd be in a meeting with a guy who's got a Ph.D. in structural engineering and trying to communicate with him, and then leave the meeting and need to communicate with, you know, a brick mason who speaks limited English. So that aspect of it, for sure. But also, just the human and approachability aspect, trying to meet people where they are, has always been important based on my experience there.”

Construction is not exiled to the past, though. Ryan describes poking his head over the fence of the nearby construction site and working with Notre Dame’s facilities department for a summer as examples of construction’s continued presence in his life — though he’s primarily focused on being a priest and rector for now.

“There's a million ways to build a building, but you just kind of have to figure out your path to do it. So there's a million ways to live a faithful life, and this is the path that I feel called to ... But, the reality is you could build the right half of the building before the left or you could build the front before the back. But at the end of the day, we're all facing the same goal: to finish the building.”