In Zakopane, Poland, I stood beneath a bronze statue of John Paul II, his arms raised in victory at a cross mounted atop the Tatra Mountains. 

Just yesterday, my fellow students and I had hiked to the foot of that cross.

Our program coordinator called out to us.

“I just got the news from my buddy in America,” he said. “Roe v. Wade is overturned.”

My eyes filled with tears as I followed the gaze of John Paul II, an ardent defender of life and liberty, to the cross. All around me people cheered and cried. Someone began an “Alleluia” chorus, and my group shouted a joyful “Hail Mary.”

At that moment, standing in a foreign country, my heart swelled with pride to be an American. While that was a particularly momentous occasion for it, it wasn’t the only time the feeling surprised me.

I studied abroad this summer at the Pontifical University of Pope John Paul II in Krakow, Poland through a Catholic apostolate called the John Paul II Project. Their mission: “to help young people become builders of a civilization of love and truth.”

I took two classes, received daily spiritual formation, partook in weekly trips to places of historical and religious importance, and spent long weekends on pilgrimages or at retreats in places such as Częstochowa, the Polish Highlands, and Northern Italy. 

After encountering a surprising number of beautiful churches in Krakow, I foolishly wondered aloud, “Why do they need so many churches?” 

The program coordinator smiled understandingly at me. “It’s basic supply and demand, Meg.”

The arguable crowning jewel of the city, Wawel Cathedral and Castle, sits in the center of Krakow, looming over the Vistula River. Architecturally, it looks like a collection of buildings because throughout the history of Poland, many notable kings have added chapels artistically representative of their own time. 

St. Leonard’s crypt, the oldest part of the cathedral and home to innumerable tombs of Polish national war heros, artists, saints, and intellectuals, struck me most.

The Polish don’t separate the people to whom they owe their cultural identity. Men who fought for freedom are no more or less important than the ones who painted historical artwork and the ones who portrayed the hardships of the times in poetry.

In the outskirts of Krakow lies Nowa Huta, Soviet Russia’s attempt at creating a communist utopia. The street signs have all been renamed to represent the fall of communism. 

Solidarity Street and John Paul II Avenue stand out against a town still designed in a fashion typical of communist architecture.

Upon walking through Krakow, I noticed streets named after Presidents Woodrow Wilson and Ronald Reagan. I soon learned that Poles credit Wilson in part for their regained independence post-WWI.

When I asked a Polish graduate student about the admiration for Wilson, he smiled. 

“Our liberty was stolen, and Wilson gave it back,” he replied.

This interaction was one of many in which my own country was revered for its protection of life and liberty. At first I was surprised by this admiration, but at a certain point in my studies of Polish history and culture it began to make sense.

Americans have never experienced the soul-crushing, dehumanizing regime Poland has endured for a significant portion of its history. During my tour of Auschwitz-Birkenau, I walked by starvation chambers, firing walls, and the gas chambers that killed saints like Edith Stein. I saw the mounds of hair shaved from the heads of women and sold on the black market for extra money.

It’s easy to take for granted, and even critique, the political system that has kept us free from such tyranny. But the Poles haven’t done the same. 

My love for America grew through the encouragement of these foreigners as my admiration for Polish faith and culture increased too. Poland has exhibited steadfast courage and perseverance amidst trial, a capacity for passive resistance against tyranny,  and an intentional creation of culture through a love for education and the arts.

These two sentiments reconciled during my reading one day for class. I was reading one of John Paul II’s many addresses to young people where he proclaims, “Man creates culture and through culture creates himself.”

The Poles are excellent builders of culture, and our task is to bring that same sentiment to our own American identity.

As Americans, we should continue to build a culture deserving of the admiration of a country so honorable as Poland. 

At the conclusion of my study abroad program, I remained in Poland for two weeks to volunteer at a summer camp for Ukrainian refugee children. Our mission was to teach English by immersion, provide faith formation, and offer an opportunity to play amidst their many current hardships. 

After I asked the children to teach me the Ukrainian national anthem on a hike, they almost immediately turned the question around. 

“Please, Miss Meg! Teach us the America hymn!” 

I realized they meant the national anthem, and for the next hour many of the children patiently struggled through each word of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” 

Upon reaching the summit, one of the little boys ran ahead of the group and shouted loudly and gleefully from the mountain top. 

“God bless America!”