You probably do not know the name Andrew Paul Rajec. But I think that you should.
Andy, as he was known to his many friends, died early on the morning of August 13, 2026, after a courageous battle with melanoma. The reason you should know Andy isn’t because of his earthly accomplishments, although his work in politics, government (he received the United States Agency for International Development’s Meritorious Honor Award for exemplary service), and at the First Catholic Slovak Union was impressive.
Rather, you should know Andy because of how he lived and died and his contagious Christian witness. Andy was a man whose humanity was strengthened and magnified by his deep love for Christ and his Church; a man whose faith and life point us to our eternal destiny; a man reminding us that Christian heroism isn’t just for the lofty, but for all of us.
I first met Andy 24 years ago this
I first met Andy 24 years ago this October when he came to Notre Dame to visit my law school classmate and good friend, Keith Alexander. Andy and Keith had been buddies at Marquette, and Andy came to join us for the Notre Dame-Stanford game. (Notre Dame thumped Stanford that day!) It would be the first of more than fifty Notre Dame games Andy would attend over the years. His love for Notre Dame was ignited by that experience. (Years later, Andy went on to earn his MBA from Notre Dame magna cum laude.) Andy and I would become good friends when we overlapped for a time in Washington, D.C. We bonded over our shared love of Notre Dame football and our faith. And, frankly, Andy was just great company.
The term “larger-than-life” was invented for Andy. You knew Andy was present before you saw him. His booming voice would announce his presence and, when he arrived, Andy’s big personality filled the room with humor and joy. He had a 1,000-watt smile. The Slovaks must share the gift of storytelling with the Irish because Andy could tell a story that would have you crying with laughter. And he could tell the same story repeatedly; his listeners never became bored because there was always a new detail that would emerge in his vigorous retelling. His imitations of friends and famous people, thrown at you in rapid fire, would also have you in stitches. My three boys relished it when they knew they’d be seeing Andy because they were sure to laugh—a lot!
The core of Andy was his love for Christ and his Church. Andy’s life had been changed through his experience with the Knights of Columbus at Marquette. (Fittingly, Andy died on the feast day of Blessed Michael J. McGivney, the Founder of the Knights.) It was there that he more deeply encountered Christ and his Church. They became his lodestar throughout the rest of his life.
Andy had a beautiful, pure, and simple faith
Andy had a beautiful, pure, and simple faith. I do not mean unsophisticated or uneducated. Rather, I mean that Andy achieved what all of us hope to achieve—indeed, what Christ said is required to enter Heaven: “Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it” (Mk 10:15). That was how Andy received the kingdom. His faith was a faith full of wonder at everything the Lord bestows on us. Andy saw the world as a gift and worked to share his awe with others. This was evident in the joy and excitement he found in the small, beautiful things in life: rooting on the Brewers, the Packers, the Marquette Golden Eagles, and the Fighting Irish; attending performances of his friends’ children; visiting America’s basilicas; and sharing these things with others.
Two years ago, Andy was diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma. For much of that time, you would not have known he had cancer. It was the same Andy: sending sports updates via text, attending Notre Dame games, regaling us with stories until one in the morning. He bore his many sufferings quietly and with patience. It was only near the end of his life that I learned how difficult many of the days during his treatment had been. Andy never complained about these things. Rather, he was the one encouraging me and others to greater faith, sending a photo from his beloved Holy Hill Basilica or the Church of the Gesu at Marquette, letting me know that he’d offered prayers for my family and me.
Andy had a generosity of spirit that reminds me of the eponymous protagonist of Myles Connolly’s Dan England and the Noonday Devil, described by Cluny Media as “a merry and magnanimous man, whose occupation in life is the forging of friendships and the spreading of joy.” That captures Andy. He poured himself out for his friends and brought them together. A few years ago, he texted to see if I wanted to go to a Notre Dame game with a couple of my sons. I asked him how much the tickets were. Andy said, “They’re on me.” We met up with Andy in South Bend on a warm November Saturday and had a wonderful time watching Notre Dame thrash Georgia Tech. My younger two boys and I cherish the memories we have of that day.
What became clear in Andy’s last days
What became clear in Andy’s last days was the abundance of Andy’s generosity. Andy was like this with everyone. In those last days, a friend started a text thread of Andy’s friends to provide updates on his condition. People from around the country chimed in with stories about Andy. At one point, I counted the phone numbers on the thread: there were over 40! The generosity and love that my family had experienced from Andy were multiplied many times over with people across multiple time zones. We all could rightly claim that Andy was our close friend.
Just over two weeks ago, when it wasn’t clear how bad the cancer had become, Andy met me for Mass at another of his beloved churches, St. Josaphat Basilica in Milwaukee. Though in pain and clearly suffering, Andy was so happy that he could introduce me to what may be the most beautiful church in the United States. That Church is a product of the simple faith and generosity of Milwaukee’s Southside Polish immigrants. It was a faith and generosity that the Slovak-American Andy Rajec shared.
In Andy’s last days, his witness to Christ and his Church intensified. With friends and family gathered around, Andy expressed gratitude for his illness having drawn him closer to God and for those friends who led him more deeply into the Faith.
About those friends, Andy stated, [They] gave me
About those friends, Andy stated, “[They] gave me that opportunity to avail myself of the Church. You know, the Church knows much better than I do. God knows better than I do.” And, then, Andy urged people to return to confession. Noting that people may have been away from the sacrament “for whatever reason—they don’t want to trust the priest . . . or they feel embarrassed by their sins or what they’ve done in their lives,”
Andy exhorted his audience—and us—to push back against that resistance: “Do not be ashamed of your sins. In other words, do not be afraid to bring your sins to the Lord. “We all sin, and I’m the biggest sinner there is.” It was a moving testimony from someone who had just a few days to live.
As one of Andy’s friends who visited him in his last days put it: “His light was shining brighter than I had ever seen, sharing the Gospel and the love of Christ with everyone who came to visit or called in. No pettiness. No resentment. No anger. No bitterness. Just the love of Christ reflected to us all.”
Andy was fulfilling the calling each of us
Andy was fulfilling the calling each of us receives at baptism, witnessing to Christ, his Church, and the power of his great mercy and love. And that is why you should know who Andy Rajec was—and is. Andy Rajec’s joyful Christian witness is a model for all of us.
Requiescat in Pace, dear friend.
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