A Mary Experience

I dreamed of being chosen to crown Mary in May. I prayed, “Lovely Lady, dressed in blue, teach me how to pray…” Mary was someone our mothers and grandmothers preached we should emulate.

Somewhere in my teens, I dumped Mary. I didn’t want to be like Mary, expected to pray all day and all that blue and white—not me!

And then—

My 26th birthday, I was beyond sick. BUT! I had seven-month-old twins to feed and bathe.

Sitting in my doctor's office, I heard him say, “Pat, you’re pregnant.” WHAT? That couldn’t be! I had twins, still carpet crawlers! A new baby at Christmas?

Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving and we slid into Advent.

Advent. How did Mary experience pregnancy?

Magnificat.

This wasn’t some saccharine intercession by a blond in blue gauze. This was a gutsy young woman singing of anawim…

I was startled. Pressure grabbed my belly. It was time. St. Luke’s was close. I had to focus, to breathe.

That night as I held my baby, I remembered how Advent brought me to Mary, closer to the mystery of God’s love being clothed with the body of an infant. It was realization of how God waits with each of us until we can say “Yes.” Christ is born into the messiness of our lives when we are open to the profound reality that God is always there giving us this chance.

Twenty-five years later, standing in a kibbutz, Shira was in labor. Days leading up to this night were filled with laughter, sharing freshly picked dates, wading in the Sea of Galilee.

The midwife was there. Shira was ready. I held her hand. So young…this was Mary, Shira, me.

Shira’s last push.

A baby’s cry.

My heart remembered my baby’s heartbeat and mine melting into one drumming sound: tu-tum, pu-pum tu-tum, pu-pum tu-tum, pu-pum. Shira was smiling, her baby at her breast. I knew she could hear the drumming sound as Mary heard it before us.

“Be it done to me according to your word.” Mary accepting Christ born of her body gave us permission to claim, “This is my body, this is my blood.”

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Gratitude is the Season

Just recently while chatting with several sisters during lunch, I realized how grateful I am to be working in the Archives. I was telling the sisters about transcribing letters and documents that sisters have stored in their personal papers file.

Some time ago, the director of Saint Benedict’s Archives became aware that researchers cannot read much of what is written in personal folders. Many of these documents are written in cursive and sometimes even in pencil. Because many schools determined that teaching cursive writing was no longer necessary, the present generation often cannot decipher a document written in cursive. Personally, I was aware of this strange phenomenon because as I was leaving the classroom, many students were telling me they could not read my comments. Thus, it has become a time-consuming job in the Archives to be transcribing letters and personal papers. We also transcribe oral histories sisters have taped with Sister Renée Domeier or in the past, Sister Etienne Flaherty. When completed, both oral and written forms of a sister’s history/story are stored.

But working in the Archives can mean several different things. Some people collect articles from news sources which highlight particular sisters. These news articles are placed in the sister’s file.

Another staff member sorts through all the artifacts, articles, pictures and papers that each sister has turned over to the Archives. This sorting happens only after a sister has gone to Heaven.

A tech person makes digital copies of all the pictures and documents about each sister and stores them in a digital file.
When requests are received from relatives of sisters or someone doing research, a staff person is assigned the task of responding to the request. Sometimes it requires pictures be sent, but other times, locating the information is perfect as an answer.

Community business is also saved and stored in the Archives. When any member wants to know some event historically, a file or record is sure to have the information. Chapter Minutes have been kept over the 160 years of Saint Ben’s existence. Federation business is also part of the archival holdings.

Because I have been transcribing many personal letters and papers of a variety of sisters, my knowledge of the community has grown. For example, I was fortunate to transcribe Sister Juana Raasch’s collection of letters and papers. She was a prolific letter writer, and her correspondence was so fascinating. Even if she died about 10 years before I joined the community, I know a lot about her research and her work on “Purity of Heart.”

Another letter writer was Sister Alfreda Zierden. Her letters were just wonderful, but she slipped into German in almost every letter she wrote. She sometimes asked why that happened, but it was amusing to say the least. We are now attempting to have these letters translated.

Archival holdings absolutely fascinate me because of the richness they hold in stories alone. I believe there is a power in stories. Therefore, the Archives is a powerhouse!

Mary Jane Berger, OSB

It Was All A Bit Foreign

Photo: NastyaSensei from Pexels

Years back, I had just returned home after living out of country when a family in town invited me into their home. You see, they had a foreign exchange student and wanted me to “bridge the gap” so to speak. As I had acquired new language skills, I thought I might be of some help.

I was conversing with their exchange student in his native language while mom sat nearby cheering me on. As she’d not seen me for two years, she hung onto every word I said when she blurted out, “I just love hearing you speak!”

Dad, he was having his own conversation with someone else in the house. You see, dad didn’t need to cheer me on. He knew that I could do it and that I would do it. He was more matter-of-fact because after all, I’d been in a Spanish speaking country for two years, so why wouldn’t I be able to communicate as such?

Dad’s quiet expectations were duly noted. Mom’s expression of reconnecting were also noted as I was her daughter whom she loved.

Looking at my own parenting style and reflecting upon it, I see that I often times mimic my mom’s style of persistent cheerleading. Yet, at the same time, I clearly see that the solid ground from which our children have launched is because of the quiet expectations set forth from their father. Odd it is that we mamas put so much energy into cheering on our soldiers as they march through life…while a father’s expectations often quietly speak louder.

I suppose that’s how our Heavenly Father does it. He sets the standard and the boundaries.  He’s there…all solid like…just waiting for us to respond. And when we do, it’s no surprise because after all He’d been expecting us to fulfill that which was laid out so long ago.

The character of my earthly father often matched up with that of my Heavenly Father. I don’t suppose all earthly fathers do, but as our Heavenly Father never leaves us nor forsakes us, I know that we can always count on His character to never fail if our earthly fathers fall short.

One of the character traits about our Father is that He is unchanging.

Back in Malachi 3:6 He affirms this. “I am the Lord, and I do not change.”

Hebrews 13:8 reinforces it. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” 

Finally, there is Psalm 136. “I give thanks because He is good. His love endures forever.”
That doesn’t seem so foreign now, does it? Not one bit foreign at all.  Amen.

Kathleen Kjolhaug, OblSB

This blog was first published on Theology in the Trenches, written and maintained by Oblate Kathleen Kjolhaug. Reposted with permission.

Listening in Silence

Photo: Nancy Bauer, OSB

“On account of the importance of silence, let permission to speak seldom be granted even to perfect disciples.” Rule of Saint Benedict

I first visited a Benedictine monastery in 1954. What struck me most was the gentle and relaxed silence of that place. There were designated times and spaces where one did not speak. There was nothing unnatural or spooky about it. I soon was accustomed to it and I began to relax.

I had come home. In Saint Benedict’s Rule, he writes, “On account of the importance of silence, let permission to speak seldom be granted even to perfect disciples.” Wow! Even to “perfect disciples.” Benedict knew that one of the needs for community is time when we do not speak.

My wife, Jana, and I do not live in a monastery, but silent love is the foundation of our life. Of course we have plenty of time to converse, but it is godly silence that binds us. It is silence that binds us in a very human relationship and holds our words. Benedict writes, “Listen, my child, to the precepts of the master, and incline the ear of your heart.” This wonderful, astounding word, “Listen.” We cannot truly listen without the gift of silence. We cannot hear God except in silence. We cannot truly hear another person unless we have learned to listen. One of the most loving things we can do is to learn to live in silence so that we may listen with love. Benedict knew this so well. Even the perfect disciple needs silence to listen. I know if community is to abound, we need silence. Only with God’s silence can we hear one another.

Charles Preble, OblSB

Greatness

Photo by Aaron Schwartz from Pexels.com

Have you also wondered how and when we began to become so polarized, so divided, as a people in our so-called United States? Or how our Statue of Liberty’s message is no longer true of our country’s emphasis? We seem more and more given to reject rather than accept refugees, immigrants, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses at our shores: values, words and action we so proudly proclaimed, prior to this last decade.

If, in rejecting those huddled masses at our shore, what if we have silenced a Beethoven or a Mozart among the diverse peoples that seek entrance here? Or what if a poet laureate, a Nobel Peace Prize recipient were among those deported? Or a chess champion who may have drowned close to our shores?

Is it that we continue to think that “they” will deplete our funds, our jobs, our possessions? Might we imagine, at least imagine, how some whom we are rejecting could be the very ones to “make us great again”?

We don’t know where greatness will come from. It seems to me that we deny our own freedom and possibilities when we deny freedom and possibilities to others. Actually we need diversity! Nationalism is debilitating! Refugees and immigrants—throughout our history—have been the answer to establishing new directions in our country.

We create the world we want by the choices we make and the stories we live by. When will we learn that truth again?

Renée Domeier, OSB

Predictability

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Predictability. It’s a good word. The small town in which I grew up offers all of that and more. My best guess is that your small town offers the likes of this, too. When things are predictable, life offers stability, and with stability foundations are built. When foundations can be trusted then our comfort is secure…and when we feel secure we can offer predictability to others around us.

Little things…as little as views out a window can be something that is predictable. I recently read about someone who’d taken pictures of lilacs in full bloom. They noted that it was a reminder of the view they’d had out their window while growing up. It was the scent of lilacs outside this window that greeted and brought comfort. There was the element of the familiar, the stable, the predicable.

I recall a predictable scene from my childhood. Each night from my second story window, I peered out upon the lamp lit street after dusk. The scene before me brought comfort. Mid-summer air conditioning was not a force to be reckoned with back then, and the quietude offered via the slight breeze was predictable. Recognizable was Duke’s gray tank like car parked curbside across from our house, and next to it was Mamie’s house where there was a large concrete wall which held back her neatly mowed yard. Just up from that was the brick church we attended as a family, and if one followed the sidewalk on up the path, one would eventually come to the school, the library…parts of the community offered to all who lived among us.

Today, the brown bricked church remains steadfast continuing to point the way for many a pilgrim. It is predictable when I enter because although some forty years have passed, Glenna still prays in pew. She remains steadfast. Shari’s smile greets announcing all is well. Alisha reaches hand out to grasp, and the baptismal font stabilizes many as does His Word spoken this day. Many a church bell rings inviting all who hear to the table of grace. It’s predictable.

A drive through town turns up a friend walking briskly with husband. Recognizable they are as their family owned the local grocery for many a decade. The store remains the hub of predictability. Although the market is no longer operated by them, the location is the same and so I enter…just because it’s not really a visit home unless you enter the hometown grocers.

I make my way to dad’s house. He is there. Within his favorite chair he sits…waving one finger in the air. It’s a familiar greeting. I like it. It comforts. It is predictable. When dad would drive down the highway of life, he’d greet the oncoming cars in similar fashion. They could never hear his predictable greeting, but I did. “Hey buddy,” he would say all friendly like.

Hometowns are like this. Each has their mainstays along main and for the most part, they are predictable.

However, there is One who is more predictable. There is One who never changes in an ever changing world. He is the One who will never leave us nor forsake us (Heb. 13:5). He is ever present (Ps. 46:1). He is the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega (Rev. 22:13). He is who He says He is and there is none like Him (Is. 46:9). And, it just doesn’t get any more predictable than that.

He not only stabilizes, but He anchors (Heb. 6:19). As He anchors as the Rock…I appreciate His predictability. As Heb. 13:8 says, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” Amen.

Kathleen Kjolhaug, OblSB

This blog was first published on Theology in the Trenches, written and maintained by Oblate Kathleen Kjolhaug. Reposted with permission.

See You Later

Sister Lois Wedl (right) hugging a friend.

My aunt, Virgie, never liked to say goodbye; she preferred to say, “See you later.” Her reason was that goodbye was too defining for her, yet the greeting “I’ll see you later” left things open, even anticipating our next encounter. I have grown to appreciate her piece of wisdom over the years. By replacing a goodbye with a good night, enjoy the rest of your day or see you later. For this reason, I can anticipate our next visit with a sense of hope and gratitude for our relationship. I appreciate this open-ended greeting because it gives me positive energy believing that yes, our paths will cross again.

As I reflected more upon the words “See you later,” I was reminded that even in death we can depend upon our Christian belief and faith in the Resurrection that we will see our loved ones again. Another way I enjoy hearing these words is when guests leave the monastery after having celebrated the Eucharist with us. We encourage our guests to come back and worship with us again week after week as we say, “Please come again.”

If you would like more information about Saint Benedict’s Monastery, please contact Sister Lisa Rose at lrose@csbsju.edu.

Lisa Rose, OSB