Isolation During COVID-19

The Spirituality Center●Studium team on Zoom

Remember when we were living through the first wave of COVID-19 last summer? I felt freedom was taken away from me in a way I have never experienced before. I suspect we all did. I recall one day mid-June when I simply wanted to escape, to run away, to be free. I wanted to go where COVID did not exist, yet that place was nowhere to be found. So instead I started reaching out to more people. I wrote cards, made phone calls, and sent emails. I learned to used messenger through Facebook to connect with a variety of people. Making these connections through social media was exciting; it would take my mind off the current situation, if only for a few minutes. I learned to Zoom, enjoying some face-to-face conversations along with FaceTime.

So now, in December, I ask myself, “How have I continued these connections with the people I re-connected with?” or “How have I been living these days and surviving COVID-19 through prayer, family, faith, and friends?” As we celebrate the season of Advent, we know there is light at the end of the tunnel with the birth of Jesus. I look forward to celebrating the light of Jesus birth, who is bringing light to our world once again.

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

Lisa Rose, OSB

Good Trouble

Photo by Caleb Oquendo from Pexels

I subscribe to The Hightower Lowdown, one of the more radical, factual, grassroots four-page news leaflets that keeps my nose to the ground and my courage aloft! The writers tell the bad as it is and the good as it is as well! The October issue reveals the good as it is: “'Good Trouble’ candidates are winning—and rebuilding politics from the ground up” is the title of the front page and only article in the October issue! We all know that John Lewis fought for real democracy, that he worked to keep a fire burning in all those who were and are in the civil rights movement. Sometimes that meant getting into “good trouble” or “necessary trouble”...and he urged us to participate! Good trouble is happening and winning! There are more “innocents” being elected, more than an occasional oddity! “Bottom-Up politics” is making a difference! Who are these current progressives? They are those inspired by people like John Lewis, Paul and Sheila Wellstone: They are single moms, poverty workers, climate change activists, immigrants, etc. They are organized, determined and winning! They challenge the status quo; they work in the areas of economic fairness, social justice and equal opportunity for all. Groups such as People’s Action, Sunrise Movement, Black Lives Matter, Poor People’s Campaign, Move-on, Working Families Party, and numerous others (many of which didn’t exist before 2016). They start small but they win little by little. You may wish to watch them move forward!

Thanks, Lowdown, for citing the good among us!

Renée Domeier, OSB

Surprised by Joy

 

A mix of autumn and winter at Saint Scholastica Convent

Surprised by Joy is the title of a memoir by C. S. Lewis. His memoir tells us of his conversion to Christianity. Although he had the mind of a skeptic, Lewis, in the midst of that struggle, had his heart pierced with a unique experience that he knew as Joy. The word quite simply means a feeling of great pleasure and happiness. Yet it is even more. Lewis believed that it came from God and was God. Even though he lived in the difficult time of the Great War, God had a way of touching him, surprising him with Joy. Two of my favorite saints, Julian of Norwich and Teresa of Avila, also lived through agues and persecutions, war, and yet God found them and gave them God’s gift, joy.

Consider Joy

No more tame

Than a lioness.
Never to be trivialized.
What is your life

Without this fierce feline
of delight? Why settle
for the well

Mannered life?
Have you lived
So long

And not had Joy
rip through
your heart?

Charles Preble, OblSB

Early Connections with Howard Thurman

Photo by Kelly Lacy from Pexels

OnBeing, MPR, Sunday, October 18, 2020

Krista Tippet knew and admired Howard Thurman; she wanted to interview Pastor Otis Moss III and bring to our attention Thurman’s outstanding inspiration for Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights Movement of the 50s! Pastor Otis revealed this teacher, mystic and deeply devoted writer who spoke of the ideals of America but also of how his Black people had been suffering, and what it would take to “turn the tide” in American racist behavior, thinking, legislating, opposing equality among citizens who were different, colored, “less than” the upholders of a systemic plan that always favored the white race.

So, what is Howard Thurman’s basic tenet if we, who recognize the truth of our being a racist society, want to change the way we live and work, legislate and organize the good things of the Earth?  In his book Jesus and the Disinherited, Thurman underlines how in order to change something exteriorly, we MUST know with interior conviction who we are, what is our basic reason why we live and move and have our being in this society and how we might help to make a long-lasting change in what is not right or is unjust or imbalanced among us. Thurman, according to Pastor Otis, uses the image of our inner selves being the locus of a sea, in which there is an island and on the island an altar, before which an angel with a flaming sword guards this sacred place from an immature or hasty entry by anyone who does not “go through the hoops” of long-lasting discovery and mature, deliberate work in the activity of changing our world: “ Go into the depths of  yourself. Know yourself, first, then go forth into the world to help right the wrongs that continue to haunt us.”

What was it in me that “knew” Howard Thurman? I knew very little about the man nor had I read his book, but something inside of me recognized the rightness of his theory and practice! Am I finding the sea, the island, the altar, the angel with a flaming sword? Howard Thurman lights up my soul. I so want to be part of and contribute to the Beloved Community where George Floyd can breathe, as well as Rosa Parks, Breona Taylor, the indigenous  peoples, women, Jews, Muslims, Latinos, unborn and born children, poor whites, the disinherited wherever they are can breathe again!

And it was such a delight to experience the truth of what Howard Thurman, Pastor Otis Moss and Krista Tippet were writing thinking and presenting  in my own heart!

Renée Domeier, OSB

Who's Your Favorite Teacher?

Sister Katherine Howard teaching at a pre-COVID
Oblate Sunday, taken by Sister Carleen Schomer

Who's your favorite teacher?

That’s been an easy question all my life. In second grade, it was Miss Brunner, who coaxed me out of the cloak room when I was a shy girl in a new school. In third grade, it was Mrs. Howard because she was pretty and her first name was Marjorie, the same as mine. In grade six, Mrs. Armstrong let me sit at her desk and read aloud to the whole class for a half hour after lunch every day. She even let me choose the book—LASSIE, COME HOME.

Miss Jones, my high school English teacher for three years, and Mrs. Patterson, the speech teacher, helped me grow in self-confidence. Mr. Sheffer gave me a barely-passing grade in chemistry (which I had failed) so that I could proceed to college. In college, Dr. Meyer had the same last name as mine. She read my first freshman composition aloud to the class and said, “This is an A paper.” She also nursed me through homesickness.

Decades later, I have learned from several of the sisters at Saint Benedict’s Monastery in classes, retreats and presentations. It was Sister Laureen Virnig who first took my hand to guide me along the path to becoming an oblate. Sister Mara Faulkner was my writing mentor for a time, challenging me to go a little deeper.

Now that I’m unable to see any teachers in person, I am more aware of the lessons found in nature. The natural world has always inspired thinkers and writers to find great truths outdoors or at least out the window. During the pandemic, we have found beauty and hope in the spring and summer. Then we marveled at a splendid array of fall colors and an abundant harvest. Now may we look for the lessons of winter—bare trees letting in light even on gray days, buds sealed tight but still visible, and sparkling fresh snowfall to blanket our sorrows. This is the time to trust our greatest Teacher to reveal what we might learn from the season of winter.

Marge Lundeen, OblSB

Cooking is a Vocation

Sister Dolores Super cooking spaghetti sauce,
taken by Sister Laura Suhr

Last April, during the Stay at Home order because of COVID-19, our cooks stayed at home as we took on their positions in the kitchen. Many sisters were in the kitchen with our aprons, hats and plastic gloves to peel vegetables, wash pots and pans, and prepare the meals. Cooking has always been a favorite activity for me, so I enjoyed taking my turn preparing meals every other day for our sisters living at the monastery.

Preparing meals for 85–90 sisters was a challenge, yet it also brought me great joy. My cooking companion and I would begin our six-hour shift with prayer. We made soups and stews, baked chicken and turkey, steamed potatoes and vegetables. I was energized when I cooked. I always knew that I was a hands-on person; this opportunity proved to be true once again. As we recognize National Vocation Awareness Week, November 1–7, 2020, I am asking you to look at what you like to do; recognize the gift you are and the gifts you have. Celebrate your gifts with joy, it is part of your vocation. I followed my Baptismal call which led me to become a member of Saint Benedict’s Monastery over 37 years ago. It is here where I find great joy and discovered my hands-on vocation of service to others. How have you followed your Baptismal call?

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

Lisa Rose, OSB

Much To-Do About Everything

Masks available for purchase in Whitby Gift Shop,
taken by Sister Moira Wild

It’s been a week of “too-muchness” of some things: positive cases of COVID; who will win the election...and how; concern about what the near future, much less the distant future, will bring; when  we will be back to normal or on to new challenges; restlessness and fatigue while getting nothing done; fighting among siblings; more and more masks to hide smiles and muffle laughter.

It has also been a week of “too-littleness”: too little energy; too little time to just “stand and stare” or sit and watch it snow; too little time to gently listen and converse, much too little time and willingness to admit or grieve loss, death, isolation, lack of touch, hugs, tender glances or anything other than kisses in the air as the kids get on the school bus every other day or a spouse ventures off into the big world of business—would it be safe and kind?

We wonder whether big business will survive the stacks of unsold Halloween costumes this year—from father down to the puppy! Or what if, in the traditional Thanksgiving gathering, we have to uninvite some? What will we be grateful for this year? “Over the river and through the woods” will but linger in our memories; my roasted apple and fresh cranberry salad recipe for 15 will need to be pared down to only 6...if that!

Oh, dear, I tell myself I need to do something positive! So, I decide to empty my waste basket! Now, what is this? A Payday candy wrapper, a newspaper from which I saved of a Jeff Keane’s “Family Circus” to send to a friend, some reworked poetry I had forgotten about, and too many envelopes begging for money usually to feed the babies lying listlessly on their mother’s breast or the beggar wheeling his cart down the hill where he’ll sleep for the night. To which of these will I send my next Payday candy bar? It’s so little for this “too-muchness” day!

Renée Domeier, OSB

The Sounds of Silence

The silence of a winter snowfall,
taken by Sister Karen Streveler

Snow falling on a nearly windless day, the pause between psalms, the second before sleep claims you—all epitomes of peace and silence.

We, at the monastery, love silence. In fact, some days we all keep silence in honor of a season or in prayer during Lent, for example. During retreats, we listen to holy talks twice a day and then read Scripture and/or meditate on those words of wisdom for the rest of the time.

Every morning, we try not to talk unnecessarily in the hallways around the entire monastery, still in keeping with the nightly silence.

But talk isn’t the only way to disrupt quiet or silence.

Machines speak loudly. We humans have invented and invented trying to make life easier and less strenuous. Yet the loud buzz of the lawnmower disturbs neighbors at odd hours, the blaring songs from a car radio might irk the street residences, or the incessant whine from plain two-story buildings in the Arizona desert cause neighbors to demand change.

I recently read an article in Atlantic that revealed this problem to me. The plain buildings belong to a company called CyrusOne and house data stored in the cloud. The article covered the sleuthing done by neighbors to find the cause of the whine, and their ensuing quest to eliminate the sound.

Yes, they were successful in getting the company to provide some sound-absorbing materials, but not to eliminate the sound entirely. The alarming section of the article revealed that sometimes people become so bothered by incessant noises that they become mad/crazy and harm whatever is the source, perhaps another person.

Fortunately, that was not the conclusion in this article, yet this conclusion was almost as frightening. The reporter claims that noise is going to take over, just as a smog does.

What do you think? Are quiet spaces and places on the road to extinction?

Mary Jane Berger, OSB

Election Day

Photo by Element5 Digital from Pexels

An air of excitement was tangible. As residents gathered around the breakfast table, Julia spoke first. “Do you like my yellow purse?” Donny laughed, “That’s silly.” “You’re just a dumb boy,” another voice heard from. “Is it here yet?” “I get to be first,” giggled Betsy.

These residents were dressed in Sunday best engaging in affectionate quips. Today was the day.

For weeks, 17 individuals out of 400+ had been preparing to VOTE. These men and women were differently able. Some were persons with Down Syndrome, others had suffered a brain injury as a child, others still were born with different abilities than most of us. All were living in a state institution for the Intellectually Challenged. This day they would share with us an activity many take for granted. For each of them it was a joy, an adventure. Their excitement was tangible.

The League of Women Voters made sure that those who could vote had the opportunity. A portable voting machine and all the paraphernalia was set up in the gym for those who lived on campus.

The moment had come.

Silence fell over the group as they lined up to cast their ballot.

First out of the booth, Alice giggled the name of her candidate.

“You’re not supposed to tell!” admonished Eddy.

Alice declared, “I’ll tell if I want.”

Being a witness to their pure joy gave me a sense of satisfaction. It was my job as chaplain to help prepare them for this momentous occasion. I held the seriousness of this charge in my heart as I sought to be as objective as possible and explain in simple terms their important responsibility.

Weeks of preparation and it was over in a half hour! Each proudly wore their “I VOTED” sticker.

There were 1,700 employees at this institution. No one was safe from their exuberance. I smiled as these individuals acted as voting ambassadors pointing to the sticker they proudly wore as they moved about campus.

We emphatically declare, “Separation of Church and State.” Yet, I cannot separate voting from my spirituality. Can you?

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Hope

A barn in the autumn woods, taken by
Sister Carleen Schomer

St. Benedict left us with tools for good living. Reading Michael Casey’s book Seventy-Four Tools for Good Living has been enlightening and important during this pandemic. It offers reflections on the fourth chapter of Benedict’s Rule. Questions of “How am I using the tools of helping others in time of trouble, reaching out to strangers, providing comfort to those in pain, and other attributes which guide living a good life.”

Committing hope in God comes to mind today as rain saturates the earth. Yesterday, we planted 100 trees on the farm land. The land is a habitat for God’s creatures and will belong to our grandchildren in the future. Growing these trees is a labor of love, and nature will determine which ones live or die. But, we still plant.

Growing up on a farm, I learned from my parents every year when the crops were planted it was a risk. A risk they were willing to take to feed the family, feed the cows, and feed the hungry in the world. Farmers, above all others, understand committing hope in God. The rain today would have been called “a million dollar rain” by my dad. His reasoning was the crops are in, now we need the rain from God. Trust and hope in God were the mainstays of a farm life. Prayer was vital to that trust and hope. How many of us have heard at Sunday Mass the call to pray for good crops or rain?

Today, hearing the rain, I remembered my dad’s words. Yes, it is a “million dollar rain” and God has provided. This is why we plant crops, trees and gardens. Committing hope in God grows out of a stable and strong faith. Hope is an action, a choice to believe all things are possible with God on our side.

My husband and I will not be able to fully enjoy these mature trees in the future. Trees take years of growth. Yet, our hope is one day our grandchildren will. The perpetual life cycle continues and to be part of that cycle, doing good works, is what God wants of us.

It was this spring I wrote this, and now in October, the harvesting has begun. A good year most farmers here in Wisconsin would say. The trees my husband and I planted in the spring are growing too. And hope will continue to help us feel God’s presence in our lives. Today I viewed the first snow telling me the cycle of life continues. May you find hope in the days ahead of us.

Mary S. Baier, OblSB

Taproot

An autumn tree, taken by Sister Carleen Schomer

For many of us, these are trying times. Pandemic, economic hardship, conflicts fit the news. I had to ask myself where I hope? With so much crumbling around us, what can we cling to? Where is hope? My clue came from Benedict: Place your hope in God alone. But what does that mean? It came to me, the taproot. Some trees have a taproot that grows down in the earth to give it stability and to seek water and nutrients for its life. Without that taproot, it would easily be blown over in hard weather. Hope is that taproot giving us stability and tap into God’s love. Benedict tells us. Never lose hope in God’s mercy.

Place all of your hope in God.
– Rule of Benedict 

Hope is the taproot reaching deep seeking
the mercy of God. Seek hope in your secret place,

and find in the mercy of God a mother’s heart,
urging you on, longing to enfold you,

never to lose you. Then your taproot must go
deeper splitting the rock of a hardened heart.

Growing deeper there is a greater love,
drawing you even into depths beyond

your grasp. As it grows deeper and stronger
other roots of hope extend, all rooted and

grounded, going beyond yourself, reaching
the entire world with hope and love.

The last of  Saint Benedict’s tools:
Never lose hope in the mercy of God.

Charles Wm Preble, OblSB

Healing During COVID-19

This year's Easter prayer request cards in the Oratory

Last April, the beginning of COVID-19 pandemic, everyone at the monastery started doing extra tasks, such as cooking, cleaning and writing thank you notes. One task I offered to do was signing thank you letters for our donors. With each letter I signed, I wrote an extra note including naming their prayer requests along with my promise of our prayers. I appreciated this opportunity to reach out to these friends. Many of the requests focused on health of family members and for the world as we were, and are, continuing to live with COVID-19.

One day after signing 31 letters and replying to their prayer requests, I went to the Oratory for Liturgy of Hours (LOH). As I prayed that day, each request came to mind and heart; as it did, I uttered a prayer for everyone, remembering a quote, “Benedictine women put their arms around the joys, striving, and inconsolable sorrows of the world and turn them into song.” We pray for all our donors and the world every day at Eucharist and LOH.

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

Lisa Rose, OSB

Lost in the Desert

Photo by Boris
Ulzibat from Pexels

Moving her hands through the grains of sand, she spread the pile on a small table and announced that it was a desert. Picture that. Then she asked, “Does the pandemic make you feel as though you are wandering in a desert? Do you feel lost? Alone? Parched?” Yes, I thought. No matter which way I look or how far into the future I dream, all I see is the desert.

“Turn to Isaiah,” she said. With her fingers, she made a straight line through the sand on the table and said, “God provides a way through the desert. God will make a way for us.” Then she made a wavy line through the sand to remind me that God provides streams in the wilderness.

Pause in your trudging across the desert expanse and read from Isaiah. Ponder the words in chapters 33 and 45. Keep watch for the highway and the river. Find hope in Isaiah’s refreshing promises.

Marge Lundeen, OblSB

Honoring Name Days

Angel window at
Saint Scholastica Convent,
taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

In our monastic community, we honor name days every day because usually at least one sister is named after the specific saint of the day. For example, my name day is December 27, which is the Feast of John, beloved apostle of Jesus, even though it might be logical that since my first name is “Mary Jane” that I would want to honor our Blessed Mother on a Feast of Mary. However, I chose my second name because that was the name I had at home. I was “Jane” or “Janie.” Since Jane is a diminutive of John, I chose the feast of John the Evangelist.

Apparently, the honoring of name days is somewhat widespread in a Catholic world because my family of origin practiced this custom, especially within my mother’s family. Her youngest brother was Joseph, and therefore the relatives all gathered at his house on March 19 to help him celebrate his patron, St. Joseph.

On my Uncle Tony’s name day in January, we again gathered to celebrate him. It was a wonderful custom to keep up with cousins and close relatives that my relatives imitated from Grampa, my mother’s dad. He was named Paul and had a brother named Peter, and therefore on the feast of Peter and Paul in late June, we drove to his farm and got together with aunts, uncles, cousins and even neighbors. Everyone brought food so we could have a huge feast as well as spend a great part of the day together, playing games (such as horseshoe), catching up on family gossip, or trying out smoking behind the barn.

It was great fun. I loved knowing I had a huge extended family besides my immediate siblings. The same celebration extended to my father, Michael, as my mother’s spouse. Thus, the Feast of St. Michael the Archangel was a great feast for me and my family. I loved the picture of the Archangel, superior among other angels leading the battle against Satan. He was a hero and extremely good guy!

Even though this is one of those delightful family memories, one realization I have had as an adult woman in a religious community is that the feast and feasting was patriarchal. Never did we celebrate my Mother’s sister, Aunt Fern (Veronica), for example, who was one of the women whose kindness to Jesus on the way to Calvary is remembered through his beloved face imprinted on the cloth she used to wipe his face.

So, when is your name day and how will you celebrate?

Mary Jane Berger, OSB

Renewal and Reflection in the New Year

Mississippi River at Itasca State Park,
taken by Sister Laura Suhr

Rosh Hashanah ended tonight (September 20) when the sun went down. It was a two-day celebration of the Jewish New Year which flows into Yom Kippur next week. These are the holiest days of the Jewish year.

This morning, Shira and I walked along the Cumberland River. We came to renew our friendship as well as share the Jewish ritual she introduced me to and I brought to our Christian community several years ago.

But first, this is a season of chesbon hanefesh. It is a time, all over the world, that Jews take time to reflect on the past year. It is more like a Jesuit Examine that lasts two days than a party, though there is time for celebration. The Jews take this New Year to reflect on relationships and especially their relationship with God. Time is spent recalling what went well and where they missed the mark. An important part of this reflection is to try to make amends with persons one might have hurt knowingly, or unknowingly, during the year.

For the ritual we brought bread to the river, broke it into pieces, and threw it into the water. It is symbolic of throwing away all we have done which is sinful and hurtful. We each shared something we’d like to get rid of during the New Year and then we prayed from Micah, “…cast all our sins into the ocean’s depths…” The intent is to return to the creation God intended, or become our true selves for the first time. Tashlikh means “to cast away.” The water has to be moving water, and Jews have become quite creative in making that happen if they don’t live by a body of water. The whole idea is that the ducks/fish eat the bread and it goes back to the earth fertilizing new growth. We ate an apple on the way back to the farm as a symbol of the sweetness given to us by God through life.

The Jewish New Year is not at all like the New Year Americans traditionally celebrated with parties, dropping the musical note in Nashville, fireworks, champagne, confetti and kissing strangers in Times Square. New Year’s Eve in the United States is quite a contrast to the way Jews begin their New Year which is an introspective and holy time. With the pandemic, I truly felt the need to be and do something different even though our New Year celebration is a couple months away. Sharing the Jewish New Year today helped me look to the future with hope.

I’m wondering if the pandemic will change the way the New Year is welcomed in on January 1, 2021, across the world? What do you think?

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Ruminating in Repetition

Sisters praying Liturgy of the Hours in the Oratory

“Right now, this seems to be a period of time when we’re almost caught in this sense of repetition, each day not knowing where we’re going. There’s not the sense of forward momentum in our lives,” concert pianist Simone Dinnerstein said recently, speaking with an NPR reporter about her new album, "A Character of Quiet." Recording at her home in Brooklyn, N.Y., during the pandemic, she chose music with “a kind of ruminative quality...reflective and introspective, and also painful.”

Every day, three times a day, the Sisters of Saint Benedict’s Monastery meet communally to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, also called the Opus Dei, the work of God. Every three weeks, the liturgical cycle repeats the same sequence of Psalms. Seventeen times a year, they pray—chant and recite—the same cycle. The same words, over and over.

This year, when the world slowed down to shelter in place, my husband and I were able to enter more fully into the Opus Dei. At home, at the same time as the sisters, we pray the same cycle of psalms, timeless cries of the soul to God, in words that are “reflective and introspective, and also painful.” Every three weeks, we repeat the cycle.

About the repetition of notes in Etude No. 16 by Robert Glass, Simone Dinnerstein says, “Even though the notes sometimes just remain the same, the playing evolves...[the] music forces you to listen in the moment, while you’re playing it. Because although it seems at first glance that it’s about repetition, actually, it’s about constant change.”

The liturgical cycle of praying the psalms and listening to scripture readings may seem to be about repetition, but actually it’s about change. We don’t pray to change God. We pray that we might be constantly changing.

The pianist plays the same pattern over and over, and yet, as she repeats that pattern, the music is not static. It is moving, transforming.

In prayer, in the salty-sweet sound of our voices, in meditating on and speaking/singing words scented with the beauty and pain of life, our minds and hearts marinate in truth. We are infused with despair and joy, need and fulfillment, longing and hope, loneliness and connection—the entirety of human experience. As we repeat the cycle of prayers and readings, something is happening. Repetition is bringing our thoughts and feelings into harmony with our speech and actions.

“But you have to be open to it,” the pianist says. “You have to be listening while you’re playing...you have to be open to hearing those changes.”

Bringing our present situations and needs to the prayers, listening to hear changes, we hope that who we are—what we do—will be more and more in harmony with the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts.

Every day to close the midday prayer at the monastery, the leader recites, “May Christ dwell in our hearts through faith.”

And we respond, “May charity be the root and foundation of our lives.”

May we be open to hearing the eternal music of our prayers, repeating, evolving. May we listen in the moment, as we are praying, while the pattern is transforming us.

Tracy Rittmueller, OblSB

We've Only Just Begun

 

The St. Benedict statue in Sacred Heart
Chapel, taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

We’ve Only Just Begun – Song by Roger Nichols

As September begins, I, and many Benedictines begin worldwide, our rereading of the Rule of Benedict. I’ve been reading the Rule for 66 years, at least. If I was faithful, this would mean I’ve read it and reread it about 200 times. I’ve read books and books about the Rule and the Be medicine way. I’ve gone to countless Benedictine conferences and retreats. I’ve been affiliated with Benedictine communities and of late, Saint Benedict’s Monastery for the last 34 years. Yet, Tuesday, when I read the prologue, “Listen carefully, my child,” once again I was thrilled. Thrilled to begin again. Benedict later on in the Rule tells me, “Always we begin again.” We are not finished. As the song says, “We’ve only just begun.” I believe love is like that. We are all beginners in love. That gives us a patch of eternal life. It’s not just one thing after another. It is about one who loves us into being. And God is not finished. Nor are we. Always we begin again.

Charles Preble, OblSB

Walking With God in a Fragile World

Dew drops on a spider web, taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

"Walking with God in a Fragile World"

It's the title of the book I'm reading.

Great title...

But it's that "ing" word that catches me!

No doubt: We ARE in a fragile world
though the word "world" is too global a concept for me.

"World" is big, over THERE

where planes, drones, guns,
bloodshed, deceit, endless destruction
happen daily, moment by moment.

"World" is too far removed from me, HERE

where yellow-leafed trees surround me
and bouquets of golden mums,
food three times a day and coffee in between.

HERE, where I don't constantly worry about

my child out on the street or the horrible fear
in my gut when the telephone sounds...

HERE we have bathrooms, soap and water,

friends to meet our helplessness, and a
chapel to harbor our miniscule worries.

HERE, we have only begun to see and feel the effects

of climactic change.
We doubt that catastrophe
will ever overtake us...NO,
not here in America!

So, LORD, how can I walk in the fragile world...

"over there"
"down south"
"on the east coast"?

"By walking with Me..."

"There's that bothersome 'ing' word again...
something in progress, Webster suggests!

'But I'm beyond 80,' I tell myself; others can do it better, faster..."

Yet, deep within, I hear sounds of another voice:

"That's not enough!
You, my friend, are sufficient to the task too! Wake up!
Are you watching and praying? Not even for one hours?"

"Is that perhaps You, Lord, speaking to me? 'Yes' You say?

Then, help me with those 'ing' words."

Please! Let me never close my eyes to the terrors

of this fragile world
and its impending danger
even as I sit here, even here,
watching and waiting for You,
weeping over our 21st century Jerusalmen,
where millions of seemingly unimportant people die.

We are vulnerable, Lord...

wounded and wounding.

Please, have mercy on us. Please...Amen.

Renée Domeier, OSB

The Rose and the Gardener

A beautiful rose taken by Sister Karen Streveler

She arrived on Mother’s Day, a miniature rose bush in a pot wrapped in floral paper. I regarded her as a house plant and watched five little buds turn into pink flowers. When the flowers dried up, I snipped them off and decided to try my luck planting her in the ground in the backyard, even though I’d always thought roses were too snooty and needy for my kind of gardening. 

She thrived for a few weeks and produced another batch of buds. Alas, the chipmunks found her and nipped off the buds and left them on the ground just to annoy me. 

By then I’d grown fond of her, so I found a larger pot than the one she had arrived in, tucked her in with new potting soil and set her on the front porch. Before she even had a chance to produce buds, I discovered what looked like little eggs on her leaves. Oh no, aphids! Google told me I could either dust her with a chemical or throw her away.

I decided to give her one more chance. I plucked off the leaves where I saw eggs and set her on a garden bench that the chipmunks couldn’t surmount. The afternoon sun beats on her, but I water her every evening. She’s in full bloom. At the first hint of frost, she can be a house plant again.

I want to be like my rose. I trust my Gardener will put me where I need to be and protect me in hard times.

Marge Lundeen, OblSB

Faith and Fun

Sister Lois Wedl participating in a bean bag toss game
at a St. Benedict celebration at the College of Saint Benedict

When I was invited to be part of an evening of prayer followed by a social event with youth, I eagerly said “Yes.” I was energized by their spirit and presence to one another. After the formal faith formation part of the evening, which included the sharing of a sister’s vocation story, many youth and adults started telling each other where they experienced God during the day. After that, it was time to have some fun in the gym. So, after the concluding prayer, everyone present was invited to be part of the bean bag toss; another sister and I were a team. So, adults and youth were tossing the bean bags back and forth until one team reached the sought-after points to claim the title of winner. While many games were happening at once, I experienced faith being shared in the sportsmanship during the evening within this faith-based community of youth and mentors. It seemed so natural for both generations to spread the good news of the Gospel by playing this simple bean bag game; in the end, everyone was a winner. Laughter filled the gymnasium and countless conversations filled the air. So where do you experience fun in your faith journey?

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

Lisa Rose, OSB

How Will We Think of the Year 2020?

The "No Visitors" sign that has been posted
outside of the monastery since we closed to visitors,
taken by Sister Thomasette Scheeler

So far, with more than half of the year over, 2020 has definitely been bizarre. Our usual routines have been totally upset, so that “normal” is foreign. Every day seems more uncertain than the previous one. I can’t ever remember months and months like this before. And, I don’t like it.

Yet at the same time, I do like some things about the chaos of the times we are living right now; for example, that changes are happening.

Because the death of George Floyd, the ensuing protests and riots raised awareness of the ongoing racism in our country, and people are being forced to look around and talk to one another.  Taking a look at our history that points out the need to finish the job of giving “everyone” equal rights, equal status and general equality, becomes a real job for all of us

The coronavirus pandemic has helped us see the reality of the unfairness in many of our systems, such as health care and education. In order for the horrors of the pandemic to be resolved, we need to come together as community to examine the glaring issues facing us. A truly vital issue is changing of the mentality of “me” to “we.” Finding ways to beat the virus must be done together rather than something we tackle individually. Doing this will give us a chance to become stronger as a community, getting important, life-giving things done for all of us. Strengthening our beliefs that we are a nation of strong moral principles is essential to our collective future.

Where is our God in all this? Hopefully, God is right beside us, cheering us to the finish line. Daily prayer strengthens our path and our ability to continue being who we are, people of justice, law, and order.

Will we use humor to get through the hard times? I hope so because this tool is very real in helping us understand the way through rather than around issues. If we laugh together, we can strengthen our bonds and our understandings of one another. Already funny videos and cartoons have been produced that help us laugh at the many inconveniences of the times.

So, when we look back on 2020, we can remember the hard times, the seemingly impossible hurdles, but also the great lessons we learned to forge ahead in making our country a “more perfect union.”

Mary Jane Berger, OSB

Cartwheel

On August 15, the feast of the Assumption, James Martin, S.J., challenged those who follow his blog to create our own Magnificat daring the strength of language Mary used. 

I turn a cartwheel. Great is our Creator!

my spirit sings: You are an Awesome God!
I stood naked before you.
You know my racism, my pride, my privilege.
Purging me of ego, clothing me with goodness,
inviting all to see my whole in you.
What great mercy from all eternity-
Your gentle strength picks up knee-benders kissing with justice,
But the laughing proud mistake their shame for grandeur.
As caged babies cry for mamas, those responsible begin to fall-
blind to riches you have given -
Still, glorious colors sing of a return to you while bullies only see as weak.
Their only smile in photo ops twirling bibles upside down.
Retirement funds they steal, camouflaged tax cuts are their only friends.
They are alone, those golden boys until repentance.
Marginalized have found a home in everlasting arms
For you remember justice.

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Learning to Let Go

A brilliant sunrise taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

Be still and know that I am God. So often I hear these familiar words from Psalm 46:10 and I bristle. The irony is that when we do attempt to be still, the more uptight we become. Rather than becoming quiet and serene, we see how unquiet and uptight our heads really are. The Jewish translator, Robert Alter, translates the verb “be  still” as “let go.” Literally it means to relax one’s grip, like a clenched fist that has been holding on so tight, and then loosens its grip. “Be still” sounds like something a nervous parent might say to a fidgety child. It doesn’t work. The child becomes more restless. The same for the rest of us.

Alters’ translation reads, “Let go, and know that I am God.” This is what God is saying: “Trust me, I am God. You are not. So learn to let go." It’s a practice. Like any practice, it takes practice. It must be practiced. It is good when you are having trouble falling asleep. It is good when that “moron” irritates you once more. It is good at prayer time. Really good. You are not God. God is God. Let go. We need to loosen our grip.

Charles Preble, OblSB

Learning From Henri

A serene summer scene, taken by Sister Carleen Schomer

I got there early so I could sit in the front row. His books had meant so much to me, and I didn’t want to miss a word of his two lectures. There, in the sanctuary of a Lutheran church in Fridley, Minn., on an October Friday in 1980, I was in the presence of Henri Nouwen. Little did I know that he would remain my mentor 40 years later.

His first lecture was about compassion. I often recall some things he said that day. To be compassionate, I must be willing to listen to another’s pain, not rush to try to fix it. Care, he said, is more important than cure. The two ways we show our compassion are by our presence and by our absence. My presence can be a sign of God’s presence. Then when I go, you can know that God will stay. Henri said this is why Jesus’ leaving was as significant as His coming.

Henri kept us so quiet. In fact, after the coffee break between the two lectures, he had us sit in silence and then sing a simple hymn together. I didn’t know hundreds of people could be so quiet together.

The second lecture was about patience, which he called the discipline of compassion. To be patient means to experience the now. Dig where you stand, he said: the treasures of God are beneath your feet. 

In 1980, I had never heard the word oblate, but the day that I listened to Henri Nouwen was no doubt when my Benedictine journey began. He named three disciplines for one who aspires to the Spirit-filled life: worship, Scripture and solitude. Then he talked about the difference between introspection and extraspection. Introspection, in his opinion, is just a deeper look at the old self. Extraspection asks, “Who am I in Christ?” Introspection, then, should not be seen as ongoing attentiveness to God.

At that point I owned two books by Henri Nouwen—Out of Solitude and With Open Hands. Now there is a longer row on my bookshelf. They have served me well. He died 24 years ago, but his legacy and influence have flourished through the work of the Henri Nouwen Society. Seven days a week, I receive a daily meditation available by signing up on the website. Even in our present turbulent and unpredictable times, I learn from Henri through his words of hope and encouragement.

Marge Lundeen, OblSB

Will You Pray For Me?

Sister Luanne Lenz praying in the Oratory,
taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

Earlier this year, I attended an evening of prayer and praise. At one point during the evening, I was asked to stand in a circle with several religious sisters and brothers. The other people in the attendance at the youth rally were invited to come forward, one at a time, to one of us in the circle and ask for prayers. A young woman approached me and asked me to pray for her anxiety. A young mother came forward and asked me to pray for her children. My third request came from two siblings; “Will you pray for our sister?” they asked me. Many more came forward. I was in awe at their trust in the power of prayer and in me. I would ask their name at times, hold their shoulders, look them in the eye as we exchanged a few words. Each encounter was an encounter with Jesus. With each prayer request I listened to, I respond in love, the love of God. I was moved by their belief in the power of prayer. I continue to pray for these people every day at Liturgy of Hours.

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

Lisa Rose, OSB

Cemetery Walk

Landscaping in the monastic cemetery,
taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

This late in July, the grounds at Saint Benedict’s are exceptionally beautiful. The lawns are lush, and the trees more majestic than ever. I’ve noted in earlier blogs that the flowers are showing their glory everywhere.

Today, I wanted to see Mother Benedicta Riepp’s grave because Sister Ephrem Hollermann plants lovely pink petunias and bright orange marigolds in a small plot by Mother Benedicta’s tombstone. Mother Benedicta is the foundress of American Benedictine women, and thus S. Ephrem tends it lovingly every year. It was gorgeous and healthy looking.

This month, various sisters have been excited about recent changes in the cemetery. So, as I stepped into the entrance, I was pleasantly met with more light than I have ever encountered in our cemetery. The sisters were right! The grounds have been changed considerably because of many trees that have been removed.

Now I see more space for the sisters all around, but also for the friends of sisters who are buried along the north side closest to the St. Joseph Cemetery. Much more natural light streams onto the grounds. Also, several areas are so much more spacious, giving the impression of expansion. In recent times, I have begun wondering if we might be running out of room in the near future. Will there be room when God is ready for me?

Ah, yes, I am assured that we will have plenty of space. We have meticulous records of sister deaths and where they are buried. In fact, if you visit, a notebook is available at the entrance to help you find any sister’s gravesite there.

Mary Jane Berger, OSB

Pandemic

A monarch butterfly rests on a beautiful flower, taken by Sister Carleen Schomer

I don't need a church building. I need people who once filled pews.
Community my sacrament, life giving grace, Christ’s sign of kiNdom.

COVID silenced choir’s voice; my own since pneumonia.
But, my porch welcomes Handel, Mozart, Yo-Yo Ma, Bernstein for a Prelude.

Nightly News is sin I confess. “Sisters and brothers, I confess to Yahweh I have sinned. I have railed at WH stupidity with words a sailor might not know…”

Forgiveness comes: a cashier’s eyes meet mine—a smile over masks.

Daily, baptism renewed with shower’s rush.
Water colors whisper invitation, “You can sing and pray with color!”  

Offertory of artful masks, made and given.

Lament psalms bring tears for loss of children.
Praise erupts—a text, an email from a friend.  

Once weekly “Good News” most treasured homily arrives—not Scripture
But a cherished childhood friendship now renewed love transformed.

Another joins a meal on Zoom.
Toasting wine and breaking bread,
We become communion.

Benediction? Trees circle, filter
air is clean and fresh.
Song birds sanctuary
chemical freedom here.
Deer wander, turkeys and poults, possum, raccoons venture close.
Blessings abound.

I twirl and blow blessings.
“Take that, you pandemic! Take that”

Pat Pickett, OblSB

I Wonder...

Our monastic community blessing Sister Bridgette Powers as she
renewed her monastic profession, taken by Sister Nancy Bauer.

What would it be like to really love the world?

An indigenous storyteller might say...

"To love the world would be to create...or better...to find ceremony
in the return of salmon to Oregon
in the wild strawberries in a father's favorite dessert
in permission sought before destroying the ecosphere
in the green beans crawling up a corn stock for support
in a reverent stance before land, sea, air or animals
or in the magnifying of life and community when I am practical, thoughtful, grateful.

Ceremonies have power...

They fuel our beginnings, values, send-offs into new, bigger life and responsibilities.

Communities create ceremonies...and ceremonies create community:

installation ceremonies
jubilee ceremonies
retreats and deaths
a shared feast, like Babette's
a walk in the forest, an hour near water
or just looking, pondering, loving, praying.

It's all here, all now, in this moment when life is noticed and applauded," says my guru.

"In this moment, we come to know who we are, and to Whom we belong."

Renée Domeier, OSB