COVID-19

Buds on an apple tree, taken by Sister Karen Rose

I come to the crosswalk and need
not stop and look from side to side.
There is no traffic, no student joggers,
no cars coming in for the early shift,
but I hear bird songs I’ve never heard,
notice the drake calling for its mate
in the empty parking lot, watch rabbits
and squirrels race back and forth under
low hanging tree branches. Because
no longer is the early garbage truck
lifting at the dumpsters, I clearly hear
wind in the pines, far off cars whirring
down I-94 and can now hear clearly the
early morning tower bell notifying us—
prayer in five minutes.

Josue Behnen, OSB

Looking for Spring Flowers

Beautiful spring flowers, taken by Sister Carleen Schomer

This is the second day this week that I have gone for a walk expressly to find spring flowers. I just love those cute little purple squills, for example. Since I’ve walked St. Ben’s campus for years, I quickly made a mental list as to where to look. So, I headed straight toward HAB (Henrita Academic Building) because I remember a rather obscure spot near the ASB (Academic Services Building) where just one small bunch of grape hyacinth appears every spring. Sure enough! It was there! Lovely as ever!

Encouraged, I headed to the BAC (Benedict Arts Center) because daffodils/jonquils might already be in bloom between HCC (Haehn Campus Center) and BAC. Well, I found daffodils all right, and tulips, but most glorious were the grape hyacinths there. Can you imagine the beauty of yellow and purple all together in one bed? It will be lovely when the daffodils start blooming. They are in bud stage right now, too.

Still hopeful, I headed to Clemens Library where daffodils and tulips almost always grow beneath the trees between the library and the science building. Ah, yes, they, too, are still only buds. Spring so far has been slow, chilly and windy.

What about Lottie? Would there be tulips in front of this residence hall around the circle drive? No, not much evidence of flowers there. Disappointing.

Next I headed to the West Apartments where a variety of flowers appear near the dumpster on the back side. Daffodils and tulips were in early stages of bloom there, too, and I also spotted more grape hyacinths.

All in all, my walks were slightly disappointing, but I heard the cardinals whistling to one another, as well as chickadees or were they phoebes? Oh, and today was warmer, so I ventured behind the sisters’ garage to find my favorite—two little squills.

That’s hopeful, isn’t it?

Mary Jane Berger, OSB

Servant Leader

Then-Prioress Sister Michaela Hedican washing
the feet of the congregation on Holy Thursday in 2013

Holy Thursday is a time to tell stories. If you have ever been to a Seder, you know all the Old Testament is sung in the lilting and epic song "Dayenu." For most in our group, telling stories is difficult on a good day. Society doesn’t readily recognize the value of work done by the poor.

Could these women understand their stories were as important for us to hear as for them to tell?

Sending the poem “Singapore” by Mary Oliver, accompanied by John 13:1–35, and asking if these two pieces had meaning for their lives, the hope was for each to share some of their story. Oliver’s poem tells of meeting a woman cleaning a toilet in an airport restroom. Sensing the dignity of the woman doing her job, it showed Oliver how “light can shine out of a life.”

Carla, a pink-collar worker from the group, responded the next day. She was at home with her children due to the pandemic.

She didn’t say this to me, but I could tell by her enthusiasm she connected the Scripture of Jesus washing feet and the woman in the poem. Her actions were a joyful miracle. Carla washed her little girls’ feet and gave them pedicures. Pictures she shared showed laughter and love. Her job became a vocation. What I think happened was Carla felt the dignity of her job at the salon and how all work can be graced as she read about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. Somehow washing feet was raised to a new level of worth and her story could be told with pride and humility.

Maybe theologians wouldn’t describe it this way, but I believe her actions on Holy Thursday became her connection to Jesus as Servant Leader and her real Baptism.

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Poverty Perspective

The beginning of the
Mississippi River in Itasca State Park,
taken by Sister Laura Suhr

Coming up against the culture isn’t always easy. Some people liken it to swimming upstream or going against the tide. Most often, once in the water, it’s just easier to go with the flow so-to-speak. That is, unless the flow takes us too far out and we don’t even realize the danger we’re in. When the undertow comes and the waves are high, we find our feet are no longer on solid ground.


Heads up is about all we can manage and some days, if we are honest, all we can do is tread water.

When we do head on into the deep, it does not mean following any crowd just because they happen to be going in that direction. Going deep has a ring of intentionality and purpose to it.

Recently, I read about a saint who has gone before us. I like reading about our brothers and sisters in Christ who have fought the good fight and lived their lives authentically in Christ. No platform did they stand on, no audience did they sell their books to, no latest Bible study did they write, no video series did they create and no column did they write. Not that those are bad things, they just didn’t do that. They did not merely give voice to their faith walk…they spent their lives living it.

This particular saint I read about was Elizabeth Prout. She lived in England in the 1800’s during the Industrial Revolution. Her faith walk was deep and encompassed every inch of her five foot tall frame.

She did something about making the world in which she lived, better. What did she do about the poverty she encountered in the slums? She didn’t lead a march nor did she write the government to point out the problems. She did not run for office in order to change laws. She did something about it by moving in and living as one with the poor. She got others to do likewise and started a community that kept themselves alive through prayer, teaching and working beside those who worked in mills. The conditions in which they lived were so terrible that other believers surrounding them were not only suspicious of them, but opposed to them.

What did she have to say about it? “Lord, no matter how hard my life is, I am happy because I know You love me. I want to share that happiness with my brothers and sisters. And to reach them I must share their lives, work with them and teach them” (Elizabeth Prout).

Leviticus 25:35–36 says how we are to live: “Help the poor among you.”

The closest like-minded saint to Elizabeth Prout that I ever met was a little lady named Marina. She lived the command to love your neighbor as yourself well as she lived in a house that was owned by another who simply allowed her and her family to live there. She swept the dirt on her patio made of dirt. She used a broom made from tree branches nearby. Marina cooked upon the ground mixing food within a large metal tub which also served as the family bath. She often gave up her portion of a meal for another. Sleep she did upon a pile of clothing on a cot within the kitchen because she gave up her bed so that someone else may have a bed. It wasn’t until later that I realized for whom she gave it up. She gave it up for me.

When a neighbor woman in need stopped in, Marina gave her something to drink. When the man up the road who lived in a tin lean-to had no food, Marina gave him hers.

What did she have to say about poverty?

“Much will be expected to whom much is given (Luke 12:48). I’ve been given much.”

Amen.

Kathleen Kjolhaug, OblSB

This article was first published in Theology in the Trenches, a column written by Oblate Kathleen Kjolhaug. Posted with permission. Read more articles on her blog, Theology in the Trenches.

My Unique Experience With a Realtor (Part Two)

Photo: Pexels.com

A continuation of Tuesday's blog...

The realtor and I started to go to the various rooms, one after another, rooms which I had often seen because I stayed there when I returned for a visit. I had no idea what to ask or say to show her I was serious and knowledgeable about buying a house.

Having heard advertisements about Andersen Windows on television, I tried to look and sound smart by asking, "Are these Andersen Windows?"

"Yes," she answered.

At one point, she asked me, "What does your husband do?"

My quick response was, "Oh, he's a carpenter. We live and work in the cities and are interested in moving out into a smaller town in the rural area. He's looking at houses in Willmar and I'm here."

A little later in the tour, the realtor asked, "How many children do you have?"

"None," I replied. At least that was a true response. I could tell that she was beginning to wonder about his weird person who had no children, only one question, yet was interested in this spacious bungalow house with a full basement, a big yard and a garden.

We ended up in the kitchen where we started. Handing me a yellow legal pad and pencil, she asked, "Would you like to sign here, please?"

"No, I'd rather not."

"Sign your husband's name," she said.

"No, I'd rather not. He doesn't like when I sign his name without his approval." By the look on her face, I knew she was thinking, "What a strange woman."

She continued, "Could you give me your phone number where I could reach you if I find a good deal?"

"I'd rather not," I answered.

Looking at her and thanking her for the tour, I could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking, "There is something weird about this person."

I was never so relieved as when I left to get into the car and drive to Clara City to Shorty's brother's house. As I reported as closely as possible all the things she had said about the house and the various rooms, we also laughed hard about "my little white lies" and the uncomfortableness of the world experience. While they enjoyed the humor in it, they also were very apologetic for having put me through this ordeal.

After it was all over, and having shared the experience with Shorty and Dorothy, getting many laughs made it all worthwhile. It was another fun time with them, but there was never another encounter with a realtor.

Margaret Mandernach, OSB

This story was written for Stories Like You've Never Heard Before..., a compilation of stories written by Sister Margaret Mandernach.

My Unique Experience With a Realtor (Part One)

Photo: Pexels.com

After I left my job as director of religious education for two parishes, Raymond and Clara City, Minn., I sometimes came back to visit my wonderful, retired neighbors, Dorothy and Shorty, during the summer.

While I worked there from 1983–85, I was asked to move into the big empty rectory in Raymond, and the pastor lived in the rectory in the neighboring town, Clara City. Why rent an apartment when the spacious rectory stood empty?

My friendly, retired neighbors Dorothy and Shorty were aware that I lived alone and, wanting to reach out to me, gave me a standing invite each evening at 5 p.m. for what they humorously called "Holy Hour." This consisted of homemade wine (made by Shorty), sausage, cheese and crackers followed by a luscious meal made by Dorothy. Not only were they most welcoming, but Shorty's humor, calling our time together a "Holy Hour," was a very attractive quality. So with his many good qualities, I was not surprised when I learned that he once was the mayor of the town and made the construction plans for Raymond's first golf course.

One Sunday after having left my ministry there, I returned to attend the 10:30 a.m. Mass in Raymond, followed by going out for breakfast with Dorothy and Shorty. At one point in the conversation, Shorty said, "We are moving into assisted living in Willmar, so our house is for sale. We have a favor to ask of you. Would you go to our house in Raymond at 3 p.m. this afternoon when the realtor will give a tour of the house? We are curious and interested in hearing what she tells about the house and the various rooms." My guess was that they wanted me to hear whether she uses the description they had given her.

I replied, "I would love to do that for you in return for all your kindnesses and holy hours while I worked here."

After breakfast, we left to visit Shorty's brother in Clara City until close to 3 p.m. when I left to go back to Raymond for the tour of their house.

I arrived a few minutes before the tour began. "Welcome, how are you?" the realtor asked.
Since no one else was there, she continued, "We'll wait for a few minutes." No one else showed up, so she said, "I guess we'll start."

I was getting nervous, hoping someone REALLY interested in buying a house would still be coming. 
I knew nothing about buying a house or what to ask and was getting more nervous. I thought to myself, "Should I be honest and tell her that I am not interested, but that I am here only to report back to a friend all that was said about the rooms and house?" My quick decision was to go ahead and learn about the house so I could keep my promise and return with a report of all she said about the house.

Check back on Thursday to hear how her experience went!

Margaret Mandernach, OSB

This story was written for Stories Like You've Never Heard Before..., a compilation of stories written by Sister Margaret Mandernach.

A Little Nudge

A road through the woods of Itasca State Park,
taken by Sister Laura Suhr

For a long time, I have been feeling a funny nudge inside. Another word for nudge might be a longing. It was as though God has been trying to get my attention. I’ve learned that a godly longing is really a prompt by God. The 14th-century anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing calls this longing a leash. Well, I’m not a dog, but at least a faithful dog only needs a gentle tug on a leash to come along. So I follow the gentle tug in my heart.

What I finally surmised was that God wanted me to take an extended period away from the ordinary schedule to be with God. But where? How? I now find myself living the answer. My wife and I are about to begin our fourth week of sequestration. Life has slowed down for us, way down. We live by ourselves in a very old farmhouse tucked behind trees and opening to fields and woods. It has become a holy time, a time for silence and prayer as well as the round of meals, reading. Time to read that special book that we’ve been putting off. Time to really see what is important and to act on it. Writing letters to loved ones, the lonely. We are far away from daughters, son-in-law and grandchildren, so we have had a Zoom birthday celebration. Not the same, but we are able to focus on what and who is important.

Our world and national situation is not of our making, yet, I believe we can make it a holy time, a god-full time. It makes us realize that, in Christ, we are all one, and are intimately involved with each other.

Charles Preble, OblSB

Pause and Pray

Sister Leonore Mandernach praying in the
Oratory, taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

How do you live each day? After I read a quote by Muhammad Ali, “Don’t count the days. Make the days count,” I was energized by these words with a desire to learn how to live my life to the fullest each day. After prayer and reflection, I realize the power of the words lies within each of us. So, I began to think that in order to do just as the quote inspires me, I simply need to listen to my body and breathe in each moment of each day. 

So, now I do this every morning; when I end my private prayer, I take time to reflect upon each breath; I take it in and then let it go. By doing this natural life-sustaining act in a slow manner, I am aware of being alive. A breath can also become a pause in my day, a reminder to stay present in the moment, a reminder to make the day count, to live it to the fullest. 

I believe that as I practice breathing slowly, everything else will fall into place. I will not rush through an activity, no matter how full my day may be; I want to remember that each moment is important. As we live through the coronavirus, as we stay at home, remember to pause and pray. At Saint Benedict’s Monastery, we have created pauses during our prayer hours, a minute or two to breathe and reflect on the reading we have just listened to.

If you would like more information about our common journey, please contact Sister Lisa Rose at lrose@csbsju.edu.

Lisa Rose, OSB

Empty

Sacred Heart Chapel decorated for a previous
Easter celebration, taken by Susan Sink

I usually wear seven rings. It’s not as flashy as it sounds. They aren’t full of jewels, and they all have a history. A couple of weeks ago I removed all my rings. I thought I would be able to do a better job of washing my hands in this period of vigilance during the COVID-19 pandemic.

I like my bare hands. When I see them empty, I feel as though I am living more simply, down to the basics. They look brave, ready for simple tasks and easy to fold in prayer.

I see emptiness all around me now. My calendar is empty. My cupboards and pantry have empty spaces as I’m taking time to use supplies I already had. When I see empty shelves in the grocery store, I remind myself that I have enough or I can do without.

It is Lent, and the church pews are empty. This is my greatest sorrow, that I cannot join others in singing and praying and hearing the Word. Beyond sorrow is not knowing when there will be wine in the chalice and bread on the plate again.

A few days ago, I asked myself how I could bear Easter, the first time in my long life that I would not be in church on that glorious Sunday. And then I heard a voice say to me, “You will rejoice, for you will find the tomb empty.”

Marge Lundeen, OblSB