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

If It's Not About Love

A heart in the snow of a Minnesota winter

If it is not about love, it’s not about God.

Lately I’ve come upon something in reading the Bible that has revolutionized my way of doing that deep reading we call lectio divina. It is so very simple that I am astounded I did not do it before. Primarily in the Gospels, when I sit down to do reading, I look for love. I guess we see what we are looking for. I ask a very simple thing: What does this say about love? If Jesus is the enfleshment of love, there is much we have to learn and learn and relearn. I have found that some of the most troubling gospel stories are opened up if I ask “Where is love?” It has become my compass, my true north. For example, two of Jesus’s disciples ask Jesus if, when the kingdom comes, can one sit on his left and one on his right. Jesus is quick to put it to them, love is not about power and prestige, but about service, that is, it’s about love. We do best not to think we know what love is when we deep read. It is Jesus, who is our teacher, who will teach us. We will learn about love as Jesus opens our hearts and minds, most especially our hearts. If it is not about love, it is not about God!

Charles Preble, OblSB

Faith is Alive

The monastic schola singing during Christmas Mass

I attended a youth rally earlier this year with some friends. The experience was powerful, to say the least. The songs that were part of the rally were new to me, so I appreciated the projected words on the screen in front of me as I joined in the singing. The youth, along with the other adults at the rally, knew the songs by heart. They sang in full voice as they swayed their bodies and waved their arms in the air. This added to the excitement; they were not afraid to express their love of Jesus.

These people, who freely expressed their faith during the rally, were an inspiration for me. I wanted to be as on fire with Jesus love as they were. My faith grew stronger that evening as I witnessed the people around me. Love was truly in the air, the love of Jesus. I strive to keep my renewed love alive, because it was rekindled that evening. Every day as I take time for private prayer, Liturgy of the Hours and Eucharist, I am nourishing my faith and love for Jesus. This foundation allows me to give to others what was given to me that evening.

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

Lisa Rose, OSB

Summer Wasn't Canceled

One of nature's creatures enjoying the wonders of summer.

“Summer is canceled,” the headline said. The article mentioned festivals and events, large and small, that would be called off for at least a year because of COVID-19. The tone of the article was gloomy, evoking disappointment, fear of boredom and a feeling of deprivation.

Canceled? Really? Summer in my yard began with rhubarb, followed by lilacs and then irises. The birds sing from morning until night. The frogs pick up the chorus at dusk. The seeds I planted have sprouted, and there are flowers to be followed by vegetables. The sun rises and sets every day, and the moon continues through its predictable phases. 

In the evenings, I see kids riding their bikes and families out for a stroll. On my walks, I sometimes hear a sound I call “thwack,” the sound of a dad playing catch with his child, a memory of my father and me in summers long ago. My 46-year-old daughter told her husband she was going to order a new swimsuit. Since they don’t have a pool and their family’s summer trip was canceled, he asked why she needed a new swimsuit. “I might run through the sprinkler," she told him.

Some have called it “the summer that wasn’t.” Maybe it’s something we can still depend on if we look not at our nearly empty calendar but to the work of our Creator and the blessings of staying closer to home.

Marge Lundeen, OblSB