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