I went to a funeral today -- on Shut Down Day at Visitation Monastery

Every Thursday is "Shut Down Day" at Visitation Monastery. I asked one of the sisters this morning how long they've had shut down days. She couldn't tell me exactly. Certainly, when these Visitation sisters lived in the cloister, there was no such thing: the horarium, the schedule of the hours of the day, was set by custom, and was, for the most part, invariable. There were no "days off."

Sometime after they came to bring their prayer and presence to the neighborhood, they became aware that so much involvement with others put their charism of contemplation at some risk - and they, themselves at risk of burnout. I'm told they began by assigning an occasional "shut down day" so they could have some rest from the relentless needs of those they lived among. Then they became a monthly routine. Now they are weekly.

On "shut down days" a sign goes in in the window of the front door of each of the houses: The sisters are not available today. Please and thank you. They don't answer the doorbell. They don't answer the phone - it goes to voice mail. Theoretically.

This has been an intensely demanding week. Last night's Neighborhood Night of Peace took months of preparation and work - and the last several days were extremely demanding. There was so much to be done. (More about that in my next blog - I'm moving out of chronological order here.) Suffice it to say that once the "Night of Peace" event was over last night, and the parking lot of Assumption Church and its kitchen were completely cleaned up, and all the tents and games disassembled, etc. a van full of nuns - and I - trundled across the city to Dairy Queen where Blizzards were the nightcap. Sister Mary Frances and I collapsed on sofas downstairs after that to watch the Olympics for a while. Others went to bed.

On Shut Down Day, you're supposed to do whatever you like - get up when you want - stay in your PJ's all day if you'd rather. But Thursday is the day that Sr. MV goes to water aerobics at the Y, and it was to be my first day in the class. It didn't start till 8, so I did get to sleep in a LOT later than usual (i.e. 7:30 instead of 5 AM). We got back to the monastery about 9:30 and quickly changed our clothes to go out.

Because there was a funeral. (I'm told that most funerals in N. Minneapolis - at least those of people associated with Vis Monastery - seem to occur on Thursdays! So not every Thursday is really "shut down." )

We arrived at Ascension church before 10. The funeral was for "Grandma Aurora," whose bedside I had visited last week with the other sisters, the night before she passed away. We had prayed and sung with her in her tiny bedroom, filled with images of saints and angels. This 91 year old Mexican-American woman was called "Grandma" by everyone who knew her. She had lived in her own home in this neighborhood for 47 years, with her daughter, also Aurora (but sometimes called "Aurora Junior" to distinguish her from her mother. She's a secretary at Ascension Parish, so everyone knows and loves her.

There were three priests and a deacon presiding at the altar: the present pastor, Father Michael O'Connell , another resident priest, and the pastor who preceded O'Connell here. A cantor with a gorgeous soprano voice led the music.

The old church was packed. One pew was filled with members of Grandma Aurora's "Red Hat Club," complete in their purple and red finery. At the end of the mass, the pastor invited their president to come to the lectern to speak. A member of a local Baptist church, she's well known in the neighborhood, too - one of the respected elders of the community. She delivered a beautiful tribute to Grandma Aurora, and a tender word of encouragement to her family and friends.

It was an exceptionally beautiful funeral mass - and I discovered once again how eternal the mass is. Every mass is really part of the one "real" mass of Christ's passion, death, and resurrection. We just generally don't completely notice it even when as we proclaim our belief in that doctrine. And every funeral mass - The Mass of Christian Burial - is part of every other funeral mass. I always notice that. At every funeral mass, I celebrate again the parting with each of my beloved dead - and my hope and faith in our coming reunion in God's eternal presence.


This week, my cousin Gary died. I will not be at services for him. They will be conducted at his cabin up in Alaska. But I will be with my family there in spirit. I wasn't at my friend Richard's funeral in Forks; it happened just after I left there to come here. But grief is still fresh; and certainly at every funeral since my husband Don died, I experience my parting with him over again.

So I sat with my sister-friends who were grieving for their friend Grandma Aurora and for her family - and I wept for a woman I never really met, but at whose bedside I had prayed. I wept for her daughter who is becoming my friend through her connection with the sisters, for her little great-grandson who accompanied her out of the church, his hand upon her casket, tears streaming down his face. And for Dirk, and Charlie, and Liz - and Ronald and Mary, and my parents, and all the others who have been part of my life and who have gone before.

And through the whole mass, I was so totally conscious of the communion of saints - those gone before, and those who still walk the earth. When we held hands at the Our Father, I was between Sister Mary Frances and Sr. Mary Virginia - but I was also holding hands with Donna and Cindy in Forks. And I'd swear I saw my family, my friends at home, scattered through the church - just visible out of the corner of my eye - and when I returned from communion, I sat next to Don and we held hands, as we often used to do.

Afterward, we went to the cafeteria of Assumption School and had a great feast of pulled pork, refried beans, rice, sandwiches, and fresh fruit - the cafeteria was a lot bigger than the parish hall at St. Anne's, but it looked a lot the same to me. It was Miss Linda and her crew who got the applause for providing such a great feast, and I thought of Anita, and Cindy, Donna, and Mary Anne - and all those who have done the same at home.

And then I came back here, put my laundry in, and stretched out to read, but fell asleep. I awoke an hour and a half later, finding myself still on holy ground, and thinking, I need to write about going to a funeral today . . .

I have no new pictures for this blog. Some things you can't snap pictures of. But I wish you could have heard Sr. Mary Margaret read the first reading - - I can't even give you the reference right now, but the words jumped right off the page and came alive as I've never heard scripture read! Amazing.



I'll tell you about the Neighborhood Night of Peace next time. Here's a "coming attraction picture" about that: