Finding my way . . . 2013

I have not made an entry in this blog since I left Visitation Monastery last January 7 - and now it is October. So there is a gap of some 10 months. How do I bridge from where I was then - at Visitation Monastery - and where I am now, with the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary in Monroe, Michigan?

I will try to make a bridge that will fill in the gap. But journeys are not always simple, as you will see.

When I left Visitation in Minneapolis, I went first to California where I celebrated my 75th birthday with my family. Then home to Forks, WA in February to settle back into my home of nearly 40 years, where I stayed, for the most part for the next several months, giving myself time to assess and own all that has been happening to me these past two years.

I knew that my Visitation experience was necessarily time-limited. I was there for the 6 (to 12) month Monastic Immersion Experience - which I encourage others to check out! It was an amazing, life-giving, and life-changing experience. I will never be the same, and I'm grateful for the gifts which I took with me when I moved on - gifts of prayer, community, and a vision of Gospel living which I will continue to try to implement wherever I am.

I knew when I went there, that I would go from there to pursue a relationship with the IHM Sisters.

Mass at Visitation Monastery 2012 

Preparing for Jubilee Mass at IHM Motherhouse 2012

The IHM sisters are an apostolic congregation - famous for their high level of education, for their work as educators and for their leadership in implementing Vatican II in religious life. Their lives were very different from the monastic Sisters of Visitation. They taught school, worked in college ministry, were professors in universities - too many ministries to even try to summarize.

Forks High School
as it was when I taught there.

When Don and I moved to Forks in 1974, it was with a clear sense that God was calling us there. This is where I finished raising my kids and where I taught for 27 years at Forks High School.  My students and colleagues at QVSD are my lifetime friends, as are my fellow parishioners at at St. Anne's Parish where I have lived nearly all of my Catholic life. I needed time to enjoy being in Forks and to make preparations for what was to come. I have never before ever considered a life not based in Forks.

In June I traveled with my daughter-in-law Mary to Monroe, Michigan to begin a new life with the IHM Sisters. I had discovered that I really would like to be a religious Sister, a nun, but I am too old to be accepted for profession. However, I am becoming an Associate member of the IHM congregation. I have been here nearly four months now, and I love my life. I live across the parking lot from the IHM Mother House in a facility called Norman Towers.

It used to be called the Hall of the Divine Child (more familiarly, "the Hall"  back in the day when it was a military school for elementary school boys). Most of the older Sisters lived here in summers when they were "home" from their missions. Now it is a retirement residence. I have a two room apartment here, which I have made my home. My room is on the third floor in the southwest corner - hidden behind the evergreen tree to the left.

I go every morning to mass at the Motherhouse. I take most of my meals with the Sisters in their dining commons. I do some volunteer work in the house - mostly reading to Sisters who have failing vision. I participate in retreats, attend concerts in the chapel, and generally share life with the retired Sisters who live there. And I have friendships with some of the Sisters who are still active. Several of them live in Norman Towers where I live. I am taking a turn at Norman Towers leading Sunday communion services for those unable to get out to church.

When people ask me why I am here, I am almost at a loss to know how to answer. I always knew what my calling was - I was called to marriage, to motherhood, to a career as a teacher, to live in Forks, Washington. But after Don died in March of 2009, I began to have a longing to a different sort of life - a life that was focused, prayerful, sacramental. I wanted to live among religious Sisters and share their lives, even if I couldn't be a Sister myself.

When I visited the Monroe IHM campus for the first time it was to attend a conference of folks involved in the "A Nuns' Life Ministry," an online ministry helping people to discern the call of God in their lives in a very broad sense. I had begun volunteering with this ministry after I closed down my educational consulting business. I have had a great interest in how to build and maintain online communities since getting involved in the Virtual High School toward the end of my 30 years of teaching, so working with an online community of folks interested in prayer, spirituality, and religious life was a real joy for me.

But in coming here, I began to recognize a real hunger for the life I saw here . . . and I began to discern with others here - and with my spiritual director - what might be still possible for me at this point in my life. I was grateful to be invited to the Monastic Immersion Experience at Visitation along my way, because I was seeking a life of deeper prayer and meaningful community.

So now I am in Monroe, MI. I'm just completing the formation process for becoming an Associate member of the IHM congregation - my family will be coming in December to celebrate that event with me - which means more to me than they can possibly know.

So, having provided at least this fragment of a bridge, perhaps I can begin to share the bits and pieces of my life here that I find so very rich . . .

Come with me.  I'd like to share this journey with you . . .

Bright Darkness

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard Manley Hopkins

It's winter now in North Minneapolis, in the New Highlands neighborhood where I am living with the Visitation Sisters. It started snowing night before last and we had 16 inches before morning. The snow was fine and powdery - very dry compared to the soggy wet snow we sometimes have out in the Olympic Rain Forest where I have lived for nearly 40 years. The snow is here to stay for a while. It's deep and beautiful and, on the roadways, lies over several inches of ice. Traffic is at a near standstill, I'm told, out on the main roads. It takes 2 hours to go what usually takes a half hour.

I took this picture of Sunny last
summer when the grass was green
and growing fast. He tries to time
work so as to not interfere with our
prayer times in the Monastery. But
this week, he had the walks and drive-
ways cleared before we left Girard for
Fremont at 6:30 in the morning. I
was told that he arrived to do that
about 5 AM.

We have a neighbor here - Sonny, they call him. He shows up with his shovel and snow-blower early in the morning every time it snows. The rest of the year, he mows the lawn and helps with the gardening. He's been doing it for several years. A long time ago, he was having some real difficulties in his life. He did some hard work to get his life in order, and when he had done that, he came to the Sisters and told them that, because they had "been there" for his family in the years when he couldn't be, he'd be the one to take care of lawn mowing, yard work, and snow removal from that time on - or, in his words, until he was no longer able to crawl to get there. So he does this labor of love year in and year out.

Sister Mary Frances took a look out the front door, saw our walkway from the house to the sidewalk, the sidewalk, and the driveway all cleared, yesterday morning, and exclaimed, "Words made flesh!"


It is Advent. We are all preparing for the coming of the Lord--on so many levels.

The Visitation Sisters of the Federation - a group of Visitation Monasteries in the U.S. which have a "familial relationship" with one another - in a mission statement issued recently spoke of moving ahead into the future in "bright darkness." 

Advent is the beginning of the Church's liturgical year and liturgy is mportant at Visitation Monastery! The Advent materials come out of storage. It's been traditional here to use blue - the color of Mary - for Advent. In the new mass Source Book, published this year, we read, "Blue is forbidden for Advent in the United States. The only approved color is violet."

I noticed at the Sunday mass at the 

Basilica last weekend, 

the Rector of the Basilica was robed 

in gorgeous blue, with matching 

banners and ante-pendium on the altar. 

Ascension used a combination of purples 

and blues. We used the materials that were 

on hand. Forbidding blue seems a strange 

priority to me, living in this place.

Somethinglike straining at gnats 

and swallowing camels.

Well!

Our "main chapel" is at Fremont House, but we use the one at Girard House where I am living frequently for Night Prayers (Compline). Today because of the very heavy snow, we had Morning Prayer and a communion service separately in the two houses because it would have been so difficult to dig out cars and driveways in time for the 7 AM service. So four of us in each house, in the two chapels, greeted the day with the familiar chant, "Open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise."

I have come to love the rhythm of monastic prayer. The cadences of the familiar words of the psalms - the whole "package" repeated every four weeks - takes on new meaning every time I hear and sing them. Psalms were meant for singing, but I've never experienced them in that way before. Every time we chant them, I hear something new I'd missed before.

That expression, "bright darkness" has stayed with me the past couple of weeks as we prepared for and begun our observance of Advent, and it has been mentioned many times in our shared reflections during the Divine Office.

The quilted antependium reminds me of

the ocean, with breakers rolling in.

 The candle screen functions as a veil for

the tabernacle and the evergreen and ivy

flank it are symbols of eternal life.

I was attempting to create that sense of

"bright darkness." The statue of Mary at the

is one of the "treasures" of this monastery.

It is very old, they say, and was left to

the Sisters as a legacy by one of their

long-time friends here.

I had it in mind when I decorated the chapel here in Girard House where I am living (one of my "charges" is caring for this chapel).

Marian devotion is an important part of the spirituality of the Sisters, since their very name draws from the story of the Annunciation. After the Angel Gabriel had made his announcement - and Mary had given her YES, she went to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who was then 6 months pregnant with her son, John, known to us as "the Baptizer." The love and mutuality between Elizabeth and Mary has always been a central to Visitation spirituality. The hospitality underlying it is the life source of the Sisters presence here at Visitation Monastery.

The people who come to our door for help - the people who come to share with us in helping them - the life of the Sisters poured out generously in this place - all speak to me of bright darkness. 

The bus stop is across the street 

from our house, visible from the 

side window of our chapel. If it 

looks cold in daylight here, 

imagine it at 10 PM. 

Last night, on the way home from praying office here at Girard, we saw a family - a woman pushing a baby stroller - holding the hand of a toddler - and a man following at some distance behind them. It was nearly 10 PM and it was very cold. The woman was having trouble getting the stroller on and off the sidewalk while crossing the street. The Sisters asked if she was OK, if she needed help. She said they were on their way to a homeless shelter and were almost to the bus stop. As the Sisters pulled in the driveway, the bus pulled up and the family got on.

I look out the window in our Fremont chapel through the translucent stained-glass window and see snow piled high on shrubs and tree branches and rooftops - see the buses and vehicles passing by - sometimes the flashing lights of a police car - and it's all bright darkness.

On the first Sunday of Advent, in Father Michael shared a story from the publication Give Us This Day, which our community and many others use as a reference for the daily mass and office readings (I recommend it, by the way, as better than other similar resources I've used in the past - see www.giveusthisday.org for information on obtaining it.)

So the story was not original to Father Michael - nor to me here in this blog.

"For Jack's 10th birthday, the family went out to eat at his favorite restaurant. It was a Chinese place where Jack always ordered extra - so that he could enjoy the leftovers for days. After dinner, Mom, Dad, Jack, and a friend that Jack had brought along were walking out to the car. A homeless man stopped them and asked for a couple of bucks. Unprompted, Jack offered the man the Styrofoam container he was carrying, full of his precious leftovers.   

Jack's mom was, of course, touched by this act of generosity. As she followed the boys into the parking lot, she overheard the friend say to Jack, "Wow, man. That was cool. I bet that sure made God proud." Jack said to his friend, "Maybe that was God."

Don't know whether Jack and his family had been directly touched by the teachings of St. Frances de Sales, but Jack's question exemplifies Salesian spirituality. And it exemplifies what the Visitation charism means: to LIVE JESUS - to be Jesus to others, to see Jesus in the other.

I have come to that awareness in doing "door ministry" here. When the doorbell rings, I love going to answer the door. And I do see Jesus every day. I have a new respect for people who live in continuous poverty - who, when they are lucky enough to find work, they then have to figure out how to get there and back every day - and how to stretch the little they make to cover the basic necessities. They come with simple requests -

Sister, I get paid on Friday, but I need a couple of bus tokens to get to work and back tomorrow.  If we have the tokens, we are able to give them (no more than two in a month). How do people working for minimum wage afford to get to their jobs at $3.50 a day? Owning a car is not an option for most people who come to us for help. For those who do, the request might be for help filling up the tank - or, yesterday, a request for a ride to the DMV to get new tags. 

And yet, when I ask, How are you today?  I almost always hear, "I'm blessed, Sister!" or, "I'm sucking air, Sister, and I'm grateful to be alive," in one case recently. And when they leave, sometimes carrying a sandwich with them, their thank-you's almost always also include, "Have a blessed day, Sister!"

There is great dignity in homeless people. They sleep in a shelter at night, but must leave during the day. They go about the business of survival, finding the resources they need to make it to the next day: a meal at a soup kitchen, a place to get indoors and stay warm (this is one of the hardest things to find), a thrift store where they can buy a pair of boots or shoes, mittens, a sweatshirt to layer under a thin jacket, a token to get on the bus . . . 

Often after the practical, material need is met with a token or a grocery store $10 gift card, I'll sense a further need. Is there anything else I can do for you? 

Could you say a prayer with me, Sister? 

So I find myself, standing on the freezing front porch - or in the entry hall - joining hands with a stranger whose needs I cannot begin to comprehend.

This is the sort of prayer I'm likely to pray:

God, it's cold out there today and it's hard to be needing so many things that are out of reach. Help us to get through this day, knowing that even when it's hard, You walk with us. Give this brother/sister what they need to get through today. But also give them the gift of Hope, the gift of Courage to keep going and to believe that even when You don't solve all our problems, you continue to love and support us. Save us all from discouragement and despair. Help us remember, Jesus, that you, too, were homeless - you said that the Son of Man had no place to lay his head. Help these dear people to have a good life in spite of all their troubles. Help us to help each other through these hard times.

At the end of his homily last Sunday, Father Michael spoke eloquently of our being God's beloved children, of how we need to learn to cast away the shame of our imperfection, and celebrate the goodness for which we were made. He spoke softly, persuasively, gently - and he began singing to us, singing like a father sings a lullaby to a baby - no accompaniment - just his voice floating out to the people there . . .

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
Calling for you and for me;
See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching,
Watching for you and for me. 

    Come home, come home,
    You who are weary, come home;
    Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
    Calling, O sinner, come home!

Tonight the Sisters and I went to the Basilica to a Taize Service of Reconciliation - beautiful music - a repetitive sort of chant - as background. Lighted candles which we placed in sand buckets at the foot of a large icon of the crucified Christ. And one at a time we were able to get up and go to one of 8 priests located at the periphery of the room to make confession, to make ourselves ready for the birth of the Savior.

Basilica Taize Prayer Service - Click on image to
hear a recording of the song.

Laudate omnes gentes, laudate Dominum.

Sing praises, all you people, sing praises to the Lord.

We live in a terrible mystery of goodness and awfulness  - 

and it's the most beautiful sort of life I've ever known. 
Truly, there lives the dearest freshness deep down things.

Bright Darkness!

That time of year ... when yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang upon the bough . . .

There's been a distinct shift from summer to fall this past week - some days are still hot. Eighty-one the other day. But nights are very cool - and mornings are crisp and chilly. The leaves are starting to turn. They say it'll be a short foliage season this year because of the long summer drought. But it's turning out to be spectacular!

So let me tell you about my Sunday at Visitation Monastery

in the Monastic Immersion Experience:

Morning prayer is at 8:30 on Sundays (7 AM M-F, 8 on Saturday). I love going to Morning Prayer. Our two houses are only a block apart, so it takes very little time to transition from Girard to Fremont where we have Morning Prayer.

By the time I got to the kitchen this morning, I could hear the little gong signaling that it was time to begin.  Sister Mary Frances was already playing a prelude on the little organ in the chapel when I got there.

We all stop at the shelves and pick up our books - finding my way through the office books is still a challenge for me, but today was just a regular Sunday - Week 2 in the 4 week rotation of psalms. The chapel is tiny. There's room for just the six chairs, a bench across the back where Sister Mary Frances sits at the organ, and the beautiful cruciform Christ backed by the stained glass window. (The window was made deliberately transparent, so we can see out to the street and the intersection of Fremont and 15th. What happens outside those windows is meant to be part of our prayer.)

We each have our assigned chair. I am tucked in between Sisters Mary Virginia and Mary Margaret on the outside wall. Across from me are Sisters Katherine, Karen, and Suzanne. Our Chinese Sister-in-Residence, Mary Mau and our VIP Intern Anna sit on the bench on either side of Mary Frances.

The Sacrament is reserved in our chapel, so each sister makes a profound bow in that direction as she enters. The routine has become familiar - and my heart always leaps for joy when I take my place.

Because I have a condition called Sjogrens, my vocal cords don't work well, so I try hard not to compromise the sound of singing and chanting by sneaking my thin, creaky voice in between those on either side of me as the two sides sing antiphonally. I find that I am always happy when my favorite psalm passages happen to occur when it's "my side's turn." Strange thing to be made happy by something so simple.

Each week, different sisters are assigned different roles in celebrating the Divine Office. I haven't quite figured out what each one actually does, but it's second nature to them: there is a chantress, a reader, an office planner (who picks the hymns?) and an officiant.  I don't have any of these roles; I just have to try to keep my place, be on the right page, and join in when it's "our turn." And keep my voice "invisible."

Sometimes visitors are with us. There weren't any this morning. I look at the figure of Christ and the glorious window. I look at the vase of flowers placed at the foot of Christ. And I look at the feet of the sisters, and I think, "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those who bring good tidings . . . "

The Divine Office is very simple: In morning, mid-day, and evening there are three psalms, each with its own antiphon. We all sing the antiphon. One sister sings the opening two lines of the first stanza, the rest of those on her side chime in with the rest. The next stanza is sung by the those of us in the other choir, like playing tennis with our voices - and then the antiphon. Then there is a pause and we are free to speak of something that has to do with the psalm or the reading or with our life in the neighborhood.

Today some shared thoughts on the workshop we went to last night at the Basilica on Faithful Citizenship; it was taught by Father Michael Joncas (the writer of many of my favorite songs, including On Eagles' Wings) and reviewed the pastoral letter of the U.S. bishops on how we Catholics should form our consciences when preparing to vote. And, to my surprise, it was an amazingly helpful and illuminating evening for all of us. He laid out the principles so clearly - and made so clear that once we'd moved through those steps, we each had to consult our own consciences and make a determination based upon our own prudential judgment as to how to mark our ballots. No one - not even the bishops, not even the pope - can violate the sanctity of the individual conscience. The consistent teaching of the church has been that one is obliged to act by his or her own conscience - even if that conscience may be in error! What a great thing to hear that articulated so clearly once more.

Then the organ began and we sang the next antiphon, and chanted the next psalm. And again paused to talk briefly about the things that have happened in the neighborhood in the past few days: a terrible massacre at a business only a mile from here where six people were killed and two more lie in hospital in mortal danger; a fight where homeless people hang out behind the local supermarket where a man was stabbed to death. And a dear friend awaiting news as to whether her chemo is going to save her life.

And then the next antiphon, the next psalm.  After that there was a reading from scripture. Then we sang a response. And then we sang the antiphon for the Canticle of Zechariah which is sung every morning. And then there was a dismissal.

After Morning Office, we always put our books back in our baskets on the shelf and gather in a little circle in the front hall. As soon as all are present, we bow to one another, saying  in unison, God be praised! Good morning, dear Sisters!

 The first time I saw this happen, last summer when I visited, I was filled with a stab of pure delight! I said inside myself, I love this! Why do I love this? And every day I have been here since, I am delighted once more. I feel the love of these people for one another that has been tempered over the years, and I am glad to share in it. Then we share announcements for the day, special requests and concerns (has anyone seen my lost green sock?), who has the car signed out for when? and so forth.

As soon as our morning "meeting" was finished, we piled into the van and headed for Ascension church for Sunday mass. Sister Mary Mau and Sister Mary Frances decided to walk - it's only about three or four blocks. They actually beat us there. I found my favorite spot down by the music group, and settled in. Mary Mau and Virginia joined me in that pew. I like to watch the musicians - and I wanted a good vantage point for taking a few more pictures.

My favorite musician is Pedro. I think he's about 10 years old, and quite a good musician. I love to watch him taking his role so seriously among the adults there.

Sr. Mary and Sr. Mary Virginia joined me in my pew:

Father Michael O'Connell delivered the homily today. He was grim. He spoke about the violence in the neighborhood the past week: the massacre, the knifing. And

some of the other tragedies of the past few months. A three-year old whose family rule is that if you hear gun-shots while you are at dinner, you take your plate upstairs where there's an interior room that will be safe. A gunshot tore through the wall of his house and killed him on the stairs. A short time later, a five year old, asleep on his grandmother's sofa was killed when his house was riddled with bullets from an automatic rifle. A short time later a homeless man was accosted one night on the sidewalk outside the church by a gang of young people and beaten to death. Father Michael told us that there were special sensors posted on power-poles throughout the city. They record all instances of gunfire and can be used to triangulate and find the source of the shooting. In 2011, there were more than 800 shots fired in our neighborhood.

Father Michael told us that at the conclusion of the service, after we had blessed the children of the parish, we would all process down the street to the site where the homeless man was knifed, and we would hold a prayer service there. So out we went to the closing song, out the front door and down the sidewalk, servers leading the way, carrying the processional cross, Father Michael and Patty Stromen leading the way.

Then we returned home. Four sisters live in each of our houses. I live in Girard. There were only three of us home for breakfast. Sister Karen has been out of town at a meeting of the Visitation Federation in Washington, DC. So Sister Mary Frances fried bacon and eggs for our breakfast, and we made some toast and shared our meal at the dining table while reading the Sunday New York Times.

Afterward, Mary Frances and I helped clean up after breakfast while Mary Virginia made a pecan pie for dinner tonight. Then we all went about our own affairs. I worked on my messy desk for a while. (Yes, it followed me all the way here from Forks!)

And then I went out to take a walk. I decided I wanted some pictures of the newly turned foliage before it is gone. They say we have another week of this gentle autumn weather and then it will turn cold and blustery. I walked all over the neighborhood. I met people I knew here and there - and was glad to share in the general good will that the sisters have earned in the neighborhood. It was a beautiful day.

And now I am working on this blog, downloading my pictures, and trying to get those stacks of paper organized and put away. I'm going out in an hour or so to a performance of Mexican music and dance with Anna. Some of the other sisters went to the show last night while I was at the workshop on Faithful Citizenship with the rest. So we'll miss Evening Prayer at 5 PM. That's when the show starts. We have the car checked out (and Anna will drive! I'm not very comfortable driving at night - nor driving the Prius). We'll miss dinner, too, but we'll warm ours up in the microwave when we return.

And I've just remembered! I must save time before I leave to set the table for dinner. That's one of my responsibilities -

Later . . . 

Anna and I went to Celebremos MEXICO! a program of music and dance presented by my friends Sevaro and Melina Garcia as "a way of sharing the culture and heritage of Mexico with the community."

And then back to Girard to find the other sisters all deeply engaged in a game arond the dining table. Today is the beginning of the Moon Festival - a mid-autumn festival in China, so they were playing Sr. Mary Mau's favorite game, Spinner dominoes, between dinner and night prayer. I warmed up my dinner and ate it as I watched the game conclude.

Then upstairs to our little Girard chapel for Night Prayer which is very brief: one psalm, a responsorial, and the Canticle of Simeon.

We sing, 
              Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake; 
              watch over us as we sleep, 
              that awake, we may keep watch with Christ, 
               and asleep rest in his peace.

              Lord, now you let your servant go in peace; your word has been fulfilled . . . 
                        (the prayer of Simeon upon seeing the infant Jesus presented in the
                        temple . . .) then a closing prayer ending every night with these words:

              May the all-powerful Lord grant us a restful night and a peaceful death. 
                         Amen. 

Then we sang the refrain of Gentle Woman and finished as always with a short litany of saints.

A few sisters went downstairs to catch the 9 o'clock news. The Fremont folk went back to the other house. And I came up to finish this blog.

It's a simple life here. I've just finished my third month. I'm half way through my stay here. I love every day. Every moment.

(Note: these blogs do not necessarily occur in chronological order.