Earthly sight, heavenly vision

When Sr. Francine passed away early Saturday morning, she died like she lived – with her glasses on. Always interested, always curious, always wanting to keep abreast of what was happening in the community and the world, she kept her eyes open and her glasses on.

In one hand, Sr. Francine nearly always had a coffee cup, or her rosary, or a clutch of family photographs, or a stack of papers for recycling, or - in her final months - a walking cane. In her other hand, there was certain to be something to read – typically a devotional book, a magazine, a newspaper, or a report from one of the various charities and ministries for which she faithfully prayed. Always, her glasses were on, or at the ready on the table beside her.

Sr. Francine's interest in everything that was happening in the world was not rooted in mere curiosity. Rather, it flowed from a deep love and concern for family and neighbor, both near and far. She soaked in the daily news, and brought it all to prayer. She was truly a “prayer warrior,” constantly interceding for the needs of her family members, her monastic community, the students with whom she worked as teacher and librarian, her beloved hometown of Cullman, and the poor and needy of the world. Always, she was ready to report to the rest of us the fruits of her reading and the concerns of the day. Always, she was ready with a petition for those in need during our intercessions each evening at Vespers. Always she was full of loving concern and deep interest in the lives of everyone around her.

During her final illness, although no longer able to read, Sr. Francine insisted upon keeping her glasses on. Perhaps this was the lens through which she was accustomed to praying, the lens through which she saw and understood the needs of everyone around her, needs which she then took to God in prayer. I imagine her now in heaven, with glasses no longer necessary, but Sr. Francine wearing them nonetheless. That would be just like her, not wanting to miss a thing, wanting all the news, wanting to know just how to continue to intercede for us back here on earth. But then I imagine her taking her glasses off, and with perfect sight, absorbing the fullness of the beatific vision.

Now dwelling in the presence of God and the saints, may Sr. Francine continue to intercede for us.

Postscript: Funeral plans and a link to the obituary for Sr. Francine can be found on our Community News web page.

Appreciation Day

This afternoon, I had to run a quick community errand at the grocery store. When I drove into the parking lot, a large sign informed me that it was “Customer Appreciation Day.” It was definitely an Event with a Capital E – live music on the front walk, a parking lot tent, a clown...

When I entered the store, I was greeted with punch, cake and an announcement that it was time for something called a “Lucky Number Cake Walk.” Customers were to search for and then stand beside specially numbered signs, and the ‘lucky numbers’ would win a cake. Caught up in the spirit of cake and music and clowns, I wandered around with my cake and punch looking for numbers, surprising myself at how disappointed I was that each number I found already had a shopper beside it. Several minutes later, when it became sadly apparent that I wouldn’t be bringing a free cake back to the monastery, I finished my punch and cake and tried to remember what, exactly, it was that I had come for. It took me a moment.

Driving home, I felt a little chagrined at how easily I had gotten totally off track from my errand. I did, though, feel appreciated. Or something. At any rate, I was very aware of the extent of the store’s effort to thank their customers. Sure, there was some marketing involved. But in a town this small, I knew there was also genuine appreciation at play. As I drove, I wondered – how do I show appreciation? How well do I express gratitude? It doesn’t take an Event with a Capital E. Clowns and cake aren’t necessary. It just takes an awareness of how much our lives are touched by those around us, and making the effort to express our thanks.

So perhaps this is a good time to say "thanks" to all who read this blog about life in our monastic community. Even though I don't know exactly who you are, I am aware of the presence of readers. I can't offer you cake and punch. I've no clowns or balloons. But this is a small town. My appreciation in genuine. So let me say "Thank you" - with a Capital T.

More than we can imagine

Here in the Retreat Center office, it seems the phone just won’t stop ringing with people or groups wanting to come on retreat this month. We have revised the August calendar again and again to accommodate the calls. Our big dry-erase board in the office is now overflowing with multi-colored ink, arrows, and shorthand to help us accommodate the additions. But our structured, single-page printed calendar grew so dense that it simply wouldn’t take the names of any more guests. What to do? I simply decreased the font size, and suddenly there was room for everyone.

As I watched additional names – an entire week’s worth – suddenly appear on the computer screen, I realized that my heart, our hearts, can sometimes be like our printed calendar. We can be so structured, so bounded by borders that there is no room for more than we can imagine. We grow so accustomed to everything at its usual size and in its usual place that our hearts cannot accommodate the person who comes knocking in need, whether a neighbor from across the street, or a stranger from across the sea.

In decreasing the font size, the borders of the page did not change. But what happened within the borders did. With each letter engaging in just a small bit of self-effacement, of humility, of stepping aside to give another just a little bit of room, multitudes more were welcomed, and the page, paradoxically, expanded.

Through humility, we do not diminish, we expand. Through generosity, we do not become small, we become rich. The willingness to diminish, and paradoxically expand – or to give, and paradoxically receive – fills one with the fruitfulness of welcome, a multi-hued bounty in which we become more than we can imagine, and in which the blessings of shelter, food, warmth, safety, and the goodness of God’s rich abundance overflow to all.

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me... Mt. 25:35

Sunday afternoon

It is Sunday afternoon. Weekend guests have departed. The monastery is quiet. The Community is enjoying a Sabbath rest.

Outside, a silent breeze is polishing the gilded afternoon. Inside, my pace has slowed after days of much activity and much speech.

But it is not yet slow enough.

I watch afternoon light leisurely descend the stairs of Annunciata Hall and I want to be that slow, that unhurried.

May we each make the time to be restful and still, to be unhurried, to be slow, to linger long in quiet prayer. And may we let the Light of Christ descend deeply into the silence of our hearts, filling us with the burnished glow of His presence.

Monday morning

It is 6:00 am and the monastery is stretching its arms and shaking off sleep. Some of us have been awake since 4:00 am. The rest of us have been arising one by one, each of us with an alarm clock set to our own particular early morning rhythm.

Like people everywhere, each Sister has her own unique pattern of waking up to open her prayer book and Bible, pour coffee, and tend to early morning chores. Right now, Sr. Mary Adrian has completed her ‘table-waiting,’ readying jams, bread, fruit, butter, juices, etc. for our breakfast after Lauds. Sr. Bernadette has picked up the morning papers and distributed them to their various spots within the monastery. Sr. Emilie is up in the sacristy preparing for the liturgies of the day. Several Sisters are already in their choir stalls, engaged in silent prayer or spiritual reading. Wherever we happen to be within the monastery, we are up, and ready for the day.

Outside, Kitty B is making her early morning rounds, awaiting Sr. Magdalena who will feed her after Lauds. The air is quiet. The pond is still. The sky is filled with beneficence. Flower baskets sway gently along the dining room porch. Exhausted trees rest after dancing freneticly through last night’s powerful storms. And I am on my way to chapel, to gather with my Sisters as part of the Body of Christ, to chant the ancient Psalms, and to remember in prayer all who, on this Monday morning, are suffering, weeping, thirsting... To pray for those throughout the world who are without bread, without jam, without home or family, who are exhausted from trying to survive through the powerful storms of life.

Listening

The first word of St. Benedict’s Rule is “Listen.” The instruction is directed to all of us – from the youngest to the oldest. Much of this listening is the silence of listening to God in prayer. Some of it is simply the careful attention that we pay to one another in the course of everyday life in community. Some of it is listening to the needs of the world around us. And some of it is the listening of pondering and discussing together important aspects of our life in common. All of it encompasses the deep spiritual listening that is characteristic of the monastic charism – listening “with the ear of your heart,” as St. Benedict puts it.

Periodic community meetings are one of the ways in which we listen together. St. Benedict devotes an entire chapter to “summoning the community for counsel” (RB chapter 3). He begins, “As often as anything important is to be done in the monastery, the prioress shall call the whole community together and herself explain what the business is; and after hearing the advice of the sisters, let her ponder it and follow what she judges the wiser course… The sisters, for their part, are to express their opinions with all humility…”

Following St. Benedict's advice, we set aside three times a year in which the entire community gathers specifically to discuss important business of the monastery. The longest of these is the summer meeting which we held last week. Over the course of four days, we covered everything from routine business matters to planning for the future to topical concerns of the day.

Our prioress led the meetings, but we all participated. And we all listened. We heard from the leaders of our corporate ministries. Committee chairs gave reports. We heard from experts outside the community, as we occasionally do when we need input from those with specific expertise in a given area. We had some small group discussion, and discussions amongst the entire group of sisters. Each of us had a chance to voice questions or opinions.

No matter the topic, community meetings offer the opportunity for us to all hear the same information at the same time and ponder it together, each of us voicing that which we “hear” through our listening. Even though there is a strong practical dimension to community meetings, there is a deeper dimension at play. Meetings are an opportunity for us to express together the fundamental monastic virtue of listening as we open ourselves to the voices of our sisters. It is a chance to practice the “good zeal” of which St. Benedict writes: “No one is to pursue what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for someone else. To their fellow monks they show the pure love of sisters; to God, loving fear; to their prioress, unfeigned and humble love. Let them prefer nothing to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life.”


Postscript: An issue of particular importance to which we listened as a community last week was the anti-immigration law which was recently enacted in our state. In considering our response to this important issue we listened to Sacred Scripture, to the needs of our Hispanic brothers and sisters, to facts about the law, and to one another. We also listened to the Rule of St. Benedict which reads: All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me (Mt 25:35)... (Chapter 53,1). For our statement on this issue, please see our Community News page.