Keeping Vigil at the Doorway to Death

When a sister is dying at the Mount, others in the community sign up to sit with her for an hour at a time to ensure that she is not alone at the time of death. I sat with Sr. Noreen Hurter several times in the week before her death, and it was a moving experience.

The first thing I noticed was a sense of being much more centered than usual. Dying is a sacred process, and for this hour, nothing was more important than being in this room with Sr. Noreen as she moved closer to the doorway to death. Contributing to the sense of being centered was the focus on her breathing, that connection to life that we usually take for granted.

As a Benedictine, Sr. Noreen was steeped in the psalms in her many years of communal prayer, so I thought it might be comforting for her to hear some of the psalms read aloud. I was surprised at how many of the psalms related to the dying process, as they spoke of longing to be with God, trust in God’s promises, fear, forgiveness, regret, and being known intimately by God. Reading the psalms to Sr. Noreen gave me a deeper connection with and appreciation for these ancient prayers.

As care providers and others keeping vigil and came and went, I was moved by their reverence and tenderness as they spoke to Sr. Noreen, held her hand, kissed her, or stroked her hair. It is a gift to have time to say goodbye—a gift that isn’t always available to us—and a cause for gratitude. 

We Are the Light of the World

The other day I was in St. Scholastica Chapel and noticed a mosaic of light created by the stained glass windows. Because all matter (which includes the human body) really consists of energy, I wondered if the mosaic from the windows could be seen as a representation of us in the form of light. Some of us emit the peacefulness and tranquility of blue light (which can manifest as depression); some of us carry the passion and energy of red light (which sometimes erupts in the form of anger or aggression); some of us glow with the cheerfulness and friendliness of yellow light (when we are not feeling anxious); and some of us display the green of growth and prosperity (when we aren’t consumed with envy).

On our life journey, we often find ourselves traveling beside others who emit different colors than we do, offering occasions of both beauty and challenge. Then, inevitably, some persons streak past us, carrying their light to regions beyond our sight. We experienced this phenomenon most recently in the deaths of Sisters Kathleen Egan and Mary Benet O’Bear, who delighted us with their passion for justice, their hospitality, and their thoughtfulness. We will think of them as we view the distant light of sunrises, sunsets, stars, and galaxies, remembering that their light has now merged with Christ our Light.

Take Me As I Am

Yesterday at mass at the Mount, our Communion song, Take O Take Me As I Am, included the following refrain:

Take, o take me as I am

Summon out what I shall be

Set your seal upon my heart and live in me

I was musing about the different shadings of these words at different times in our lives. Consider what it means for people in their early twenties to sing these words, when they are energetic and inexperienced and have a youthful desire for God. Middle-aged persons and elders sing it with an understanding of their shortcomings and yet with the belief that God still calls them to change and growth. Then, at death, we humbly bow and ask God to accept us as we are, with the expectation that at the resurrection our Creator will summon out what we shall be and live in us forever.

It is a gift when a song presents us with a mantra we can carry with us not only throughout the day but for a lifetime. I am grateful to John Bell, who wrote this song, for sharing this gift with us!

The Monastic Approach to Dying

As we at the Mount keep vigil with two elderly sisters who are in a dying state, the words of St. Benedict to keep death daily before us become more pointed and poignant. Our morning and evening prayers feel weighted with a deeper sacredness, as those who are dying seem to be praying the psalms with us:

When I am afraid, I trust you, God Most High,

I glory in your promise, I trust you without fear.

⍏

We are little more than breath; our days, fleeting shadows.

⍏

As a deer craves running water, I thirst for you, my God;

I thirst for God, the living stream.

When will I see God’s face?

It is instructive to see how sitting in vigil with those who are dying becomes part of the natural rhythm of the day: attend communal prayers, eat meals, attend to daily tasks, sit by the bedside of one who is dying. It is the final gift of those who are leaving us: to allow us to accompany them as they do the work of dying, when they are at their most vulnerable and are entering into a new intimacy with God, and to help us become attuned to the sacredness of life in the face of death.

The monastic approach to dying is very different from that of the secular world, in that it is communal, prayerful, and undertaken in trust. It is another reason I am grateful to be part of a monastic community.

Finding Wisdom in Darkness

One of the most remarkable aspects of the total eclipse of the sun was how rapidly it got dark in the middle of the day. Typically humans try to escape darkness, but this event resulted in a communal search for darkness as people gathered to watch the moon block the sun. I can’t help but believe this event will have positive effects, because as Dr. Aileen O’Donoghue noted at a retreat at Sophia Center, “All of God’s created cosmos is intended to reveal the sharing of God’s life and love. The darkness came into being through the Word and is not separate from God’s creative love.”

Unfortunately, today it is getting more difficult to experience total darkness because of light pollution. When I was in my mid twenties and in need of some perspective, I was fortunate to spend a few nights at my uncle Barney’s farm in an isolated area in Doniphan County, Kansas, where I marveled at a darkness so complete I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Instead of being frightening, it was oddly comforting, like being covered with a blanket of depth and stillness. Ironically, what I needed to overcome a sense of inner darkness was darkness itself.

As Psalm 19 proclaims, “And night to night declares knowledge.” Darkness reveals things we can’t see in the light, such as stars and the extent of the universe, engendering humility and reverence. Darkness itself is God’s creature, with night falling for the first time 500 million years after the Big Bang. We shouldn’t panic when we find ourselves in the dark, because God is comfortable there. God can always find us and, at the appropriate time, guide us toward the light.

The Strength of Relationship

On August 18, 1920, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified, giving women the right to vote. Although a national constitutional amendment to allow women to vote had been introduced in Congress every year since 1878, it wasn’t until 1919 that it passed both houses and was sent to the states to be ratified. The fate of the amendment came down to Tennessee, where the state legislature was tied 48 to 48. The decision rested with Harry Burn, who at age 24 years was the youngest state legislator. He had been expected to vote against it, but his mother had given him a note,  which read: "Dear Son: Hurrah, and vote for suffrage! Don't keep them in doubt. I noticed some of the speeches against. They were bitter. I have been watching to see how you stood, but have not noticed anything yet. Don't forget to be a good boy and help Mrs. Catt put the 'rat' in ratification. Your Mother." He voted in favor of the amendment.

A great number of women worked very hard for many years to get the right to vote; they organized conventions and protests, marched, wrote letters, and picketed the White House. Some were even jailed, where they endured maltreatment. Their efforts led to the passage of the amendment in Congress, but what tipped the scales in favor of ratification was a simple note from a mother to her son. The strength of their relationship led Harry Burn to make a decision that affected the lives of millions of women and the course of the country.

In our advocacy work, we must never forget that relationships are the foundation of justice and that no act, even writing a note, is too small to make a difference.

Our Capacity for Splendor and Mystery

In anticipation of the solar eclipse, Sr. Mary Collins invited me to read an essay by Annie Dillard in the book Teaching a Stone to Talk. In the essay, Dillard describes how it felt to experience a total eclipse, including a sense of uneasiness, disorientation, fear, and awe. She also remarks on how quickly other people hurried away from the viewing site when the eclipse concluded, noting:

“But enough is enough. 

One turns at last even from glory itself 

with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, 

and even from the heights of splendor,
                                                                 we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.”

Although a part of us craves and seeks out splendor and mystery, it appears we can only handle it in small doses, and then we are anxious to return to the familiar. Fortunately, God is also to be found in the latitudes of home. Sr. Mary Faith Schuster has a poem that begins, “Thank you God for the beautiful common things….” Fortunately for us, we can find splendor and mystery not only in once-in-a-lifetime cosmic events but also, as Sr. Faith notes, in “the bare trees / like dark lace / on the hills / and the new wheat / shining / and the white geese / high in the sky / and settling for a moment on our land”. We just need to remember to look and give ourselves time to observe the astounding splendor and mystery in the beautiful common things all around us.

What a Wonderful World

The monastery is buzzing with preparations for activities relating to the upcoming solar eclipse. Sophia Center is sponsoring a retreat with Aileen O’Donoghue, an organ recital will be performed on Saturday at 2:15 pm in St. Scholastica Chapel, the front parlor poets (who have migrated from the side porch) will conduct a poetry reading with music in the dining room on Sunday at 6:45 pm, and a large number of oblates and guests will join us to eat a picnic lunch and view the eclipse on Monday, August 21. In addition, St. Scholastica is being bombarded with requests for favorable viewing weather.

One of the songs we plan to sing at the poetry reading is What a Wonderful World, which was first recorded by Louis Armstrong in 1967. The lyrics include this verse:

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

Coincidentally, I recently came across this comment by Louis Armstrong about the song: “Seems to me it ain’t the world that’s so bad but what we’re doing to it, and all I’m saying is: see what a wonderful world it would be if only we’d give it a chance. Love, baby, love. That’s the secret….”

We who love God’s creation need to keep working diligently to give the world a chance by arresting global warming and protecting the air, water, and soil. Then we will be able to proclaim—not just on occasions of cosmic events, but every day—“What a wonderful world.”

Treasuring Each Other

Yesterday I heard for the first time the story of how St. Lawrence responded to an order by the prefect of Rome to produce in three days all the wealth of the church by gathering a great assembly of the poor, the sick, the blind, lepers, widows and orphans. He then proclaimed, “These are the treasure of the Church.”

I wonder how those assembled felt about being identified as treasure. It must have been a healing moment for them, a conferring of worth, an unveiling of their true identity.

Most of us, I believe, have a hard time believing that we are treasured by God, even though God assures us “I have called you by name; you are mine … you are precious in my eyes and honored, and I love you” (Isaiah 43). This failure to grasp God’s love for us leads to the human-made ills of the world, such as greed (lack of trust that God will provide for our wants and needs), racism/sexism (feeling inadequate and thus craving superiority), and pride (relying on our own strength and thus lacking compassion for the weakness of others). Accordingly, if we want to change society, we need to convey to others that they are actually treasured, honored, and loved. As noted by Helga Tetzlaff in The Sun magazine, “I can only affect those around me, love them as they are, meet them where they are. Hopefully I can touch their hearts with love and then, perhaps, they will change within themselves where they really are.”

St. Lawrence showed us long ago how to treasure each other. May we follow his example, because it is a practice that is still greatly needed today.

A Tool for Living Attentively

Several years ago, I started to perform an “examen” at the end of the day by jotting down the answers to these three questions: How was Christ present to me today? What am I most grateful for? What am I least grateful for? Usually, I seem to be most aware of Christ’s presence when I write, through contact with other people, and in nature. It is generally easy to decide what I am most grateful for: time with a friend, produce from the garden, a song from morning prayer that lingered through the day. It is all too easy to identify what I am least grateful for, such as mosquito bites, difficulty sleeping, or a hot, humid day.

A couple of months ago, I came across the Mary Oliver poem Mindful, which begins, “Every day I see or I hear something that more or less / kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle / in the haystack of light.” This poem prompted me to add another question to my examen: What more or less killed me with delight today? Often, it takes no longer than the walk from Marywood to the choir chapel for morning prayer to be delighted by the full moon, bird song, or light rain on my skin. However, keeping the question in mind throughout the day is a good exercise in mindfulness.

A few weeks ago, St. Benedict’s call to “listen and incline the ear of your heart” led me to add yet another question to my examen: What did I learn today by listening? I’m finding that this question is the most difficult one to answer. True, I usually pick up some factual information throughout the day by listening—a sister fell and had to go to the hospital, the beetles are feasting on the rose bushes, someone forgot to get a sub for dish duty—but the challenge is to listen for the unspoken messages that accompany the information, such as anxiety, disappointment, or frustration, and then discern how to respond to them.

I’ve made various attempts at journaling throughout the years, but I never kept at it until I started performing the examen. I’m grateful I’ve been able to establish this practice, because it is a helpful tool in living attentively throughout the day. 

Blessing of Ministries

Every year on the day of our August community meeting at Mount St. Scholastica, it is traditional to have a “blessing of ministries” at evening prayer. As part of this ritual, each member of the community joins a procession to receive the sign of the cross and words of blessing of their ministry from the prioress. It is an important affirmation of the value of all the work we do, from planning retreats and teaching to scrubbing toilets and pulling weeds.

Because work is so much a part of our lives, we tend to forget that it connects us to God. In this regard, Pope John Paul II’s description of St. Bonifacia Rodriguez Castro is instructive: he said, she “is a simple worker who, in the midst of everyday life, opened herself to the gift of God, allowing it to grow in her heart….” Thus, the task of washing dishes should open us to gratitude because it means God has gifted us with food. The task of caring for our monastic elders should lead us to thank God for their many years of labor and their wisdom. All our work can remind us of God’s presence in our lives if we take the time to make the connection.

In his book Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim, Fr. Edward Hays included the following Psalm Before Beginning Work. When we find ourselves grumbling about our jobs, perhaps it would be a good practice to read this psalm at the beginning of the day as a reminder that the real purpose of our work is to draw near to God—the one who has undertaken the work of creation.

A PSALM BEFORE BEGINNING WORK

   To you oh Divine One, from whose hands comes the work of creation, so artfully designed, I pray that this work I am about to do may be done in companionship with you.

   May the work that I will soon begin sing praise to you as songbirds do.

   May the work that I will soon begin add to the light of your presence because it is done with great love.

   May the work that I will soon begin speak like a prophet of old of your dream of beauty and unity.

   May the work that I will soon begin be a shimmering mirror of your handiwork—in the excellence of its execution—in the joy of doing it for its own sake—in my poverty of ownership over it—in my openness to failure or success—in my invitation to others to share in it—and in its bearing fruit for the world.

   May I be aware that through this work I draw near you. I come to you, Beloved, with ready hands.

In Life's Belly and Beyond Its Edges

Recently, I read part of a beautiful tribute that Toni Morrison wrote for the poet James Baldwin. She said that he gave her “the courage to live life in and from its belly as well as beyond its edges,” along with “tenderness and vulnerability and a love that made one want to be worthy, generous, and strong.”

The courage to live life in and from its belly as well as beyond its edges has long been a characteristic of religious sisters, who both plunge into ministry wherever people are suffering and underserved and place their trust in a God of mystery who leads us beyond the edge of life as we know it. This approach to life leads to an integrity and wisdom that other people recognize and respect. Subconsciously, I believe it is a key reason I was drawn to join the Mount community—to learn how to live both in and from the belly while remaining conscious of what is beyond.

Jesus, of course, is our primary example of one who showed tenderness and vulnerability and a love that inspired others to be worthy, genuine, and strong. Those who can be described in these terms are truly his disciples. After a lifetime of attempting to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, may these words be used to describe us as well!

Giving Thanks to the Bees

The bees that dwell in 12 hives at the Mount have been spinning honey out of nectar since April, and it is now harvest time. This past week I learned how to “uncap” wax cells on the frames from the hives so the honey can be extracted through use of a hand-cranked spinning machine. Harvesting honey requires a great deal of effort, but not nearly as much effort as the bees expend in making it! To produce one pound of honey, bees must visit approximately 2 million flowers. A hive of bees must fly around 55,000 miles to produce a pound of honey, and the average worker bee makes only 1/12th teaspoon of honey in its lifetime (about 5 to 7 weeks).

The immense amount of work that goes into creating and processing honey makes me think of all the unnoticed, behind-the-scenes work that is performed at the monastery so that, for example, our liturgies flow smoothly, we have jelly to sell in the gift shop, and rooms are ready for our guests. We have much to be thankful for, yet we become complacent all too easily. As the Shawnee military and political leader Tecumseh said:

When you rise in the morning,

give thanks for the light,

for your life, for your strength.

Give thanks for your food

and for the joy of living.

If you see no reason to give thanks,

the fault lies in yourself.