Sr. Esther Fangman: Compassionate Seeker of God

• The favorite flower of Sr. Esther Fangman, who died on August 11, was the sunflower. Upon reflecting on her life, I can understand why that was the case:

• Just as the seed of the sunflower reflects what it is called to be, the seed of Christ in Sr. Esther called her to a life of authenticity, compassion, and community as a Benedictine sister.

• Just as sunflowers know by their nature how to turn to seek the sun, Sr. Esther knew in her bones that she was meant to seek God, and in her life she constantly grew and changed as she turned toward God (the Benedictine practice of conversatio).

• Just as sunflowers follow the path of the sun and are held in its gaze, Sr. Esther followed God’s path with obedience as she was called to challenging leadership and ministry positions, and God was with her.

• Sunflowers extend their roots into the earth (stability) and grow best in fields with others (that is, in community); Sr. Esther thrived in her relationships, based in the stability of her extended family in Seneca and her Benedictine community in Atchison.

• The leaves of sunflowers are in the shape of a heart; they lean into and support other sunflowers, and their seeds become food for others. Sr. Esther had boundless compassion, was a source of support to a great many people, and gave of her time, expertise, and wisdom to nourish others.

• As sunflowers age and wither, they end their journey facing God, leaving behind seeds to feed others; Sr. Esther kept her sight on God until her last breath, and her compassion and wisdom will continue to nurture all those who knew her.

I am grateful to have lived in community with Sr. Esther, with her sunny personality and great depth of soul. May she continue to thrive in God’s kingdom until we are reunited with her in heaven’s flowering fields of gold.

The Wisdom of St. Benedict for Our Times

On July 11 we celebrate the Feast of St. Benedict, who is recognized as the patriarch of Western monasticism. Much like us, St. Benedict lived in deeply troubled times — an era of savage warfare, political corruption, and great disparities between the poor and wealthy, as well as floods, plagues, and famine. Fortunately, St. Benedict left us a guide in his Rule for how to respond to times of instability:

• He countered fear and disdain of the stranger through hospitality

• He countered disregard of the sick by placing care of the ill above all else

• He countered the inflated egos of those in power with the practice of humility

• He countered the privilege of wealth and status by assigning the rank of his monks based on the date they entered the monastery

• He countered pride by establishing a prayer schedule that kept his community focused on God and reminded them through the psalms that God is God and we are not

St. Benedict shows us that although we may feel powerless to counteract the attitudes and actions of the powerful and unscrupulous, we can choose to act as Jesus did by welcoming the stranger and outcasts, caring for the sick, practicing humility, recognizing the worth of all people, and keeping our pride in check by praying regularly. As we remember St. Benedict on his feast day, let us be grateful for his wisdom that still guides us today!

Loving as Jesus Loved

The main objective for followers of Christ is to become — well … more Christlike. How can we determine whether we are achieving that goal? We may be tempted to tick off things we’ve done, such as the number of times we’ve attended Mass, donated to humanitarian causes, or read spiritual books. However, Abbot Dan Nobles, OSB, has a different criterion. As he says in his blog, “…as we are transformed into the likeness of Christ, we become hospitable.”

Artwork by Ade Bethune

Jesus taught and healed and ate with others indiscriminately, because his mission was to reveal God’s love for everyone. Did he call out hypocrites and cheats and those who acted unjustly? Yes, but he also dialogued with them, engaged them through parables, and dined with them — because if his Father loved them, he was called to love them too.

Abbot Nobles further notes that the willingness to be hospitable, even when it’s tedious or inconvenient, “is the fruit of a transformed heart that first and foremost is set on being with God.” If we want to be one with God, as Jesus was, we need to be hospitable to those whom God loves (that is, everyone), as Jesus did.

Jesus went so far as to say that whatsoever we do to strangers, the hungry, the sick, and prisoners, we do to him. By extension, as Abbot Nobles says, “If I see others as Christ, then my time spend with them is merely time spent with him.”

Seeing others as Christ doesn’t come easily to most of us. However, when we attempt to put on the mind and heart of Christ by intentionally practicing hospitality to the point that it becomes instinctual, we will not only see him but, as he promised, we will live in him and he in us. As the disciples on the road to Emmaus discovered, the key to this transformation is to offer hospitality.

St. Joseph: Now and at the Hour of Our Death

Linotype by Ade Bethune

St. Joseph has two feast days on the Church calendar: March 19, when he is honored for being the spouse of Mary and the earthly father of Jesus, and May 1, when he is acknowledged as the patron of workers. Although a special day is not set aside to recognize St. Joseph’s role as the patron of those seeking a happy death, many people seek his intercession for this reason.

I thought of this when I read the following beautiful passage from the book The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich. After leading quite a remarkable life, the main character, Agnes, feels death coming upon her:

“I am going, I am going, she thought. Underneath her and before her, a wide plain of utter emptiness opened, Trusting, yearning, she put her arms out into that emptiness. She reached as far as she could, farther than she was capable, held her hands out until at last a bigger, work-toughened hand grasped hold of hers. With a yank, she was pulled across.”

One of the joys of literature is the different ways we can interpret the story: The person who grasped Agnes’ hand could have been another character in the book (her deceased husband, a farmer named Berndt), or it could have been Jesus, with whom Agnes had a close relationship, or it could have been St. Joseph, patron of those seeking a happy death, whose carpenter’s hands would have been work-toughened. But I find it comforting to think of St. Joseph being ready to grasp our hand and yanking us into the heavenly realm when we reach out into the seeming emptiness of death with trust and yearning. St. Joseph, pray for us!

 

Looking Without and Within

I’m thinking of Sr. Frances Yarc today, on her one-month death anniversary. Born in 1927, she joined a long line of Benedictine sisters who faithfully and quietly tended to the needs of the people around her by teaching elementary school children and providing nursing care in hospitals and infirmaries. In her later years, Sr. Frances’ one indulgence was to ask for steak and cherry pie on her birthday.

After I entered the community, I was surprised to learn that this unassuming woman was a talented artist. Years ago, she taught herself oil painting by watching the instructional television show Paint This with Jerry Yarnell. She excelled at painting landscapes, but what really astounded me was her depictions of the cosmos — swirling clouds of gas, bright galaxies, and pinpoints of stars.

When she looked outward, Sr. Frances focused on those right in front of her and attended to their needs. When she looked inward, she found God’s beauty and expansiveness within herself, and reflected it on her canvas.

In these days when we are constantly bombarded by news about the world’s troubles, we would do well to follow Sr. Frances’ example. When we look outward, let us narrow our focus on the areas where we can make a difference. When we look inward, may we be awed by the reminder that we are part of a glorious universe where the Cosmic Christ calls us to live in love and harmony.

The Light of Christ Surrounds Us

I never pay much attention to the candles placed near the ambo in our Choir Chapel at Mount St. Scholastica, except when I’m acolyte and it’s my responsibility to light them. However, a couple of weeks ago when our access to electricity was disrupted and we gathered for Morning Prayer in semi darkness, the candles drew my eye with their soft, steady luminescence. Their light had always been with us, but I didn’t notice it until we faced a time of darkness.

Similarly, the light of Christ is always with us, but we tend to overlook our reliance on it until we are overcome with darkness. The Christ light is always there; what changes is our recognition of it. That is why we are called to praise God — not because God needs or desires our praise, but because we need to remind ourselves of God’s unwavering goodness, steadfastness, and presence.

As Christians, we are called to reflect God’s light, as Jesus did. We are living in a time of increasing darkness, when people need to be reminded of God’s tenets (“Love one another as I have loved you”), God’s inclusivity (“you are all one in Christ Jesus”), and God’s upside-down logic (“the first shall be last, and the last shall be first”). Thus even though we may be feeling weary and depleted by sadness, anxiety, and fear, now more than ever we need to draw on Christ’s inextinguishable light and reflect it to those in need of strength, kindness, and hope.

Rest As a Kind of Prayer

It’s getting to be cabin fever time after a long stretch of cold, windy, snowy weather. When every particle of our body longs for spring, it takes discipline to honor the lessons and gifts of winter. As Christine Valters Paintner says in her poem How to Pray:

Remind your body how it says yes
to blossom, fruit, release, and rest,
each its own kind of prayer.

Spring, summer, and autumn are active seasons of planting, growing, and harvesting. Winter, on the other hand, calls us to contemplation, rest, and quietude. It invites us to the prayer of incubation — that fallowness required for seeds and dreams to germinate and grow.

Most of us feel something is amiss if we are not busy. We judge the quality of our life by how much we accomplish. We feel guilty if we take naps, daydream, or read a novel. The only time we slow down is when illness forces us to do so. And yet, given a fair chance, our body, mind and spirit say “yes” to fewer hours of daylight, to rest, to silence.

In the busyness of spring, which is right around the corner, we likely will long for a little bit of time to ourselves. Why not savor it now, when winter offers it to us with snowy breath, whistling winds, and the promise of long, dark nights?

Falling More In Love

As we get older, it’s easy to settle into fixed ideas of who God is, how the world works, and how our loved ones should relate to us. With our many years of life experience, we know what to expect, right?

Benedictines are called to a different perspective. As Christine Valters Paintner says, “St. Benedict described conversion as a practice of lifelong transformation. We are never done falling more in love with God, with the world, and with one another. As long as we are alive, there is always more love to pour out.”

What if today God were to surprise you with an opportunity to fulfill a lifelong desire, or you suddenly become aware of Jesus’ compassionate presence as you deeply grieve the death of a friend? Wouldn’t that give you new reasons to fall more in love with God?

What if today you read a story of a herd of elephants that traveled 12 hours to reach the home of a former caretaker who had died, in order to pay their respects? Wouldn’t that lead you to fall more in love with the marvels of our world?

What if today a friend accompanied you to a doctor’s appointment so you wouldn’t be alone when you received important test results? Wouldn’t that lead you to fall more in love with him or her?

Today our world is greatly in need of people who are willing pour out love to those who are wounded, scapegoated, or disregarded. May our practice of conversion lead us to be in their number because we have learned that the well of love available to us is inexhaustible.

Love Made New

Moses once said to the Israelites, “I place before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life so that you and your children will live. And love God, your God, listening obediently to him, firmly embracing him” (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).

In choosing to do the things that foster life for ourselves and others, such as sharing our abundant resources with the poor and living in a spirit of gratitude, forgiveness, and mercy, we are listening to and embracing God.

Consider Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son. The father in the story (who is a stand-in for God) could have been bitter when his younger son (representing each of us) took his precious inheritance and squandered it in dissolute living. Yet every day, the father chose to keep watch for his son so he could embrace him if he returned.

Every day, God makes the choice to love us, even when we act selfishly out of greed, pride, and fear. Every day, God forgives us and offers us mercy. And God calls us to do the same (“Love one another as I have loved you”).

Ursula K. Le Guin wrote, “Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.” Every day, we are refreshed by the Bread of Life who chooses over and over again to love us. Every day, out of gratitude and obedience, may we extend that same love and mercy to others.

Nothing Can Stump God

In Advent, Jesus is compared to “a shoot that will come up from the stump of Jesse” (Isaiah 11:1). Generally when we come across a tree stump, it appears gray, inert, and lifeless. However, after a tree is cut down, some species can resprout from the roots or from the stump itself. If the sprout produces enough leaves, it can eventually grow into a full tree. According to the American Climbers website, many trees have this ability to resprout as a way to regenerate after forest fires.

This image of a stump sending forth a shoot is a reminder that we should never doubt God’s ability to generate new life in us and for us. The Psalms include many passages in which the author pleads for God to act now. We are impatient with God’s timing, but the period of waiting has an important function as new life is nurtured in the darkness. The stump that appears to be dead is harboring new life.

When we are “stumped” by losses, grief, or disappointment, it’s difficult to believe that new growth can occur within us. However, as the poet Jessica Powers observed:

“Yet who am I to minimize the worth

of what a stump is likely to bring forth?”

Advent: Yesterday, Today, and Forever

It might seem as though the season of Advent is unchanging year after year. After all, we erect the same Advent wreath; recite the same prayers about longing for God’s presence; sing the same songs inviting Emmanuel to come; and struggle to protect a small space of silence in the midst of relentless pre-Christmas preparations and holiday gatherings.

A closer examination of this liturgical season reveals that Advent is indeed different every year because we are different every year. It’s likely that some of the people we journeyed with last Advent are no longer with us, and their absence has left a mark on us. It may be that we are dealing with Infirmities we didn’t have last year — a bum knee, a dimming of vision, a worrisome test result — that gives new meaning to the passage from Isaiah about the lame leaping like a deer and the eyes of the blind being opened. Perhaps the birth of a baby within our extended family in the past year has given new meaning to the humility and vulnerability of Christ who came into our world as an infant.

We will always need Advent, because the ways we are called to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ are different from year to year. Whether we are singing with joy and thanksgiving or trying to see light in a dark season of our lives, Advent calls us to be attentive, to trust in a loving God who wants to be present to us, to be patient as we await the fullness of God’s kingdom to become manifest.

Whatever Advent holds for you this year, may you find a blessing in it.

In Your Light We See Light

When we gather for Morning Prayer on these late November days at the Mount, the stained glass windows in our Choir Chapel are shrouded in darkness. As I watch in the silence between the chanting of psalms, the outline of an angel’s wing begins to  emerge … and then St. Benedict’s bald pate begins to glow as he stands beneath the stars and a crescent moon … and then the steps of humility begin their ascent as they pick up the morning light. By the end of prayer, all the familiar colors and images of the windows have been revealed. 

As Thanksgiving approaches, it occurs to me that our blessings are sometimes hidden in murkiness, much like the stained glass images before the coming of dawn. Anxiety, fear, and sadness can obscure the way God is working in our life. Many of the symbols in our Choir Chapel windows provide keys to unlock an awareness of our blessings. For example:

• New branches emerging from a tree stump remind us that God is always clearing the way for new growth in our life

• Hands that are releasing a shower of grapes remind us to be grateful for the food and drink on our table

• A chalice and host remind us that we are nourished and strengthened through the gift of the Eucharist

• A small red devil poking St. Benedict with its pitchfork as he kneels in prayer reminds us that trust in God helps us overcome the things that bedevil us

• An angel with its finger on its lips reminds us to tune out the noise that keeps us from hearing God’s voice

My prayer for you this Thanksgiving is that your blessings come into focus in the midst of any challenges you may be experiencing. Let us say to God with the writer of Psalm 36: “We feast on the riches of your house; you give us drink from the stream of your delight. For with you is the fountain of life, and in your light we see light” (Ps 36: 9-10).

That's Our Job

I got a haircut on November 5, and when I mentioned I was anxious about the outcome of the election, my hairdresser said, “Well, one thing’s for sure; half of the country is going to be unhappy.”

Unfortunately, I landed on the unhappy side of the divide.

I won’t go into the many reasons why I am heartsick. Suffice it to say, I fear what the results of the 2024 election will mean for those who are poor, sick, or elderly, as well as for immigrants and the environment — for all the vulnerable.

After the 2004 election, when the writer Toni Morrison was describing to a friend her depression and inability to work on a new novel, he interrupted, shouting: “No! No, no, no! This is precisely the time when artists go to work — not when everything is fine, but in times of dread. That’s our job!”

The same thing could be said of those who are disciples of Jesus: This is precisely the time when Christians must go to work to feed the hungry, house the homeless, care for the ill, and visit prisoners — not when everything is fine, but in times of suffering. That’s our job!

Many people say that in difficult times, we must trust in God. Sr. Mary Lou Kownacki has an interesting take on that: “As for trusting in God, I think it’s the reverse. I believe God is trusting in us. God is trusting that in giving us the gift of life, we will bear good fruit. That we who claim to be on a spiritual path will accept our responsibility to co-create the kind of world that God envisioned. It’s up to us, each one of us, to be faithful to God’s trust and do everything in our power to bring in the day when ‘justice and mercy embrace.’ The purpose of prayer, Saint Teresa of Avila told her sisters, ‘is good works, good works, good works.’ And I believe her.”

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Adrienne Johnson Martin added, “It is the weight of the work that helps it bend.”

The Talmud advises, “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.” Nor are we obligated to work alone. The weight of our work, when combined with that of others who stand beside us, will help bend our world toward justice. And the community we build in doing that work will be a liberating force for all of us, on whichever side of the divide we find ourselves.

Good Heavens

The psalms are full of references to the heavens. For example, we commonly chant, “I see your handiwork in the heavens, the moon and the stars you set in place”; “The heavens praise your wonders, O God”; and “Your fidelity stands firm as the heavens.”

Before the advent of electricity, the heavens were a source of awe, imagination, and navigation. Today, we generally stay indoors at night, and only an exceptional event such as a solar eclipse or the rare chance to see a comet or the Northern lights draws us outside to gaze at the heavens.

I once read that those of us who spend hours every day looking inside the small frame of a computer screen should rest our eyes by looking outside a window at the horizon from time to time. Not only does this prevent eye strain, but it widens our perspective and reminds us that there is a world outside the screens of our electronic devices.

Gazing out at the world and the heavens is a good practice for other reasons. Seeing the vastness and immensity of God’s creation humbles us and reminds us that this self we are so attached to is tiny and fleeting. Despite our insignificance, we can rely on God’s faithfulness and enduring love and enjoy the beauty of creation in which we are immersed. And then we can join the psalmist in proclaiming, “With a heart full of thanks I proclaim your wonders, O God.”

The Way to the Heart of God

It’s my opinion that people who have too much to do need a patron saint. I nominate St. Gerard Majella, (1726-1755), a Redemptorist who was credited with bilocation — that is, the ability to be in two places at once!

I’m not so sure that bilocation is the answer to the problem of being overcommitted, however. It’s likely similar to multitasking, which gives us the illusion of getting more done but actually wastes more time than it saves and has a detrimental effect on our concentration and creativity.

Many people today believe, as writer Elizabeth Bibesco suggested, that being in a hurry is one of the tributes we pay to life. Our world is full of so many beautiful things to see, places to visit, books to read, food to eat, and people to befriend that we try to cram in as much as we can — and as a consequence, we often don’t fully experience anything.

It’s telling that St. Gerard was not a Benedictine, the only order that takes a vow of stability. What our life lacks in width, it makes up for in depth. Each moment that we fully attend to leads us to the heart of God and relieves us of the anxiety that we might be missing out on something that is happening elsewhere.

As Imogene Baker, OSB, said, “Be where you are and do what you’re doing.” When we attend to the present moment, wherever we happen to be, we encounter the presence of God. To paraphrase St. Benedict, “What could be sweeter to us than the voice of God calling to us? Behold in his loving kindness, the Lord shows us the way to life.”

Where God Wants To Be Met

Spending time with others is key to developing a good relationship. If we want to be in a relationship with God, then, it makes sense to set aside a regular time to pray. However, we can’t expect God to conform to our prayer schedule. As Joyce Rupp learned from her spiritual director, “Meet God where God wants to be met, not where you plan for it.”

What if God wants to be met not in the silence of a church but in the midst of a challenging conversation? The 15th century Indian poet Kabir suggests as much in his poem, “I Had to Seek the Physician:”

“I had to seek the Physician because
of the pain this world caused me.

I could not believe what happened
when I got there — I found my Teacher.

Before I left, he said, “Up for a little
homework, yet?” “Okay,” I replied.

“Well, then, try thanking all the people
who have caused you pain.

They helped you
come to me.”*

Prayer has many benefits, but perhaps its greatest gift is to instill in us an alertness to God’s presence at all times — especially when we least expect it.

*From Love Poems from God by Daniel Ladinsky. New York: The Penguin Group; 2002.

Becoming God's Gateway

St. Benedict devoted the longest chapter in his Rule to the cultivation of humility. Certainly we can benefit greatly by remembering that “God is God and I am not.” However, it also can be discouraging to dwell on our human weakness. As we hear of countries engaged in bitter wars over land and natural resources, immigrants being shunned, and the rich getting richer while the poor struggle to survive, we wonder if the human race will ever grow beyond self-interest. As we ourselves continue to struggle with our own faults of ambition, judgment, addiction, and selfishness, we may wonder if we will ever be able to change.

The spiritual writer Henri Nouwen offers this perspective: “We have been chosen to make our own limited and very conditional love the gateway for the unlimited and unconditional love of God.”

God, who understands our human limitations very well, nonetheless chooses to work through our tentative and conditional attempts to love others to express God’s own love, mercy, and compassion. We cannot assume that our small acts of support and care won’t make a difference in the face of a world awash in greed and hard-heartedness. To fail to act because we don’t believe our actions will make a difference is a form of false humility. It also demonstrates a lack of faith in God’s ability to offer unlimited and unconditional love to the world.

St. John of the Cross summed up this situation succinctly: “Where there is no love, put love, and you will find love.” No effort on our part is too small to be a conduit to God’s blessings of peace, loving kindness, and acceptance.

My, My, My

St. Benedict viewed private ownership as a vice, and he was serious about uprooting it. Here is a list of what the monks in his monastery were provided: a cowl, tunic, sandals, shoes, belt, knife, stylus, needle, handkerchief, and writing tablet. Otherwise, no one was to give or receive anything without the permission of the abbot — no gifts from family members, not even a book. This is why, years ago, books used by the sisters at Mount St. Scholastica were inscribed with the words “Ad usum” — “For the use of” — a reminder that this item was not a private possession but was on loan and thus should be well cared for.

When studying Chapter 33 of the Rule of St. Benedict, “Monks and Private Ownership,” an oblate candidate recently decided to pay attention to how often she used the word “my” in conversation. She was astounded at how often she used the word, not only in regard to possessions but to relationships and intangible things as well — “my sister,” “my job,” “my plans.” Are these things we can actually own? What are we saying with our constant use of the word “my”?

St. Benedict likely was so adamantly opposed to owning possessions for a number of reasons. The practice lends itself to envy and greed rather than gratitude; it leads us to measure our worth by how much we own; it promotes self-sufficiency, rather than an awareness of our dependence on God; it places our focus on ourselves rather than on the needs of others; and it consumes much of our energy, which is directed toward acquiring and protecting our possessions rather than “spending” time with God, family, and friends.

We won’t be able to take any of our possessions with us after we die, so why burden ourselves with them now? Let’s give ourselves the pleasure of walking more lightly on the earth, relinquishing the possessions that weigh us down and trusting in God’s loving providence and care.

Finding Our Quiet Center

“Labor Day” has always seemed like a misnomer to me; because it is a holiday for most people, “Laborless Day” would seem more apt! It does seem odd to celebrate our labor by … well … not laboring. However, taking a break from our endeavors gives us a chance to savor the work we do, which is an important element of honoring it and finding satisfaction in it. Wisdom, who was with God during the creation of the universe (Proverbs 8: 22-31), apparently convinced God to rest after working for six days. It was such a good idea that God commanded us to do the same (“Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath”).

Sarah Orne Jewett told aspiring writers, “You must find your own quiet center of life, and write from that.” It is sage advice, no matter what work we undertake. And to find our own quiet center of life requires time apart for rest and reflection. Jesus found his quiet center of life during his times of solitude in the desert, in the mountains, by the sea, and in a garden. In his Rule, St. Benedict specified specific times every day for the members of his community to rest and read. Humans aren’t designed to work 24/7; when we try to do so, we suffer physical, emotional, and spiritual consequences.

To believe that the world will fall apart if we take a break from work is a sign of pride, especially when we know that Christ has affirmed the value of going off the clock now and then. So I hope you can enjoy your laborless day (or even the entire weekend!) Let’s honor the fact that God gave us a built-in need to sleep, dream, and be human be-ings, not just human do-ings.

A Benedictine Approach to Illness

In chapter 36 of his Rule, St. Benedict says, “Care of the sick must rank above and before all else.” This verse means one thing when you are the one providing the care and something else when you are the one being cared for.

Caring for those who are sick gives us the opportunity to practice compassion and put someone else’s needs above our own. It also teaches us patience and the need to reorder our priorities, as when we care for aging parents or a family member with a chronic illness for years on end. At the same time, being a caregiver is an active role that gives us the satisfaction of helping someone else.

Being sick and under the care of someone else is a very different situation. Our task here is to accept our limitations and practice humility, as we face a situation we can’t control (illness) and by necessity must rely on the assistance of others.

I’m accustomed to being in the caregiver role, but a recent bout with COVID flipped the script and thrust me into the role of patient. Sisters in the monastery who have COVID are quarantined in their bedroom (except for trips to the bathroom) until they have two consecutive negative test results. This means someone must deliver “meals on wheels” to us three times a day, cover any of our regular household chores, and assume any of our monastery assignments, such as leading midday prayer or being lector at Mass.

This situation quickly leads to gratitude for the faithful care of others and appreciation for community life with its built-in support system. It’s also a reminder to enjoy our health while we have it, because it won’t last forever, and it provides an opportunity to practice giving up control, for that too will one day slip away.

It turns out that one of the ways to know Christ and walk the road to eternal life is not just visiting and caring for the sick but practicing patience and humility when we ourselves are ill.