A Life of Compassionate Presence

Sr. Jeremy Dempsey, OSB, who died on March 15, will be remembered by her family, monastic community, colleagues, students, and friends for her gentleness, wisdom, dry Irish wit, steadfastness, and love of poetry and literature. Perhaps the greatest lesson she left us, however, was how to live with compassion.

Although I took more classes from Sr. Mary Faith Schuster than with Sr. Jeremy during my years as an English major at Benedictine College, after graduating, I found myself gravitating toward Sr. Jeremy when I visited the monastery. She listened to my struggles and confusion and helped me stay grounded in God’s word and the Kansas soil, which we both loved. I wrote this poem for Sr. Jeremy when she retired from teaching:

How happy I am

that I was ready for you

to be my teacher,

for you have the brown

contours of the Kansas soil

tucked into your soul,

and when in worldly

confusion I pour out

to you all that I am not,

you point instead

to the quietness

and strength of the land

and the word that comes

from listening and being

true to oneself—

                                                            word made flesh.

Like the God she loved, Sr. Jeremy expressed her compassion through listening. She knew the stories of all the Dooley Center staff—their struggles, how their children were doing, their hopes—and she often expressed amazement at their strength and resiliency. In the last conversation I had with her two days before she died, she asked for an update on an inmate in my prison ministry group who is up for parole. As my friend Martha said, she was a distillation of God’s presence.

Sr. Jeremy often expressed gratitude for the blessings of being a Benedictine sister. Upon her death, we echo that gratitude and offer thanks for her generous spirit, humility, and fidelity to her monastic calling. Although we will miss her keenly, we take comfort in knowing that one day we will again enjoy her company in the place God has prepared for us.

St. Benedict's Priorities

The world would be such a better place if we just followed the precepts of St. Benedict.

For example, we would not be grappling with the COVID-19 pandemic right now if we had heeded these words from Chapter 36 of Benedict’s Rule: “Care of the sick must rank above and before all else, so that they may truly be served as Christ, for he said: ‘I was sick and you visited me’ (Mt 25:36) and ‘What you did for one of these least brothers you did for me’ (Mt 25:40).”

Let’s see. When the virus first appeared in China, government officials tried to cover up the outbreak and cracked down on doctors who attempted to warn colleagues about the new infection. In the U.S., the government has been slow to create and distribute diagnostic tests, which are critical to stopping an outbreak. Lack of paid sick leave and access to health care for many people are increasing spread of the disease. Because care of the sick is not a priority and takes a back seat to greed and reputation, the world is now suffering from a pandemic.

Time and time again we experience crises that prove we are all connected and what affects one of us affects us all. Powerful people are not shielded from infection: politicians in Australia and Brazil and the wife of the Prime Minister of Canada have contracted the COVID-19 virus. Wealthy people are not shielded either: NBA basketball star Rudy Gobert and his teammate Donovan Mitchell have been infected as well.

We are only as healthy as the most vulnerable persons among us. We only achieve spiritual maturity when we recognize that Christ dwells in homeless, hungry, sick, and imprisoned people as surely as Christ dwells in us. We would do well to put St. Benedict’s precepts into action, or we will continue to receive painful lessons in the consequences of neglecting to meet the needs of all persons with whom we share the earth.

Perfect Charity

Recently the phrase “perfect charity” caught my ear during the Eucharistic prayer at mass. What would perfect charity look like?

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines charity as “generosity and helpfulness, especially toward the needy and suffering” and “benevolent goodwill toward or love of humanity.” Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son gives us an example of perfect charity in the father of two sons who is both generous with his material possessions and has a deep love for his children, despite their greed and hardness of heart.

Like many people, the prodigal son and his brother believe that wealth will make them happy. Their father already knows this belief is not true, as evidenced by his willingness to part with his wealth so promptly. The father also knows that his sons need to learn this lesson themselves, so he gives them the means to do so by dividing his property between them.

Clearly the wealth the father gives his sons does not make them happy; one squanders it and becomes destitute, and the other hoards it and fears it will be taken from him. As Barbara Reid, OP, says in Give Us This Day, for the prodigal son, the forgiveness and unfailing love of his father “resurrects in him the response of love and joy and gratitude, along with the sure knowledge that all is given freely and totally. This heritage cannot be earned and it is never depleted, even by our most egregious misuses.” The other son is still too blinded by righteousness, fear, and the belief that love must be earned to be able to respond to his father’s act of forgiveness with love, joy, and gratitude. In time, we hope that he will be brought back to fullness of life too.

Perfect charity, then, seems to entail being generous and loving toward everyone, even when they seemingly don’t “deserve” it, in the sure and certain hope that love will beget love. We can’t come to perfect charity through our own efforts. It is only by the mediation of the Spirit, as at Jesus’ baptism, that our eyes and ears can be open to God’s boundless love for us and the understanding that it won’t be diminished when we offer it to others. Let those who have eyes see and those who have ears hear!

Single-Hearted in Our Diversity

On Sunday, the Mount hosted 68 Hispanic women for Mass and a Lenten retreat at Sophia Spirituality Center. When it was time to recite the “Our Father” at Mass, everyone was invited to pray in their first language. I was surprised that instead of clashing, our voices complemented each other and sounded harmonious. It was breathtaking, really, to realize that there is room in the body of Christ to affirm each person’s uniqueness.

We often seem to believe that unity requires squelching differences. How can people be united if they speak different languages, practice different customs, or have different viewpoints? Jesus’ approach was that our place of unity centers on love of God and love of others. Thus, although I might not be comfortable with charismatic or ecstatic prayer, if it is based in love of God, I can affirm it. Although I don’t like spicy food, if it is made with love, I’ll sample it. Although I do not believe the U.S. is ready to accept the governing approach advocated by democratic socialists, if you are motivated by the desire to end human suffering, I’ll listen to your ideas.

The humility advocated by St. Benedict requires us to listen to each other despite our differences because no one is in sole possession of the truth. If God created diversity, there must be a reason for it. Trust in God’s ways demands that we accept rather than fear our differences and use them to learn how to be more humble and loving. To be one in Christ is not a matter of uniformity but single-hearted pursuit of the kingdom of God, where love is the guiding principle and all are welcome in their amazing diversity.

Finding Our Heart in Silence

This summer I will be attending a discernment retreat for Benedictine scholastics, and in the registration materials, the following question was asked: “How comfortable are you with an extended time of silence?”

This question took me back to my time at Shantivanam House of Prayer. Beginning the fall after I graduated from college, I made private retreats there twice a year. While sitting on the porch of my hermitage under a canopy of trees and looking out over a small lake, I found my true self. As Michael Casey says, “Each of us needs to find our own silence. Unless we do, we will never find our hearts.”

As with chanting or singing, silence has a shape—a character. When we are centered in silence, we can feel a palpable depth, richness, at-homeness. I believe this is because, as Casey says, “…silence…facilitates the soul’s attention to God.” God is incarnate in the world, but without silence, we are too distracted to attend to that presence and absorb the wonder of it.

Silence cuts through the clutter and undergrowth of noise that we use to shield ourselves from knowing our own heart. We may be frightened of the passions, impulses, or desires that reside there—or worse yet, a sense of an inner emptiness. However, as Rainier Maria Rilke observed, “Our deepest fears are like dragons guarding our deepest treasure.” Our fear is a sign that our deepest treasure resides in our heart—the voice of God who calls us beloved and invites us to fullness of life.

At different times in our lives, we are invited to summon the courage to embrace silence so we can hear that voice. At the Mount, our Lenten practices help us edge into silence as we fast from talking during breakfast and start our morning and evening prayer with a period of quiet reflection. This discipline is a great gift in our noisy world. I’m grateful that Benedictines value and nurture silence and that my soul’s attention will be directed to God in a focused way during my discernment retreat this summer.

We Are All One Murmuration

Sr. Susan Barber, liturgist at the Mount, has encouraged us to picture our chanting together as having a shape. The image that comes to my mind is a great flock of starlings that fly together in a whirling, ever-changing pattern, called a “murmuration.”

As noted at the Wonderopolis Web site, “As they fly, the starlings in a murmuration seem to be connected together. They twist and turn and change direction at a moment's notice…. Scientists believe murmurations are similar to other systems, such as crystals forming, avalanches, metals becoming magnetized and liquids turning to gases. These systems are “on the edge,” which means they’re ready to be completely transformed in an instant. Like the elements of these other systems, each starling in a murmuration is connected to every other starling…. Regardless of the size of the murmuration, all the birds seem to be connected to the same network.”

Although St. Benedict warned us against murmuring, to be part of a murmuration appears to be central to our lives as Christians! A murmuration perfectly describes the body of Christ, where each person is connected to and accompanies every other person on the twists and turns of life’s journey. To be part of the Christian “system”—that is, the kingdom of God—we must be ready to engage in complete transformation at all times through obedience to each other. And the potential size of the body is limitless because all the individuals are connected to the same network, which is Christ.

Just as we marvel at seeing a murmuration, we can take joy in the movement of the Spirit within the body of Christ, which leads to the beauty of unity and transformation, whether in song or in other aspects of our life together.

Erring on the Side of Mercy

Art by Ade Bethune

Today I went to a parole hearing to advocate for the release of an inmate who is part of our Catholic worship and study group at Lansing Correctional Facility. When he was 24 years old he killed a man, and he has been in prison for 35 years.

Many people, upon hearing of his crime, would say that he should never be paroled. My perspective is different because I have seen goodness in him over our nine-year acquaintance and because I believe in a God of mercy.

We hear over and over again in scripture of God’s mercy, even for those who have killed, such as God’s beloved King David. We might ask how God can have mercy on such people. One insight comes from Psalm 139: God knows and loves “full well” the soul of every person God has made. In addition, the Book of Wisdom offers a beautiful meditation on God’s mercy:

But you have mercy on all, because you can do all things;

and you overlook sins for the sake of repentance.

For you love all things that are

and loathe nothing that you have made;

for you would not fashion what you hate.

How could a thing remain, unless you willed it;

or be preserved, had it not been called forth by you?

But you spare all things, because they are yours,

O Ruler and Lover of souls,

for your imperishable spirit is in all things!

Judging whether another person is worthy of mercy is a tricky business. I would not care to be a judge, who is tasked with attempting to read peoples’ hearts. I do believe that anyone who has killed carries that burden to the end of their days, whether or not they are imprisoned. I also believe that we all rely on God’s mercy, no matter the nature of our offense, and thus should be cautious about denying it to another.

Scripture is clear that if we want to put on the mind of Christ and be perfect as our heavenly father is perfect, we will err on the side of mercy. I don’t know if the parole board will do so in this case, but it is comforting to know that we always can count on God’s mercy, if not always that of each other.