Two Good Books about Nuns

In my search for contemporary novels about American nuns, I've found only two. Both of them are fantastic books I'd recommend to anyone. They both share a strong message about religious life, as well as some other key similarities. The two novels are Mariette in Ecstacy by Ron Hansen and Lying Awake by Mark Salzman. (Hansen also wrote Exiles, a novel based on the story of the Wreck of the Deutschland and drowning of eight nuns and the poem Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote about the incident, but it's a different, much more historical and in many ways less accomplished, book.)

Both books have a mystic at their center, and both of these women live in cloistered communities. Mariette, though published in the 1990s, is set in the first decade of the 20th century, when all Sisters who were not on active missions were cloistered. Lying Awake, published in 2000 and covering the years 1969 to 1997, deals with a Carmelite Sister living in an enclosure in Southern California.

By building in these restraints on the Sisters' lives (habited, cloistered), the authors are able to deal with the central issues of a nun's life: community living with other Sisters and the quality of the spiritual life. What is clear immediately is that mystics, who seem both closer to God and richer in spiritual experience, are disruptive to religious communities. In Mariette, set in 1904, the mystic has the experience of stigmata and her experience, though doubted as self-inflicted, is treated seriously as a phenomenon recorded throughout history. Her wounds come and go and don't act as normal wounds or cause the permanent damage one would expect. The priest and Sisters experience other inexplicable signs of S. Mariette's special status. The experiences of Sister John in Lying Awake result in visions and writings which find popularity in the world outside the cloister walls. Both Sister Mariette and Sister John gain noteriety for their spirituality outside the convent.

But by the time Sister John is having her mystic experiences, there is a diagnosis and a cure for her particular troubles. She is recommended to receive surgery for epilepsy and has to decide whether or not to have it, knowing it will mean and end to her visions and possibly a return to a spiritual dryness that plagued her earlier in life. What makes up her mind is an experience with her community. It is not good to stand out in a convent. The idea is not to be special but to seek God together in daily life and prayer and work. That is the life, and the life, both books seem to decide, doesn't work without the Sisters subverting their own desires to the life and needs of the community. It is ultimately a much more "big picture" view than most of us can take. It's a big-picture view of time (aren't all spirtiual experiences by nature fleeting, if we continue to grow?) as well as one's place in a community.

As in Mariette, Lying Awake handles this action without diminishing the veracity of Sister John's spiritual experience. In the end, a holy, older Sister, helps S. John to understand the meaning of the experience. "God showed you what heaven could be like, and you shared it with others. ... God must think you did enough with that gift. Now he wants you to do something else."

Sister John is also helped by the glimpse she gets of her surgeon's vocation and its challenges. He also faced a period of disillusionment, realizing he went into medicine "for the wrong reasons." But he remained a doctor when he realized "everybody gets into medicine for the wrong reasons. It seems to come with the territory."

Quite a bit comes with the territory of being a nun. Struggling with the large questions all the time, and with the limitations of the church. For the Sisters who entered in the 1940s and have lived this life in its changing forms until today, there are myriads of questions, challenges, and also, I believe, joys. And each one is special and "stands out," even as they do what it takes to live together.

All Saints Sans Priest

The All Saints Day Vigil Prayer Service at the Sisters' cemetery on 10/31/11

Yesterday, the Feast of All Saints, was a holy day of obligation according to the Roman Catholic Church. For me, it was a good excuse to go to the 5 p.m. Mass with the Sisters of the Order of Saint Benedict. Mass was a bit more well-attended than usual. Although "day of obligation" is basically a guarantee that college students will not come to Mass, there were still a good number, and a large number of the Sunday crowd. We started in the Gathering Place. The worship aids were printed and well prepared, the schola was in its best finery and also well prepared. The one thing we were lacking was a priest.

The priest, who had e-mailed earlier in the day to confirm he was on the schedule, never arrived. After frantic phone calls and some shifting of readers, one of the Sisters put on a simple white robe to preside over the Liturgy of the Word. We began our procession with the Litany of the Saints. The music was lovely. The readings were also wonderful-- that great cloud of witnesses in Revelation, the Beatitudes during which we reflected on those who have gone to their rest after so much service to the world.

There was a lot to reflect on this year. Yesterday afternoon Sister Giovanni Bieniek died at the age of 101. She was the 19th Sister to die from that community this year. Last week there were two funerals. One of my reasons for attending was to have some time to reflect on Sisters Suzanne and Rosemary, who I have been missing. Looking around, many of the Sisters looked tired. Some of them looked sad, strained, annoyed about the priest situation. The Sister who was presiding was very gracious and asked us to reflect on our solidarity with the many communities that, because of an increasing priest shortage, are not able to have daily Mass or even weekly Mass.

One man attending got up and went to complain when the presider read the Gospel. "Only a priest can read the gospel!" he told the Sister in the Gathering Place. "What are we supposed to do? We don't have a priest or a deacon," she answered. I would like to answer: Are we to be denied the Word as well? Sister Helene had already prepared a reflection on the Beatitudes, which she gave. Were we to have the reflection without the reading? He stormed out before the closing hymn, which is a shame, because the hymn, by Sister Delores Dufner, was a beauty, as was the organ postlude she had prepared.

I did not hear any criticism of the priest. One Sister said, "I'm worried about him. He did confirm, so maybe something happened to him. Maybe he fell or got in an accident."

There is also, however, always the spectre of a day when there will not be priests to come over from Saint John's Abbey for daily Mass. Last year, the College of Saint Benedict, a Catholic women's college that shares the campus with the Sisters of Saint Benedict's Monastery and has joint classes with the men of Saint John's University (SJU) five miles away, lost its regular priest for the campus Mass. This is a diocesan appointment, and the bishop said he would not appoint anyone. He said the college students have ample opportunities: the two Saint Joseph parish Masses (and one Saturday) less than a block from campus, the Sisters' Sunday Mass, the SJU student Mass at 9 p.m. He has a point, but it's a Catholic college. There was talk of trying to recruit a retired priest from another region. Having been at a Mass last Spring at the far end of the diocese, where a retired priest had driven the two hours to preside at morning Mass for a cluster of churches, I had a suspicion those retired priests are otherwise fully engaged.

The obvious solution is to ordain women and married men. I wrote a blog entry about a year ago about attending the Roman Catholic Women Priest Mass at St. John's Episcopal Church in St. Cloud. The congregation, The Church of the First Apostle Mary Magdalene, meets at 1:30 p.m. every second Sunday of the month. I removed that post when it was co-opted by the conservative author of another website in an effort to discredit the Sisters (for whom I was working then as communications director). It didn't work, removing the post, because he just found a cached version to link to his site. It did point out to me the "third rail' nature of this issue.

That someone could be offended by a woman acting as "gospeler" truly shocks me. I really would have liked for us to share some unconsecrated bread, passing it to each other through the pews, as an alternative. Instead, the students who had processed in with the bread and wine in the hope that the priest would arrive, simply carried it back to the sacristy afterward, untouched.

It was a lovely liturgy, and liturgy is something the Sisters do very well. And we were all prepared. We were all present. God and the Holy Spirit were in our midst, and we, the assembly, were the Body of Christ. The only thing we were missing was a priest.

House of Prayer

In mid-September I started a new job. I moved from being the communications director for the Sisters of the Order of Saint Benedict, the largest community of Benedictine women in the United States, to the part-time administrator of a 13-room, 17-bed retreat house, the Episcopal House of Prayer. The distance between these two places is only 10 miles. The Sisters' monastery is in St. Joseph, Minnesota, and the House of Prayer is on the campus of Saint John's University and Abbey in Collegeville.

I am right down the street from where I started in this area, in 2005, when I moved here from Southern California to be a scholar at the Collegeville Institute for Ecumenical and Cultural Research. After that year, I worked for two years as an editor at Liturgical Press, which is also on the campus of Saint John's and a ministry of the Abbey.

The House of Prayer came out of the great ecumenical spirit of this place, a collaboration between Episcopal Bishop of Minnesota Bob Anderson (1934-2011) and Abbot Jerome Theisen 21 years ago. It builds on the great beauty of this part of the state as well.

One of my misgivings about not working for the Sisters anymore was a sense that I'd be moving away from the deep German Catholic heritage of this area. I'm really taken by the culture, particularly the old farmers and those who grew up on farms, hard-working and completely engaged even in their 70s and 80s.

I need not have worried. The first person I met here was Dennis, one of our two house cleaners. He turned 78 years old last year, having had a long career as a dairy farmer and another as a college custodian before retiring 11 years ago. He tells charming stories about "the wife," and "the boy" and "the girl," his children. He has one of the thick German accents I love to hear and am quite aware are not going to be heard in another 10-20 years.  He reminds me of my own grandfather, who was too social to retire and went to work in a produce department in his 70s just to stay active and continue to interact with people. 

Today, though, while the women of St. Victoria's Parish held their retreat in our fireplace living room, an older man came in from the parking lot. I met him in the lobby and asked if he'd just stopped in to take a look. He said he's often passed the sign, "House of Prayer," and thought today would be a good day to stop. I saw he had a rosary wrapped around his hand. "I'm not far from Albany, where I'm going, but it's such a nice day, I thought I'd see this house of prayer."

"Let me open the oratory for you," I said, taking him down the hall. I explained that we're a retreat house and that he was welcome to pray in our prayer space for as long as he liked. I unlocked the space and explained that we usually take off our shoes before going in. "That's fine," he said. He looked in curiously at the circle of chairs, the meditation mats and cushions on the floor. I have to say that the light in there at that time on this October day surprised even me. It made the whole place glow orange.

I asked him his name, and he said, "Norbert. Norbert Overman."
I told him mine, and he looked quizzical. "Zink?"
"Sink, like the kitchen sink," I said, and he chuckled.
"Stay as long as you like," I told him. He started to take off his shoes as I left.
"Thank you," he said, his rosary still wrapped tightly around his hand, the light from the open door flashing off his purple shirt.

Watermelon and Paul's Letters

I've spent the last ten days, and really the ten before it, being mostly overwhelmed. Starting a new job, making food, finishing up a large volunteer project -- but most of my energy has gone into working through the New Testament letters as part of the Art of The Saint John's Bible, volume 3 project. Coming face to face with passages in Paul's letters has thrown me for a real loop, and I can't even really explain it now, though every day I understand it a bit more.

My evangelical history with these passages, my graduate work on Paul where I was encouraged to radically re-envision Paul's role and words, and my ongoing attempts to really embrace and incorporate Catholic theology, all collided and have left me feeling somewhat disoriented. I've always found Paul daunting but a bit thrilling, too. However, I've felt free to think and reflect on Paul myself, with no real consequences. Writing for a general audience about the letters is something else again. My daily task is to go page by page, letter by letter, and write something that gives context to the highlighted passages. But I also need to consider the whole of what has been emphasized in the text treatments and, in some ways, try to figure out the intention, not so much of Paul as of the Committee on Illumination and Text that put together the plan for The Saint John's Bible.

I'm almost there, and after more erasing and restarting than in any other part of this project, I will have a draft of Letters today and can move on to, gulp, Revelation! In many ways, however, Revelation is easier. There are several full-page illuminations with lots to discuss, and the overall message is fairly simple and clear!

I have been wanting to share one more garden delight. When harvesting before the early frost, I came across this one, perfect, beautiful watermelon! I planted just as many watermelon plants as pumpkins, but after early vining, I couldn't find them in the mass of squash plants. So I was thrilled to pull this guy out of the field.

Last week when Steve and I were both home for lunch, I cut it open. Watermelon! Pink-fleshed and incredibly juicy, it was slightly sweet but not too sweet, and had seeds just like in the old days before genetic modification bred them out. The knife slicing through flesh and rind is always so satisfying in watermelon.

It made me very happy to eat the little guy.  

The Polka

Stearns County is a German Catholic stronghold, and for at least 150 years, the polka has reigned. As I've written before, even those who grew up poor on farms grew up with an accordion in the house, and maybe also a concertina. Everyone knew a couple dozen polkas, and that's what they did at the barn dances and the school dances. My strongest exposure to these polka bands has been at the annual Polka Mass at local festivals. The polka Mass is an outdoor Mass conducted on two flatbed trucks pushed together (the local trucking company well advertised on the cabs). Onto this area is crowded a makeshift altar, a podium for an ambo, a small table with the necessities for Communion, some folding chairs for the officiants and servers, and about a dozen musicians.

Instead of the usual liturgical hymns and songs, we are treated to polkas with religious lyrics. It is a rolicking good time, and even a bit irreverent, but it feels good. I had a bit of a transformative experience at my first polka Mass, in Cold Spring, where more than 1,000 people generally attend. To see the large grounds filled with people, sitting silently on boards laid on concrete blocks, their own lawn chairs, or blankets on the ground, including many families filling a large hill at the very back, gave me the closest vision I've ever had to Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. The place was completely quiet and reverent, as we went through the Mass together. That day the priest wore aviator sunglasses (it was very hot and sunny) and the altar was covered with a bright, Guatemalan woven cloth.

Last night we went to the annual festival, but I already knew there wouldn't be a polka band. Last year the leader of the polka band, our Sister Margaret Maus's brother, died suddenly in June, and the polka band disbanded. Things around here are rather fragile that way. Instead there was a bluegrass band, with just as many singers but not nearly as many instruments, and no accordions. Every tune felt like "Do Lord Remember Me" with different words, although we also sang "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and "I'll Fly Away." Of course, most of those polkas sound remarkably alike.

St. Joseph had a large folk band at their outdoor Mass this summer as well, though they haven't been regularly holding Polka Masses. I think it's a sign of the times, as old timey and bluegrass music is in with the younger musicians around town. A group of musicians at our church have a band called Random Road that plays at the local coffee shop and Fisher's Club, the local set-up club co-owned by Garrison Keillor.

The day before the St. Boniface Festival, however, was the monastery's annual Donor Appreciation Event. We had our usual band, who call themselves "The Central Minnesota Unorganized Musicians Organization." You're never sure what combination will show up, and this year they had a dulcimer player and a lap steel guitar player as well (in the photo he's the guy in the blue shirt). And not one but two accordions. One was Sister Ellen Cotone, who we know will not be able to do this much longer because of her failing memory. Each year she is able to come and play is a miraculous gift.

It was a gorgeous day, cool and sunny, and in fact it was a gorgeous evening at the bluegrass Mass as well. I enjoyed both and the privilege of so much good music in my town. Later they were going to set off fireworks, which reminded me of standing with Doug on my birthday on the bridge of the Guthrie drinking champagne. There were fireworks off in the distance, and he asked me if it was some kind of holiday. "That's probably some parish festival," I said. "All summer long these small towns have their festivals, with a Mass and food and games, a parade and fireworks." I hope it keeps up until I am old and gray, even if the music changes.

Sister Suzanne

Tonight I went to a Prayer Vigil at the monastery, which is what they do as a wake. It was the first time I've gone to a wake because I knew it would make me feel good. Everything about knowing Sister Suzanne and thinking about Sister Suzanne makes me feel good.

She turned 99 years old on April 1, and I think we must have known she wouldn't make it to 100 because we celebrated her birthday for weeks. Some friends gave her a Bose stereo, on which she listened to Chant and about which she giggled because she knew how nice it was. Her room was filled with flowers. She still lived upstairs at the monastery until June, when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Then she moved to Saint Scholastica Convent, the home for elderly and infirm Sisters, where she was very excited to meet all her new neighbors. She was curious about everyone and when we last visited, she told me all about the wonderful people there.

I met her when she was 96, and I never expected her to give me so much attention. I didn't see her often, but she knew exactly who I was and was happy to talk to me even for a few minutes. Running into her in the hallway always brightened my day. I did a videotape of her in January, and we talked for over an hour. She was warm, delightful, open and generous to me. And I truly felt I was seeing Christ in her.

Many people felt this way about Sister Suzanne, and many knew her better and longer than I did. One day at Saint Scholastica she had 65 visitors! And she didn't tire of them -- she loved them all. When I saw her at Saint Scholastica the first time, I said, "What did you do to your hair? Did you get a haircut?" She laughed and siad, "No, I'm not wearing my veil!" She pretended that it had been left behind in her room when she was taken to the hospital, but that wasn't true. She just wasn't wearing it anymore.

Sister Suzanne had great joy in life, and knowing that she would die soon, she said, "I'm so happy for me!" She looked forward to meeting her Savior and was at peace about dying. We were the ones who were sad, because we would miss her, but we were also happy for her.

After we talked the last time, I got big hugs and kisses from her. And when I left her room, she said, "You're in my prayers."

I have a complicated history with people praying for me. Most of the time, it seems, they are praying for something specific, and usually not what I want or need. With Sisters, it can sometimes feel cliche. They pray for "the world," for many, many people. I didn't have any requests or special needs at the time. And I know this is what Sister Suzanne says at the end of every visit. But when she said it, it brought tears to my eyes. I was glad, genuinely glad. Because she is close to God, closer than anyone I know. And my life and prayer are both more rich, the possibilities of what life with God means are more real to me, for having known Sister Suzanne. We share a name day, August 11, and I know I will think of her each year on that day. And I will hope to live with more joy and more love because of what she showed me about life.

Here below is the most precious clip from the video interview I did with Sister Suzanne in January.

Landmarks

On Monday, I accompanied Sister Josue Behnen to St. Cloud Hospital, where she was giving a "lunch and learn" presentation on prayer. Sister Josue spent most of her working life as a nurse, including 17 years on mission in Taiwan, before joining the staff of the Spirituality Center and heading up the spiritual direction program.


When we got to the hospital, S. Josue told me that she learned the route from the monastery to the hospital from Sister Mary Jude Meyer. S. Josue was just back from Taiwan in the 1980s and going to begin working at the hospital. S. Mary Jude drove her and, at the first turn, a stoplight with a granite monument business on the left, she said, pointing: "When you see that tree, turn left."

The same thing happened at the next turn. "When you see that tree," she said, pointing to a good-sized tree and not the gas station or school on opposite corners, "turn right."

For S. Mary Jude, there were no street signs or landmarks more recognizable than the trees. Isn't that a wonderful way to see the world?

The photo above is of the monastery catalpa tree, currently in bloom. I don't remember these trees before I moved to Minnesota -- probably just because I wasn't paying attention. They only bloom a few days each year.

Installation Day

Sunday the monastery where I work installed a new prioress. I was at my college reunion in Grinnell, Iowa, from Thurs-Sat noon, and drove back to be on duty for the event. When someone asked why I had to go back, I said, "The monastery where I work is having the installation of a new prioress on Sunday." She looked very confused. "What's a prioress?"
Before I could answer, someone said, "It's the piece between the queen and the knight."
"That's right," I said. "She can only move diagonally."

The prioress is the spiritual leader of a Benedictine monastery. The Rite of Installation, celebrated with the Sisters of the monastery, the new prioress's family and me, as the communications director, feeling very lucky to be there, makes clear that the prioress is a representative of Christ for the community.

Much is made of treating everyone as Christ in St. Benedict's Rule and the Benedictine way of life. The motto is expressed in a number of ways: "Greet/Welcome all as Christ," "Love all as Christ," and "Treat all as Christ." This last informs the Benedictine health care system, injecting a dose of humility into what can sometimes be a dehumanizing institution. It is probably the most wonderful thing about the monastery: The love the Sisters have for each other. This love is translated as caring and any manner of expression but also as charity for one another. I always think this is the basis for "seeing Christ" in the other and, more importantly, seeing the other as Christ sees us.

So I think that the prioress has a lucky assignment. She gets to see as Christ, to be Christ to the Sisters. That does not mean she isn't called to challenge them or direct and redirect. But I do believe that real joy is loving others, and she is called to love.

I wrote the blog entry today for the Sisters' blog about the installation. For more about what happens during a Rite of Installation, click here.

Web 2.0 for the Sisters

This past week I was at a conference in Denver, one very specific to what I do. It was the National Communicators Network for Women Religious (NCNWR). It was attended by 114 communication directors and others from Roman Catholic women's religious orders. It was a great conference, in part because they always get very good speakers to talk about technology and social media and in part because it is very interesting to be with that many people who do exactly what I do.

I get to hear about what others are doing and always learn about some online program I can use in my job. And I usually hear in depth about something that I had only barely heard about before. This year, it was mobile phone media. What you need now, it seems, is a Web site that people can read on their phone. The mobile Web site, it seems, is actually a blog that consists of short bursts of information (your Facebook updates and Twitter feed) and a few links to longer things that are on your regular Web site or blog for those who are really interested. Once they click, of course, they'll have to read the piece they're interested in on their little phone.

I'm not happy about this development. It takes away the photos and design and any substantial length from the Web. Nor am I happy about the advice to not really communicate anything in an e-newsletter anymore, but just make it into a set of links to your Web site or other places where information is stored, for those who are really interested. "Click-throughs" are the measure of success.

I run a very successful e-newsletter for the Sisters. To see a sample, click here. I write all the articles except the brief, introductory piece by Sister Gen. There are links to videos I've posted on Youtube or registrations or our blog or the secure online donation form. People do indeed click through. They also open it at a rate of about 40%. Our open rate was even higher six months ago, when we had 2,000 subscribers. As we get more subscribers (now at 3,000) we get a lower percentage of opens, but still a very large number of (950-1,100) opens. What we get very few of is "unsubscribes." Maybe 2-3 a month.

Maybe it's because our audience is composed of readers. Or because they're interested in the Sisters. I like to think the newsletter is interesting and is changing some people's ideas about what nuns are like. I like to think it's because I don't waste anyone's time and have interesting content and good photos.

I know about the other kind of e-newsletter. I get one of these from my college's alumni office and the alumnae office at the college near the monastery. Sometimes I click through, mostly on links to articles in the New York Times or other big publications where my college was mentioned. If not a set of links, the Web 3.0 newsletter is what this expert recommended instead: one message, repeated over and over in each paragraph with a different wording that is also a link to what they want you to do-- click through to the donate page or information-gathering page on their Web site. I get several a day these days, now that political season is upon us. I give to one candidate regularly, and am happy to have a Web link to do it more easily. The rest I summarily delete. I barely glance at the subject lines.

The world has changed, even for the Sisters and their communicators. I am watching it-- both at a distance and up close. Learning to communicate in the new world in a new, and yet, I hope, meaningful way.

Strings Too Short to Use

At today's birthday lunch with the Sisters from my office, the talk turned to stories of nun frugality and of savers extraordinaire. One story was of a Sister who saved and reused everything, beyond reason. In her office she had various boxes marked with the contents. One box read: "Strings Too Short to Use," and contained just that. I suppose if you tied a few together?

Wouldn't that be a great title for a short story or poem? (writer friends, note: it's mine!)

Another Sister was wondering if maybe this woman had also been on mission as a teacher in Staples. When she lived in the house where Sisters who taught there lived, they'd cleaned out the attic and were surprised by what they found. Everything, she said, had a note attached instructing the future Sisters on how to use the contents. In one box there might be old curtains, with a note: "These are for the kitchen windows when the current ones wear out," or a box of clips: "These clips are helpful for hanging herbs, but might also be used as clothes pins or to close bags." "This rod matches the living room window but will not fit on the current brackets." "This broom is best for use on the back walk when the current one wears out."

My favorite story from today, however, was about a teacher, and how a child saved the day. It was relayed by someone who heard it from Sister Suzanne Helmin yesterday. Sister Suzanne is 98 years old and sharp as a tack. She remembered teaching a kindergarten class and one day they were so unruly she had to step outside of the room and take a break. She went for a sip of water to calm herself, then returned. Looking through the window she saw all the children sitting silently at their desks waiting for her. She was still angry when she walked in the room. Before she said anything, however, one of the boys in the front row stood up and launched into "Hello, Dolly." He sang the whole number, start to finish, with a little dance to accompany it, while the other kids watched in stunned silence.  Sister Suzanne said it was just what she needed. She couldn't help but smile at that, and the class could continue.

Nun Conference

I was in Ferdinand at a conference on Vocations. It was five days long, which is a really long time to be at a conference. It went at a nun's pace, which meant the breaks were long for those who needed to recharge or take naps, and there was free time and lots and lots of hospitality. Three social receptions, two of which included fudge from Gethsemani, Thomas Merton's Trappist monastery down the road in Kentucky. The monks there sent seven boxes of fudge, mostly with bourbon but some without, along with two Trappistine Sisters who visited on their way from their monastery in Virginia to the conference in Indiana.

I hope that someday I will give a full account of the world I'm experiencing now, the world of nuns at the beginning of the 21st century. Right now I feel self-conscious about it, because I am an official representative of a monastery, and because I am conscious of their image and the image they want to use to portray themselves.

At the conference, and most of the time, of course, it is clear that most nuns today are old, first generation American women. In the Midwest, they are mostly the daughters of German and some Irish immigrants. They are mostly the daughters of farm families.

On the final night, there was a Eucharist just for the 25 of us at the conference, so we wouldn't have to worry about getting to Sunday Mass on the day we were traveling. After the Eucharist, there was a party with all the Sisters at Ferdinand. The younger Sisters were all out, except for a few who live and work at the monastery. Most of their younger Sisters work in parishes and schools in Louisville or Evansville or even farther away.

Four Sisters have a combo: upright bass, guitar, electric piano and drums. When they play liturgical music (without drums), they call themselvesStillpoint. When they play at parties, they are The Combo. They had a large repertoire. Much to the chagrin of the three Redemptorist priests from Ireland, they played "When Irish Eyes are Smiling," "Toura Loura Loura" and "Danny Boy," though Father Dan did sing along. They also played a Schottische. Of course, the chicken dance and hokey pokey. Some Sisters got out and danced as well to a few polkas. There was one line dance. Sisters danced at everything they played.

Then, during what seemed like a break, the pianist played a tinkling little number that sounded like something you'd hear from a music box.

That is when Sister Catherine got up and danced. She turned 73 during the conference, and she is the prioress at the Trappistine monastery. Her young colleague had asked during a presentation, "Could you tell us what this Facebook is?" The 10 Trappistines make cheese as a community one day a week, just enough to cover their expenses, although there is demand for more. They want to figure out how to attract more women to their way of life, and I'm not sure what they made of the conference. They did determine they need a web site, and probably it was not realistic to think a Sister would be able to make one using the copy of Dreamweaver they bought for the community.

Sister Catherine danced by herself, spinning and moving lightly across the floor. Her hands moved like butterflies, like birds. She was out there about three whole minutes, while we all watched. After the number was over, we all clapped, and she graciously bowed.

Not all Sisters are the same, and not all monasteries or orders are the same. There is great variety, that goes overlooked in the stereotypes and generalizations. They are vibrant and they are in possession of a culture, which they are practicing in these days, despite all the rapid change going on around them and even in their communities, and that in another generation will be gone.

Merging Monasteries

This week I've been working on a big story at the monastery. On Saturday, the Sisters of Saint Benedict's Monastery in St. Joseph, Minnesota, voted at their Chapter meeting to accept a request from Saint Bede Monastery in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, to merge. Saint Bede Monastery will close down, and its 29 members will join Saint Benedict's Monastery.

This is the kind of thing where, given the nature of Chapter, you don't even work on the press release until the vote is taken. No assumptions, although it was fairly clear even in November that Sisters were behind this idea. I had two discussions wiht the prioress about it beforehand, so I had notes and knew what might happen if the vote was affirmative. Monday morning I began work on the press release, with input from the two prioresses. By late Monday afternoon, I was able to call the St. Cloud Times and The Visitor, the diocesan paper for St. Cloud, and tell them that the next morning I would be sending out a press release. It was a great day, doing what I most love, which is writing. This assignment was particularly gratifying because I crafted quotes and also was dealing with a delicate, sensitive situation.

Tuesday I sent it out, and got two calls from local radio stations asking how to pronounce "St. Bede." (It is the same as "bead.") I also got a call from a reporter in Eau Claire who ran the story.

This morning the story was on the front page of the St. Cloud Times, above the fold. I just love to say that: above the fold. In the world of communicators, "good placement." And he used the quotes I'd written-- used most of the press release, actually, in addition to a few other facts I provided him. He cut out some of our jargon, but hey, ok. The press release, in other words, is working for both our internal and external audiences. A large number of Sisters have told me how good it is, how well it is written, and how happy they were to read it. Both prioresses are pleased. I've had calls today from The Visitor saying the story is being moved to the Minneapolis office and will appear in both the diocesan and archdiocesan papers, and from a t.v. station in Eau Claire.

In the end the real work of these two communities coming together has just begun, but this week was a good week. Talk to me in six months when I'm putting together a photo directory for 300 Sisters!

To read the press release, click here.

photo: Sisters from Saint Benedict's Monastery visit with Sisters from Saint Bede in January.

Turkey Girls

My other video project has been putting together some short video tours of the Haehn Museum exhibit, "By the Work of Our Hands," that closed on December 23rd. The exhibit explored sustainability at the monastery over the past 152 years, including land management and their various businesses. I walked through the exhibit with Sister Moira Wild, the museum director, and she simply told some of the stories on video. I do believe her favorite is the turkey story, which we have all enjoyed hearing in different forms throughout the year. Sister Dolores Super wrote about this for the Sisters' blog last week. Her account drew on the records kept by the novices who cared for the turkeys.

I love this piece of video-- the story is great, and S. Moira tells it really well. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I'll be posting more videos from this museum show over the next week or so. To visit them, go to http://www.sbm.osb.org/ or click here.

Schola

The choir at Saint Benedict's Monastery is a "schola." "Schola" is short for Schola Cantorum, the Latin term for a school or group of people who join together to learn and sing ecclesial chant, the song of the church. It is a choir, but one dedicated to the ancient chant tradition-- although that's not the only music they sing. On Christmas Eve before Mass, there is a half hour of music, some traditional carols sung with the congregation, and several amazing numbers by the schola. Saint Benedict's Monastery has a long tradition of wonderful music, and several Sisters who are well known for writing hymns and arranging liturgical music.

I brought in my flip video camera to film, primarily, two liturgical dances that were going to be part of the caroling service. I was so taken by the music, however, that I tried to capture that as well. I was sure the sound would be awful, given how far away I was from the choir, but it turned out quite nicely. The church has amazing accoustics, and though there is definitely an echo, and it's not good at all for the spoken word, music is extremely lovely in that space. In fact, I don't think proper microphones would have helped all that much, as the sound might have been out of balance. I do wish I'd been closer to get better video quality. If you could see how tiny this camera is, though, and how far away I was, you'd be amazed at what I captured!

So here it is, the schola, singing "Of the Father's Love"
text by Aurelius Prudentius (4th century)
arranged by Christine Manderfeld, OSB




And here is a traditional Spanish carol, "A La Nanita Nana" with Christine Manderfeld, OSB, on flute, Katherine Howard, OSB, on cello, and Elisa Ugarte on guitar.

Saint John's Abbey Christmas Tree

I just had to post this wonderful video of the Christmas tree being pulled through the doors of the Great Hall at Saint John's Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota, five miles up the road. The monks cut down a giant tree from their arboretum (they have plenty) each year for this space, and it's always spectacular.



We kind of marvel at the scale of what the monks do. They have a very well-run Arboretum, and bring school children through on field trips and tours each year, as well as host an immensely popular maple syrup festival out at their sugar shack, where they make 80-150 gallons of syrup each year. This year, after long considering building a wind turbine to generate some of their energy, they instead have begun a gigantic solar field on one of their outlying properties. It will mean less noise for the neighbors!

The monks are also responsible for The Saint John's Bible, a commission of the first hand-written, hand-illuminated Bible since the 16th century and the invention of the printing press. (I wrote the web site and also two books on the art of the Bible, which can be found here.) They have a woodworking shop that makes high quality furniture, and a pottery with the largest woodburning kiln in the United States. (This last kind of bugs me-- no one needs a kiln the size of a warehouse, and I don't really see the point. It seems inefficient. Why not have more firings in a smaller kiln? I am not convinced.) 

The Abbey Church, with its distinctive bell banner, was also groundbreaking and monumental. I love it for its audacity and although I'm not a fan of that much concrete, I do love the choir stalls and altar, the wood and tiles and stone. Praying there, you do feel part of a community.

I'm an Oblate of this abbey, though with my move just five miles down the road to St. Joseph and changing jobs from that campus to the women's community, Saint Benedict's Monastery, I feel less connected there. And now, living and working in such a female environment, I do experience the abbey differently. It is quite a male space and place. Yesterday, I was reminded by a friend of an important experience I had there. It was during the abbey's Sesquicentennial in 2006. I was invited by the liturgy director to write three poems, or monologues, or whatever I thought appropriate, to be read during a special evening prayer liturgy for the Feast of St. John the Baptist, the patron saint of the abbey church. The event was on June 24, and there were several hundred invited guests.

At the end of May, I moved from Southern California permanently to Minnesota. I'd spent the previous year at the Collegeville Institute at St. John's, which is how I got connected to the community. I wrote the three pieces, very much inspired by the Holy Spirit, I believe, while on a two-week residency at the Anderson Center in Red Wing, Minnesota. Then I flew to Southern California to get my things out of storage and onto a moving truck. I flew back and took a summer school class before starting a new job, living in a dorm until I closed on my house in Cold Spring, then living in my house in my new small town. I hardly knew a soul, though my neighbors were friendly and I did have one friend who helped me out a lot. But that weekend, I didn't have anyone to attend the liturgy with me, and was facing the prospect of a birthday alone, spent scraping linoleum off the dining room floor (yes, the dining room).  That evening I read my poems at the big liturgy, though they didn't make clear anywhere that I was the author of them, not just the reader. Then there was a big dinner-- I hadn't been invited but I went anyway, and there people started to understand that I'd written the pieces, and come up to me. Several Sisters came up to say how much they liked the piece on Elizabeth.

Even that day, only 2 1/2 years ago, seems so far away. When I see this video, it's like a land I used to know. I had lunch with my friend from Cold Spring today at the Saint John's dining hall in this same old monastery quad. It was fun to be there, and I was able to greet quite a few people. I was happy to be less lonely than I was that day (although I wasn't particularly lonely during that time). I was happy for the connection.

Here is the poem, based on the account of Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, in the Gospel of Luke.

Elizabeth
   (a villanelle by Susan Sink)

Like Sarah, mother of promise, I was barren.
Perhaps God would do for me what he did for her.
This was my hope, my prayer.

What could I do but be faithful, a daughter of Aaron?
Servants of Abraham and Moses, we have our parts.
Like Sarah, mother of promise, I was barren.

The Spirit of God prepared me to receive,
and the herald grew in my womb.
This was my hope, my prayer, speaking

for the baby who leapt in greeting: Blessed are you
among women, and blessed the fruit of your womb.
Like Sarah, I was a mother of promise.

How could we know what was to come?
We had life inside us, and that was all
the rejoicing, hope, and prayer we could contain.

They came to bring life to the world,
to turn children to parents, parents to God.
Like Sarah, we were bearing promised sond.
This was my hope, my prayer.  

Gaudete Sunday

The crowds asked John the Baptist,
“What should we do?”
He said to them in reply,
“Whoever has two cloaks
should share with the person who has none.
And whoever has food should do likewise.”
Even tax collectors came to be baptized and they said to him,
“Teacher, what should we do?”
He answered them,
“Stop collecting more than what is prescribed.”
Soldiers also asked him,
“And what is it that we should do?”
He told them,
“Do not practice extortion,
do not falsely accuse anyone,
and be satisfied with your wages.”

Now the people were filled with expectation,
and all were asking in their hearts
whether John might be the Christ.
John answered them all, saying,
“I am baptizing you with water,
but one mightier than I is coming.
I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals.
He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.
His winnowing fan is in his hand to clear his threshing floor
and to gather the wheat into his barn,
but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
Exhorting them in many other ways,
he preached good news to the people.
                  Luke 3:10-18
This was today's Gospel reading, for Gaudete Sunday. "Gaudete" means "Rejoice," and as Father J.P. Earls pointed out at Mass at the Monastery, the reading can make one uneasy. The prophecy by John that the Christ will arrive with "fire" and burn the chaff with unquenchable fire is not exactly something to rejoice about. What I know is that this reading felt fresh and new to me, and is what I love most about Scripture. Look at the three-part structure of those who come to ask John's advice: the crowds, the tax collectors and the soldiers. And the advice they're given seems so basica nd common-sensical, it's hard to imagine that the crowd would respond so enthusiastically. Was it such a change to hear someone saying: "Hey, give to the poor, don't be corrupt, and don't be greedy" that the crowd thought he must be the messiah?

I also like the more difficult part of the passage, the prophecy. One is coming who will baptize not with water but with the Holy Spirit and fire. Who wouldn't want a promise of a messiah like that? The one for whom baptism will not be a ritual, not representative, but transforming. And I know that baptism can be transforming-- how much American literature and film has shown this, and haven't I seen it in actual churches? But for most of us, most of the time, the experience of God with us is not as visceral as this promise.

This weekend I feel like I moved into Advent. I am happy there are two weeks more until Christmas. I'm not sure what it was, but probably partly the cold, and certainly going to a store and finishing the shopping on Saturday morning with a very well-behaved crowd and Christmas music playing, and also making cookies, and two nights of dinner guests. Today the Vikings won, and we put up the Christmas tree, and I made more cookies. And there was more music. And the Sisters were dressed in pink and purple and there was wonderful music and lots of people in church. And the Scripture readings were so rich and spoke of essential things: God is coming; God is with us; Rejoice! And this, from the first reading, the prophet Zepheniah:

The LORD, your God, is in your midst,

a mighty savior;
he will rejoice over you with gladness,
and renew you in his love,
he will sing joyfully because of you,
as one sings at festivals.
That is right: The Lord, our God, will sing joyfully, because of us. There is a promise there of a time when we humans are such, that God is moved to sing, instead of the other way around.

Monastery Blog

The monastery has launched a blog, with eight Sisters signed on to write once a month (one is on for the fifth Tuesday of the month, so really there are two holes in the schedule if we want every Tuesday and Thursday covered). So far, two entries have been posted. As communications director, I set up the blog template, put in the basic information, and did an orientation for the bloggers.

I've also offered to sit with them and help them post their entries. I'm certain that at least four of them will pick it up almost immediately, and it will probably only be a regular thing to help three of them. And it doesn't take long and is really a pleasure to get a visit once a month from some of these Sisters to post their entries. I'll fill in here and there with other entries, things I have access to or that work best on a site where I can post links-- and hopefully drive people to our Web site. I am a communications professional, after all.

Today I watched a free webinar on public relations through social media. It was a little overwhelming. The speaker works for major clients as a public relations expert and introduced not just the concept of publicizing businesses through use of social media but also these crazy, complex online press releases. It was for Anheuser Busch, promoting a video they were releasing that was a behind-the-scenes look at the making of their Super Bowl commercial. The release included a Twitter post, a "summary" that was basically the release, had video clips down the side, and had links to all kinds of things-- interviews with the makers of the making-of video, to the video site, to a promotion site for the video, e-mails to all the people involved and a variety of other organizations, links so you could easily "share" the content of that very press release, YouTube embed codes you could paste right in your blog if you wanted to include one of the clips, etc. Everything you'd need as a blogger or online media outlet to link to this promotion.

He also had some high-power graphics of social networking relationships-- how he identified people in a certain target industry tho were all loosely interconnected in terms of their discussion of issues and yet who reached all kinds of different niche audiences. With this chart of connections and connectors developed, you'd have a really powerful list for submitting your PR press release. And you could build buzz and seriously promote something...

Home for lunch I heard an "Intelligence Squared" debate on NPR on the proposition: "Good riddance to the/mainstream media." I love these debates, mostly because they remind me of teaching rhetoric. But unlike many of these "Oxford-style debates," which are always quite civilized and stable, this one devolved right away into heated discussion, shouting even. What was clear was what was at stake. The representatives of mainstream/traditional media are in complete emotional crisis mode over the impending death of their industry. Right away I'd been slightly offended by the way the proposition was phrased. It seemed so callous. Could anyone think that the death of newspapers and magazines in this country is a good thing, long overdue?

I think it's inevitable, given the huge technological transition we're in, but I also think it should be attended with respect and even some sadness. You know, like the death of the record album. Or even the death of the CD. MP3 files are not very high quality, and albums are basically dead as a form, replaced by digitized libraries full of singles. I'm happy to have digital music, and in fact downloaded a CD yesterday (the whole thing, not just the songs I really like-- but I also bought another one by the same artist used online because it was cheaper and I'm thinking will last longer than my next system crash). Still, I know it's not as good as the old technology and I know we're losing access to what was a truly formative experience for me: listening to records, then to CDs, one at a time, in their entirety, on music systems with good speakers or headphones.

Things are changing. For real.

Four of the Sisters wrote their first blog entries right away, and even found photos/artwork for them. They wanted me to proofread the entries and advise them on length and content. Two are holding onto them until their day-- the week of Thanksgiving. The Sisters are nothing if not perfectionists, which will make it hard for them to really get into blogging. But they'll also enjoy having their writing "out there" right away and for an audience. It's my job to build an audience, I think. It's my job, certainly, to help them get what they've written onto the blog itself.

It's hard to say what my job is. I work with an organization that is in some ways slowing down, but which is still constantly courting new ideas. Many of these Sisters want to find a way into the future-- giving online courses, retreats and webinars of their own. They want to share their wisdom and have someone help them navigate the world of technology. In some ways, however, the line between programming itself and promotion of that programming becomes blurred, because there aren't many Sisters who can actually make the transition on their own-- give me something to promote using the new tools of "my" profession. 

After lunch, a Sister dropped by to hand in a profile she's written for the next magazine. I'll have to retype it because, although she did create it on her computer, she's forgotten her password and can't get back on. Then I met with a Sister who is ramping up one of the monastery's traditional programs, a scholars-in-residence program, and starting a new initiative to sponsor students for a year of service living with Benedictine communities after college in needy areas of the world. She needs a bookmark and two brochures. We made a plan, looked at sample text and pricing. This, I told her, is something I can definitely do.

Tomorrow I'm off to the Archives to try to find an image of the 100-year-old grotto with snow for this year's Christmas card...

Nuns: No Regrets

Last week someone was telling me about what happened in her small group in an Abnormal Psychology class at the College of Saint Benedict. They were looking at diagnostic tests, first Rorschachs and then those pictures where you create a narrative based on the figures and situationd depicted.

The four women in this group had a picture of an old woman with a kerchief or something on her head, and a younger, androgynous figure. The story they gigglingly constructed was of a nun on her deathbed, wishing that she had had sex in her life. She wanted to have sex with the young man, and regretted her life of celibacy. You can imagine how the conversation went.

No doubt, once the story began, the others went with it. Such is the group dynamics of 20-year-old girls. What struck me is that it was so completely alien to the nuns I know. It sounds like the teacher did a good job of addressing their story when it was reported to the rest of the class, saying that sexuality is certainly a part of life and likely to be a conflict for people living under vows of celibacy. I told the studnet who shared with me what happened that it would have been difficult if not impossible for me to intervene as they were constructing this story to say they clearly knew nothing at all about nuns, and should take advantage of their opportunity studying on the edge of a large women's monastery to get to know one of the Sisters there.

I am sure that in younger years, celibacy is a conflict-- even moreso, I believe, is the decision not to have children. This conflict was reactivated in spades, I think, as Sisters left in the 60s and 70s to get married (often to priests leaving ministry as well) The Sisters I know have the most fulfilling, life-long relationships with their Sisters. They look back on their long lives with satisfaction and joy.

Yesterday I was talking to Steve about news I'd received of an acquaintance who was getting a divorce after 19 years of marriage. The report of this divorce on a social media site shared that the couple remained best friends but the passion was gone, and they came to the conclusion (with separate counselors and a marriage counselor) that they were young enough to move on and find fulfilling, romantic relationships with others. I don't share this world view about marriage, but I was more saddened by the way others wrote in to congratulate him on his brave decision and encourage him in his new adventure and next part of his journey. One said the couple's two children will be better for their parents making decisions to be fulfilled rather than staying together for the sake of the children. The whole thing made me depressed.

Steve shared his view, which was that it is very difficult to critique the romantic view of love in society. He quoted Stanley Hauerwass, who wrote something along these lines: No one knows what love is. We only know love at the end of life, looking back on the relationships we have had in all their complexity, when we can say: 'yes, that was love.'

I'm not sure these two things are related, but I think they are. I think the girls in the class were more influenced by images of nuns in popular culture (sexy nun Halloween costumes come to mind) than by actual nuns. But I also think they will probably pursue romantically fulfilling, passionate relationships as the definition of successful relationships and, well, love. When those relationships no longer have that spark, if they are in a situation where they can do so, they will leave for the next step of the journey, a journey that is circumscribed by the autonomy of the individual, the highest aim being individual fulfillment at all times at all costs. Self-reliance.

The question is how, in our homes and in our world, do we provide models of lives that allow space for the individual to realize his and her talents, while also building meaningful and lasting communities that are sustaining over the long term?

If someone knows the answer, please tell me.

Nuns and Justice

The New York Times continues to have pieces in support of Catholic nuns in America. I presume they're getting a large number of letters and editorials on the subject by people whose lives are positively affected by Sisters across the nation. The Order I work for have their roots in contemplation, though they have always done apostolic work-- hospitals and education, mostly, the work of almost every order in the United States in the 19th century. However, many other orders are rooted in justice work. By rooted I mean their founding monasteries in Europe worked in prisons and nursed people through the plague and took in orphans.

When they left Europe, in the bloody wars that followed the Reformation or later, sending out missionaries to help immigrant populations in the New World, they brought with them this traditional work. The Sisters of St. Joseph stand out in this regard. I was told a story by a Sister of St. Joseph of Orange about how the Sisters who survived the guillotine or prison in the French Revolution continued to live in hiding and serve the poorest of the towns near Puy, France, while they also continued their tradition of making lace. This is a common story, and celebrates what I see as twoo ongoing traditions for Sisters: Work to meet the needs of the world and preserve art and craft traditions (usually, while praying). To read the history of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Orange, click here.

These justice-oriented Orders are the Sisters who went to Latin America in the 60s-80s and provided places of refuge for struggling people and fought for justice, often at the cost of their lives.

These are the kinds of Sisters described in the most recent editorial in the New York Times. They work for justice locally, and their achievements are dramatic. To read the editorial, click here.

Nuns in America (2)

The National Catholic Reporter has done a great job of covering the Apostolic Visitation of women religious in the U.S. and of being clear, articulate and also challenging the Visitation. They have had gifted columnists writing, including editor Tom Fox, Ken Briggs and now Sister Sandra Schneider, a professor at the Jesuit School of Theology in Berkeley, California, and a member of Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary (IHM). Her article here seeks to answer two questions: 1) Why are religious disturbed about hte apostolic vistation? and 2) What is the real motivation for this investigation. But even more than that, she talks about the women who left religious life in large numbers after Vatican II (from the 1960s-1980s) and she talks about the women who stayed, also in large numbers, as well as those entering religious life today.

To read the article, click here.