Two faded photographs. Could be a single photo; each completing the other. They emerge from a mildewy box in a mildewy cellar filled with mildewy boxes. Nearby are many other boxes that will eventually become mildewy. “Oh,” says Mom, her voice mildewy. “Here’s my parents.”
In Print!
I am delighted and grateful that the March/April issue of Spirit & Life, the magazine published by the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration in Clyde, MO, contains my story, “What Inspires Me? Who Inspires Me?”. That’s the piece I highlighted on this blog back on May 7 of last year. Please scroll down and give a read!
“Freckle” (RIP Dad 2/10/17)
I’m four years old. Dad is scrubbing my face with a washcloth. He keeps scrubbing just under my lower lip, just above my chin. “It won’t come off,” he says. I giggle because I know why. “It’s a freckle, not a dirt spot!” It’s still there, along with the memory.
“The Spelling Bee”
From the Scripps National Spelling Bee website:
The word “bee”, as used in “spelling bee”, is one of those language puzzles that has never been satisfactorily accounted for. A fairly old and widely-used word, it refers to a community social gathering at which friends and neighbors join together in a single activity (sewing, quilting, barn raising, etc.) usually to help one person or family. The earliest known example in print is a “spinning bee”, in 1769. Other early occurrences are “husking bee” (1816), “apple bee” (1827), and “logging bee” (1836). “Spelling bee” is apparently an American term. It first appeared in print in 1875, but it seems certain that the word was used orally for several years before that. Those who used the word, including most early students of language, assumed that it was the same word as referred to the insect. They thought that this particular meaning had probably been inspired by the obvious similarity between these human gatherings and the industrious, social nature of a beehive. But in recent years scholars have rejected this explanation, suggesting instead that this “bee” is a completely different word. One possibility is that it comes from the Middle English word “bene”, which means ”prayer” or “favor” (and is related to the more familiar word “boon”). In England, a dialect form of this word, “been” or “bean”, referred to “voluntary help given by neighbors toward the accomplishment of a particular task.”
***
To paraphrase: “a community social gathering at which (classmates) join together in a single activity … usually to help (other classmates)”.
Let me tell you how it really went down.
I am seeing myself in the 4th grade, though this “community social gathering” happened in other grades as well. The class would be divided in half, or else by girls vs. boys, and lined up to stand on opposite sides of the classroom to form two walls of competitors. The teacher would hurl a word at each of us, toggling between one line of kids and the other. If we spelled the word correctly, we stayed in our line. The teacher would go on to the kid next to us in our line. Our teammight have gotten an advantage, but individually, we were left to await our fate because, soon enough, the teacher would come round to us again. If we booted our word, took too long or tried to help another kid, we had to return to our desks to sit in shame, humiliation or feigned indifference. And the teacher would call on the next kid in the other line, on the other team, so to speak. Like losing possession of the ball. This whole nerve-wracking exercise took a while because there were generally 40 or so kids in a class. But the lines would eventually dwindle down to two kids facing each other. The final duel might also last for a while, because these kids were the really good spellers. At the end of it all, there would be one winner, who never really won anything except temporary relief from the continuing anxiety of having to perform and be perfect.
What was the point of this miserable demonstration of superiority?
Oh, by the way, I was almost always in that final duel.
***
From The Academy of Accelerated Learning website:
A spelling bee is a competition in which contestants are asked to spell a broad selection of words, usually with a varying degree of difficulty.Spelling bees help to promote literacy by providing children with a positive goal to work toward, and gives them a forum to display the fruits of their hard work. But they also do much more: In addition to improving spelling, the bees also aid children in learning concepts, improving comprehension and developing study skills.The benefits of spelling bees extend beyond language: Since children are required to spell words while on stage, kids also develop self-confidence, communication and public speaking skills, and the ability to thrive under pressure.The lessons learned by participating in a spelling bee can therefore last a lifetime, and can benefit even those who don’t outlast all competitors. That will surely spell success for their futures.
***
You have got to be kidding. Though it’s true that “lessons learned by participating in a spelling bee can … last a lifetime”.
“Intervention”
It is affecting for me to see this very personal essay appear in “Reflections 2025”, the literary magazine published by the University of Southern Maine branch of the nationwide Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (see page 6):
“Advent Reflection”
This reflection was posted on the website for Catholic Artist Connection yesterday:
https://catholicartistconnection.com/wait-for-the-lord/dec-5-2024
“Thoughts on My Legacy”
This essay appears page 31 of the inaugural issue of The Branches: A Journal of Literature and Philosophy; one of my paintings is the cover image. I am delighted!
“Resilience as a Benedictine Virtue — An Oblate Reflects on the Closing of Queen of Angels Monastery”
It’s an honor and a blessing for me that this essay appears in the 2024 Fall/Winter issue of “Benedictines”, a journal published by the Benedictine Sisters of Mount St. Scholastica Monastery in Atchison, KS.
On December 26, 2023, the buildings and grounds of Queen of Angels Monastery were sold, an event commemorated on March 20, 2024, at a specially designed transfer ritual. Thus ended one chapter in the nearly 140-year-long story of the Benedictine Sisters in Gervais and Mt. Angel, Oregon. And now the page is turned, and the story continues, with more chapters to come. What are the lessons for a Queen of Angels Oblate?
As events unfolded in recent years that would bring profound change to Queen of Angels Monastery, I was growing into my new vocation there as an Oblate. Eager as I was to embrace Benedictinism in general and Queen of Angels in particular, had I found myself at a dead-end? Would the Mt. Angel Sisters’ way of life disappear? Would Oblation disappear?
Natural questions, which the Sisters in their resilience have answered with a gentle but emphatic “No”. The answer emerged from their dedication to living the Rule of Benedict. While an ending in one sense, the closing of the Monastery is also a new beginning … and I know that an informal Benedictine motto is “begin, again”.
People with resilience know how to begin again. Not just once, but over and over again. Psychologists tell us that they possess purpose, optimism, adaptability, problem-solving abilities, emotional awareness, social support, humor and other admirable qualities. When resilience is enriched by faith in God and dedication to the Rule, it rises to the level of a virtue, and people with that virtue are blessed. Queen of Angels has always been a community of blessed people.
I want to tell you about the resilience of the Sisters of Queen of Angels; that of the Oblates, too. But first, some background.
***
For a number of years, the Sisters had been facing a situation familiar to other monastic communities. Demographic, cultural and Church-related changes were affecting the future. No one was seeking monastic profession at Queen of Angels. The lovely and capacious Monastery building, designed to accommodate scores of Sisters, had many unused rooms. Maintaining that building was more and more costly, while caring for the Monastery’s hundreds of acres of property posed additional difficulties. The time came to chart a new course. A meticulous, gradual and sometimes painful process of discernment began that was both a true test of resilience and an example of that virtue in action.
Today, the 17 Queen of Angels Sisters reside at Providence Benedictine Nursing Center, Orchard House and Mt. Angel Towers — all located near the Monastery — and Providence Emilie Court Assisted Living in Spokane. But regardless of where any of the Sisters live, their identity as a monastic community is intact, as is our identity as Oblates. Just as the Church is not an edifice but is God’s people, so too does Queen of Angels transcend its physical setting.
The new steward of the property is Catholic Community Services, a major Salem, Oregon-based social services agency. It has long partnered with the Sisters to serve the Mt. Angel locale with programs to help the unhoused, the hungry, single parents, families in distress and migrants. These ministries will be enlarged, and new ones added; the Benedictine Foundation and the Shalom Retreat Ministry will continue to operate as usual. The re-purposed Monastery building, listed on the National Historic Register, will burst with life once again. The park-like grounds — including the labyrinth, the peace garden, the Sisters’ cemetery and scores of specimen trees — are open to the public; a spiritual haven for all who seek beauty, solace and healing.
Now, to the reasons for the Sisters’ resilience.
***
The centrality of God is a given in Benedictine life. So is the day-in/day-out observance of practices, the spiritual habits that nourish faith and build up virtue of all kinds, but especially resilience.
These practices are set forth in the Rule and form the basis for the vows of the Sisters and the promises of the Oblates. Prayer and holy reading, of course; community life characterized by humility, obedience, stability, balance and hospitality; openness to conversion of life; appropriate silence; commitment to peace in all circumstances; service to all people … and more.
None of these practices is easy to sustain over years and years of an individual’s life and a community’s life; over the 15 centuries of Benedictine life so far. But they are necessary to achieve the goal that the Rule sets forth: “to open our eyes to the light that comes from God and our ears to the voice from heaven … to dwell in the tent of God’s Kingdom … to reach eternal life” (Prologue 9, 22 and 42).
Along the way to heaven, the Kingdom and eternity, as we commit ourselves to “do now what will profit us forever” (Prologue 44), things happen that call for resilience — things such as the reality that a former way of life is passing away and a new way must be identified and pursued, even as the goal is unchanged.
From my perspective as an Oblate, I see two facets of the Rule as being key to the resilience I’ve observed at Queen of Angels: praying the Psalms daily and cultivating humility, also daily.
The Psalms — running the gamut of human emotion, while always focused on God — show us how to rise from the lowest of lows, how to keep God front-and-center no matter what the circumstances. Whatever we experience has happened before, the Psalms tell us, and our hope is undimmed.
Practicing humility shows us that we don’t have all the answers. Instead, the path of life — mortal as well as eternal — is found in treading the steps of the ladder that Benedict describes. In seeking God’s will, not ours; in praying, watching, waiting and hoping; in seeking the advice of our companions and trusting their wisdom; in making kindness the basis for our relationships; in balancing growth with tradition; in accepting hardship serenely; all “out of love for Christ, good habit and delight in virtue” (RB 7.69).
***
Facing the closing of the Monastery, Oblate leadership guided members through a discernment process similar to that of the Sisters. Ours was aimed at securing our future within the framework of our Oblate promises, especially of stability, and we have also relied on the virtue of resilience. As this was happening, I became more and more secure in my own vocation. More and more joyful that I have accepted God’s invitation to enroll in Benedict’s “school for the Lord’s service” (Prologue 45).
Our vibrant Oblate community — almost 80 strong — has embraced the Sisters’ model of resilience. We are dedicated to playing our part to assure that Benedictinism not only survives but thrives, that its fruits are available to the whole world. We are attracting inquirers, nurturing candidates and designing new programs to nourish our spirituality. Joyfully and seriously, with care and devotion, we will carry the Benedictine legacy of Queen of Angels into the future.
***
It’s not fanciful to point out that the resilience that characterizes Queen of Angels is also rooted — literally — in the two symbols that appear as silhouettes on the logo of the Monastery. Nestled alongside the Cross of Jesus Christ is the image of the Giant Sequoia that has grown from a seedling in 1893 to its stature today: about 140 feet tall, its trunk some 30-plus feet in circumference.
What was in the mind of the pioneer Sister who planted that seedling at the front door of her new home? Could she have foreseen what the tree — merely by growing but also by surviving storms, disease and mishaps of all kinds, even being designated an Oregon Heritage Tree — would come to mean? For it became synonymous with “resilience”, the God-given ability to rebound from life’s challenges and to carry on, knowing that change can lead to transformation. And always, growing stronger from the experience.
“First Lessons in Faith”
I am sitting in the front seat of a car with Dad. Perhaps I am four years old. We are parked on a street near the garden apartment in Bayside where we lived before we moved to Connecticut. The car is not moving; we are just sitting there talking. We must have just come from somewhere, because Dad is in the driver’s seat and I am next to him. But at such a young age, wouldn’t I have been in the back seat? This was long before the era of seat belts or car seats.
I am stroking my fingers back and forth across what I later learn is called the dashboard, which is made of a material that I think is leather. The dashboard, tan in color, is ridged vertically and prominently stitched with what looks like upholstery seams. This design feature fascinates me, as do the push-buttons that Dad uses to make the car start up or drive or back up. When our next car had a lever to do those things, I thought it very strange. This car is a Ford Mercury, marketed for its “space age” looks. The push-button automatic transmission appeared in the 1957 model year and was withdrawn in the 1958 model year. Not sure about the “leather”.
Sitting next to Dad, I ask, “But what if God makes another flood?”
“He will not,” Dad answers. “He promised.”
“But what if God does decide to make another flood?” I persist.
“He will not,” Dad answers. “He promised.”
I have a feeling this dialogue goes on for a little while. It is the first lesson in faith that I remember.
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My second lesson also took place in Bayside, around that same time, inside the apartment. Dark, but not night, very early morning. I was sleepily aware of Dad sitting on the edge of my bed, in his overcoat. So it must have been winter, probably Advent, though maybe Lent. He smoothed the covers and tucked them up around my chin. I do not recall any words between us, but I knew that he was up very early to go to Mass, before going to work. I just knew this. This knowledge made me feel secure, and I disappeared back into sleep.
The childhood faith lessons continued, with the scene shifting to Connecticut, where the family moved when I was six. I was in school by then, of course — Catholic school, of course — but the lessons that I remember best did not take place in a classroom. These were lessons in faith, not religion, a distinction I am finally appreciating.
Except on Saturdays and Sundays, Dad’s alarm clock would go off very early in the morning. The alarm would often wake me up, too, and often I would get up to go to the bathroom and, on the way, peek into my parents’ bedroom. No closed bedroom doors in our household! In darkness, Dad would be sitting on the edge of the bed. His feet flat on the floor, the palms of his hands resting on the mattress, his slightly bent arms supporting him, his chin tucked in a bit. He would sit slouched like that for quite some time. Then he would stand up. At that point, I would melt away back to my bedroom, because we all knew that Dad had a get-ready-for-work choreography that no one disturbed.
The lesson? That Dad was praying. Which didn’t dawn on me until many years later, when I began to understand Matthew 6:6. But I always knew I was witnessing something very personal.
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