I will preface this reflection by stressing that I mean no disrespect to any members of other traditions; I am not saying that, within this “universal church” to which we belong, one Rule of life is superior to another.
With that being said, I came to a greater appreciation of my own spirituality this past week, spending a couple of days at the lovely University of Mary in Bismarck. I had not grasped before the strong Benedictine presence on that campus, although a couple of my aunts had graduated from there. We had been invited to the campus to take part in the fourth annual “Vocations Jamboree,” an opportunity for which I was very grateful. We even got to stay in amazing guest rooms on campus; the virtue of hospitality was definitely evident there! Wednesday morning, I found my way to a little chapel in which to have my morning visit with my Beloved. I was so thankful; one never knows if a chapel and/or time for prayer will be available at special events such as this. Part of my Lenten practice this year is trying to make the Stations of the Cross each day. I really cherish this special form of prayer which brings us more deeply into meditation on our Lord’s sufferings. Thus it was that, after finishing my half hour of meditation on the scriptures, my eye searched the walls of the small oratory, looking for plaques of the Stations. There were none. I think of Dorothy, in The Wizard of Oz, who said: “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” I was not in a Franciscan house anymore… Other aspects of the chapels there reinforced this realization for me, including but not limited to, the monastic style positioning of the pews. (Again, I want to stress that I am not saying that one way is better than another.) Being immersed in the Benedictine spirituality, which is somewhat foreign to me, brought me to the conclusion that I really am a Franciscan. Actually, St. Francis’ three great devotions, to Christ in the Crib, on the Cross, and the Eucharist, have been key to my spirituality since childhood. There are pictures of me as a toddler sitting before the manger set (the stable was built by my dad and the ceramic statues painted by my mom), absorbed in the scene. In fifth grade, I was part of a living stations-type performance, acting as a woman of Jerusalem. I also remember fondly attending Friday evening Stations of the Cross at our parish church. I remember a evening in (5th grade??) CCD (Religious Ed.) class, when our teacher took us into the new Adoration chapel, and introduced us to how to visit Jesus there. (This was to become the place I first experienced my call to religious life almost ten years later.) With all of this, it’s no wonder I ended up in a community following St. Francis’ way of living the gospel. However, it wasn’t until late in my process of “searching for the right place” that I became open to the possibility of a Franciscan community. But, that’s another story altogether!
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It was a beautiful Wednesday evening in mid-October when a first-time mother put her little baby in the car seat, and drove a mile to the school building where the seventh grade religious education class she was teaching was to meet.
As she entered the classroom, the students saw the infant, gathered around, and were eager to take turns holding the four-month old baby girl. They fussed over the child, admiring with delight how little and sweet she was. In the past two classes, the topic of abortion had come up in class discussions; some of these thirteen year-olds thought that it was alright for a woman to terminate her pregnancy, to end her unborn child’s life with an abortion, at least in certain cases. Now, when class began, she, the teacher, asked for a show of hands of who thought an abortion was okay. Over half of the hands went up. The young mother decided to help the students, tangibly, to look at the issue in a new way. She went on to explain that this little baby had just been diagnosed, the week before, with a vision impairment; her optic nerves were underdeveloped. She and her husband did not know how much (if any) the baby would be able to see. The class was speechless. After more discussion, in closing, the young mother asked for a new show of hands as to how many students thought abortion was okay. No hands went up this time. I share this story now, having heard it from my mother over the years, for I am that “little baby.” My life could have been terminated if those advocating selective abortion had their way. With recent legislation, in some areas, which does not respect the dignity of the life of the unborn, I felt it was appropriate to share my connection with the issue. Although I have had to deal with the challenges of impaired vision through the years, it definitely has not deprived my life of meaning. I am so grateful that I have had the opportunity to live, an opportunity denied to so many children of recent generations. Now, I work in a care facility, serving Christ in our residents who need a caring home, people whose lives are not always seen as valuable. Many of them are elderly and closer to the end of their lives. I feel privileged to be able to help them, recognizing the dignity and value of each life. Sr. Christina M. Neumann, OSF What an interesting day…and it’s not over yet!!
Where do I begin??? For a few days, now, we’ve been hearing that a snowstorm is coming this weekend, but no one really knew how much of this white stuff was on the way. With well over 60 inches already this season, the streets have become quite narrow. I normally like to walk, but it’s not really a safe option anymore, until the “spring thaw” hist, whenever that will be. Consequently, I caught a ride to Mass this evening; I had been on duty as the a.m. receptionist and unable to go earlier. I came back, walking in the door just as the other Sisters were clearing the dishes. I grabbed some soup, and headed in the chapel to join them for vespers and our weekly rosary for vocations. After prayer, I headed to the activity room kitchen, a place I had spent a bit of time just the day before, to make some rhubarb sauce. This culinary delight, though now out of season, is a favorite of our visiting sister, and so I planned to make a big batch to last the two weeks that she’ll be here helping out. I could not make all of the rhubarb into sauce because I only had a limited amount of sugar. However, I did manage a batch of 24 cups of rhubarb (with the almost four remaining cups of sugar), a little water, the remaining raspberry jello and syrup I had. Despite the fact that I was really “scraping the bottom of the barrel,” it turned out to be delicious (if I do say so myself). As I was turning off the stove, doing dishes, and wiping off the counters, I learned that one of our night shift workers (who lives a distance away) would not be able to make it in to work tonight. Our dear receptionist was doing her best at trying to find a replacement. After a busy day, and another one coming, I was not eager to work the night shift this time. To help quicken the cooling process so I could go home and get a little rest before the night shift began at 10, I took my pot out and set it in the snow near the building. I came back inside, and soon saw one of our apartment residents, who had helped cut up many a stalk of rhubarb (during its season). I couldn’t help but offer her a little jar. As I spooned the sauce into the jar, I realized that it was still too hot to pour into my plastic containers. Outside I went again…this time, further out, where lightly falling flakes were still falling. Soon the sauce was a bit cooler and safe to pour into containers. It’s now a quarter after nine, and the phone just rang…one of my co-workers will be in at 10:30 tonight, so my “night shift will only be a half an hour long. I’ll be glad to go to bed for some sleep after a very interesting day, complete, even, with rhubarb in the snow. We’ll see what tomorrow brings! This afternoon, upon arriving at the reception desk for my shift, I took care of a few things, and picked up a book I’d found in our chapel library on The Faith of the Early Fathers.
I opened, and to my delight, found that it included The Didache, a very early teaching document with which I had become acquainted years before. I thought it would be “fun” (pardon the flippant expression) and also edifying to read something from so early in our faith, so “close to the sources,” you might say. I hadn’t been reading long when a phrase really caught my interest. The passage sounded very familiar, echoing almost word for word the message from the gospels on love for enemies, and the like. The particular instruction that struck me was new to me, however: “Fast for those who persecute you.” Wow!! With the beginning of Lent just around the corner, and with myself struggling with a few people in my life, this one hit the nail right on the head! Although I am not sure what all of my Lenten practices will consist of, I am glad for the new inspiration of offering deeds of penance for those very people who I find difficult. I think this may be a very good way for me to practice “love of enemies” and, also, perhaps to soften my attitude towards people who the gospel challenges me to love. |
AuthorSr. Christina M. Neumann Archives
December 2019
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