As I think about the week I spent advising 40 Franciscan University students who chose to spend their Spring Break serving others right here in Steubenville, the phrase that keeps ringing in my heart is “Christ meeting Christ.” In their scraping, painting, bleaching, listening, counseling, challenging, feeding, visiting, and being present to others, the students certainly showed this city the face of Christ. But the people of Steubenville also showed us His face: He came hungry to the soup kitchen, was bewildered in a teen mom, was lonely in the elderly, zealous in those who work regularly for the betterment of the city, and weary in the job-hunting. The face of Christ that stands out most vividly to me, however, is Christ as I met him in “John.”

John is a man who I met some months ago through a mutual friend at a farmers’ market. He soon started coming to the weekly Bible Study we have at Samaritan House, and I got to know him well. He was sick the whole time I knew him: he had recently been informed that his cancer had come back and he probably did not have very long to live. But his immense zeal for life made it hard to believe that, and I didn’t often think about how sick he was. In the fall, we began to prepare together for consecration to Jesus through Mary, using Fr. Gaitley’s book “33 Days to Morning Glory” and consecrated together at Mass on December 8, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

After Christmas, John’s health started to decline more quickly, and he called me from the hospital in February. I visited him a few times there, and he rallied well after surgery and went home. Spring Break week was, for me, the perfect opportunity to have some students over to give John some love as well as practical help in cleaning his house up a bit. It was beautiful to see how he flourished in the light of the students’ love as they talked with him, made him lunch, and cleaned his kitchen. I had, in truth, been somewhat worried about John after my visits to him in the hospital, because he seemed so afraid of God, so afraid of death. But the man I left after our second visit during mission was less angry, more peaceful, and a lot happier than the one I had seen just weeks earlier.

A few days after our mission ended, the hospice nurse called me to let me know that John did not have long to live. Another sister went with me to visit him one last time – and he was a man transformed. The night before, his son and granddaughter came to see him and be reconciled with him after years of estrangement. John, who, burdened with suffering, could be negative and bitter at times, positively glowed as he shared about their time together. When his son came in the door, he embraced him and said, “Son, I have always loved you.” And his son replied, “I have always known that.” The joy in John’s face as he told me about this encounter was stunning. So I asked John, “Are you ready now to meet your Father?” John looked at me sidelong and said, quietly, “Well, you might mean my earthly father, or my spiritual father – or you might mean my Father in Heaven. Anyway, you’re talking about going to the other side.” He stopped to consider, then went on, “You know, I believe that there is a place for me in Heaven.” My heart leaped, and we prayed together one last time, thanking our Father for his love for John, his son.

John died two days later, on the Feast of St. Joseph. And as sad as I was to lose a friend, all sorrow was washed in joy: joy that John had come to peace with his son and with his Father, joy that John had died being loved both by students who were strangers to him and the son who had been estranged. He died knowing that he was the beloved son of the best of fathers – our Father in Heaven. And in his agony and in his peace, he showed me the face of Christ.

- Sr. Agnes Thérèse Davis, T.O.R.

** Note the names used in this story have been changed for confidentiality purposes **

 Consider supporting our sisters in who live and minister in downtown Steubenville, Ohio through the Helping Hike for the Poor taking place tomorrow, August 4th. We have almost reached our goal of $13,000, $500 for each of our 26 years of prayer and service in community. Find more information and make a contribution by CLICKING HERE.

 “It is Christ’s fidelity that is most beautiful.” - Fr. Boniface Hicks, O.S.B.

Almost every woman, either as a girl or a young lady, has dreamed about her wedding day and honeymoon.  In the midst of the details of the perfect dress, color schemes and romantic destinations, is a fundamental desire to be romanced and know that she is loved.

I would be remiss if I said I have not had some of these same musings.  My ideal honeymoon included a cabin in the woods in the mountains of Colorado.  Forget about the tourist attractions and being on the “go, go, go”; I wanted a place where I could just “be” with my spouse.

About a week before my pre-vow retreat (a time set aside to prepare for professing final vows) I followed a last-minute inspiration of the Holy Spirit and signed out a hermitage on our property.  Early on in the retreat, I was sitting on the porch of this small cabin that is nestled down in the woods.  As I sat there sipping hot water (Franciscan tea), listening to the birds, and watching the sun rise, Jesus reminded me of my dreams.  The rest of the week he fulfilled my deepest desires. 

As Jesus and I spent time “being” together on strolls
through the woods, watching the fireflies and listening to thunder roll through the hills, he spoke deeply to my heart that he will always be with me and that he is never going to leave.  His words telling me that I would not be alone were a healing balm poured on a wound in my heart.  In the midst of my quirks, mistakes, limitations, brokenness, and sinfulness, Jesus desires to be with me and wishes to espouse himself to me forever. 

“He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end” (Jn. 13:1).  Throughout the week of retreat, Jesus revealed to me his deeply personal, romantic, passionate love for me.  But what he really showed me was that his love is so much more than just the sweetness of romantic love—he LIVES his passion.  By embracing and carrying the cross, being beaten, mocked and spit upon, nailed to a tree, and finally handing over his spirit in death, he fully expresses his  passionate love for me. He chose to love me beyond consoling feelings that come and go.  By living out his words, “This is my body given up for you,” and dying a death that I deserve, I KNOW, in the deepest part of my heart, that I am loved.

And what is the response that I can give to the totality of his self-gift?  For me, there is only one—my entire life.  Through professing the evangelical counsels of chastity, poverty, and obedience, I freely choose him.

And that is all he desires.  He knows my weaknesses and how easily I turn away from him and yet he longs only for me and my “yes”.  As our retreat director, Fr. Boniface, told us, “It is Christ’s fidelity that is most beautiful.”  I don’t have to have it all together. That’s not what he is asking.  He only wants me to remain with him, as I am able.  And together we will bring about the Kingdom of God.


In our profession ceremony for solemn vows, we receive a ring.  As I wear it, I will recall Jesus’ words to me, “Take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity” and his vows to me to love me to the end, into eternity.  And I will also recall our Reverend Mother’s words as she places it on my finger, “…keep faith with your Bridegroom so that you may come to the wedding feast of eternal joy.”
-Sr. Sophia Grace Huschka, TOR
I remember receiving the complete works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow for Christmas when I was in my early teen years. I devoured his poetry, and one of my favorite poems at that time was “The Builders”, which includes these stanzas:
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

I loved the challenge of these words, the way that they called me out to do whatever it was I was doing to the very best of my ability and how they encouraged me to remember that “nothing useless is or low”.

This poem still goes through my head at times, and recently I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit. Not long ago, my Mom said something on the phone that startled me. She was sharing with me about a weekend retreat she and my Dad had made, and said that one of the things that she realized on retreat was that my “yes” to the Lord in my life made her more ready, more available to say “yes” to him in her own life.

 Surprised as I was by this revelation, I took it to prayer. And as I dialogued with the Lord about it, I saw something very beautiful. It was, perhaps, true that my “yes” to my vocation as a religious sister enabled my Mom to say a deeper “yes” to the Lord’s work in her life. But it was also true that I was able to receive a vocation to this life because my Mom had first said “yes” to entering the Catholic Church (a courageous choice for her, given her family’s response to it). Her “yes” to the Lord’s invitation to enter the Church made possible my “yes” a few years later, when, on July 6, 2002, I was received into the Catholic Church and initiated into the sacramental life of the Church.

 But the picture is so much more complex
even than this! My Dad’s “yes” to support my Mom in a decision he did not fully understand certainly figures in to the equation, as does my Grandmother’s deep “yes” to following Jesus in her own life and teaching my Mom to love and serve him. What is really mindboggling about this is that my Grandmother’s fidelity to the Lord supported in a very real way a decision that she would later resist! God used her “yes” to ballast a “yes” she would not have chosen!

 No choice for the Lord is ever wasted in the Divine economy. Our tiny, apparently unseen efforts to be faithful to Christ are bricks and mortar, building materials with which the Lord is building the New Jerusalem. This sounds grandiose, but it’s true. The “yes” you say today to be steadfast to the people and the daily tasks entrusted to you by the Lord are being used in manifold (though often hidden!) ways to build up the Kingdom of God, a kingdom which is built of the interlocking “yeses” of his sons and daughters.

 Rejoice with me as I celebrate 13 years in the Catholic Church – and thank God, too, for the many “yeses” that have brought you to him in the course of your life. 
-Sr. Agnes Thérèse Davis, TOR
I’ve always wondered about why things are the way they are and why people do the things they do. I think that’s what made me study philosophy in college. Unsurprisingly, this penchant for pondering has followed me into the convent. Most recently, I have been asking myself a few “whys”, the heart of which is this set of questions: why do I work in downtown Steubenville? Why do I serve others, “the poor”? Why do I spend my days sorting through used (and often dirty) clothes and shoes, knick-knacks and cookware? Why do I listen to story after heartbreaking story of loss, disappointment, crime, tragedy, abuse, and vice? Why do I risk exposure to bedbugs, lice, and heaven-only-knows what else? Why do I do it? Why am I so happy doing it?

When I bracket out the obvious motive (religious obedience!), I find some motives that are surprising or embarrassing, and others that are certainly the work of grace. Part of my work is tied up in a compulsive need to help people and try to fix their problems (Messiah complex? You bet!). There’s a strain of needing-to-be-needed still active in my heart. This is old news for me – these motives have stained most of the apparently generous actions in my life. I also want to do good, to be good, and I know that doing the works of mercy is a straightforward way of “being good”. Jesus also indicated that we would be judged on our actions to those in need (see Matthew 25), so it seems prudent to help others as I can.

But I am becoming aware of another, more lasting motive for my work and service: the love of Christ compels me! Paul writes about this in 2 Corinthians 5, where he explains the reason for his ministry:

From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view […]if any one is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. So we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us (2 Cor 5:16-20).

I used to think about this passage only in terms of myself: I am a new creation in Christ. But there’s more to it than that! As Christ makes me new, I come awake to the potential for newness present in everything and everyone else. Everything is colored by Christ, and “the love of Christ controls me” – which doesn’t mean that my love for the Eucharistic Christ or Christ enthroned in heaven enables me to tolerate or put up with my brothers and sisters. No! In the new world I enter by my membership in Christ, each person is a member of Christ’s body, and is loveable.

We walk around in the society of hundreds and thousands of “little Christs” – shouldn’t we be in love with each of them? As Christ’s ambassadors, we really must be! How else will we communicate to others his spousal love for the human race? How can we be a part of his ministry of reconciliation if we do not desperately desire that reconciliation ourselves? The things we do for “service projects”, “volunteering”, and whatnot really must be “the things we do for love.”

Otherwise, we risk doing them, ultimately, for ourselves. Let us allow ourselves to be captivated by the Christs we serve in the daily grind, and extend his love and the offer of reconciliation to all.

-Sr. Agnes Thérèse Davis, TOR

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Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine. You've probably heard of or maybe even prayed this sweet prayer to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, but have you ever followed its consequences to realize what it's actually saying?

"One of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water" (John 19:34). This is what happened to Jesus' heart. His heart was wounded and from it spilled out his whole life. Beautiful, yes, but it also left Him profoundly vulnerable and weak. Is this really that for which I want to pray?

Actually, in one sense, it's already happened to me. I was born with a heart valve that couldn't quite pump enough blood through it to keep me alive, so I had open heart surgery to correct it at the tender age of three days. The surgery left me with a functioning aorta, but also scar tissue and blood leakage from my aorta backwards into my left ventricle. As I grew up, I experienced no symptoms or major limitations, but two years ago, I had to come face to face with my weakness. A new cardiologist became alarmed at the amount of leakage I was experiencing and put me through an MRI scanner and onto a treadmill to prove my heart's ability to handle it. I came through it alright, but not before I learned my utter dependency on my Father.

Every time I walk out of my annual cardiology check-up, I carry a paper that reads: "Diagnosis - congenital insufficiency of aortic valve." Insufficiency. Not enough. Inadequate. Poor.

"Learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart" (Matthew 11:29), Jesus says. He, too, has a lowly heart, a poor heart. Throughout his life and especially on the cross, He also, as a human person, lived this poverty and dependence on his Father in heaven. Only when He received everything from the Father could then his own heart leak it out onto all of us poor ones from the cross.

I happen to have this physical condition that shows me how to have a heart like Jesus', but isn't it true that each of our hearts--"our hidden center" as the Catechism calls it--is also insufficient, pierced, and leaky? Without God, we are incapable of holiness. Without his grace, we are incapable of love. He did it with the dead body of Jesus, so why can't the Father use each of us to pour out His living water on the thirsty, to all those needing to believe in a merciful God? Jesus said, "He who believes in me, as the scripture has said, 'Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water.'"

God always chooses what is weak in this world. He chooses a little piece of bread to become His true presence in the Eucharist. He chooses a poor, little, ordinary girl to bear Christ. He chooses me with the leaky heart, you with your particular weakness, to be his heart for the world. God's ways are unfathomable. Someday we'll find out why; for now, let us be content to let Him use us in our insufficiency.

-Sr. Mary Gemma, T.O.R.

"Is Jesus really our first and only love, as we promised he would be when we professed our vows? Only if he is, will we be empowered to love, in truth and mercy, every person who crosses our path. For we will have learned from Jesus the meaning and practice of love. We will be able to love because we have his own heart."

Sr. Agnes Therese with Meaghan 
Today, June 8, is an important day for me. Today, my friend Meaghan will make her first promises (like first vows) along with other applicants at Madonna House, a lay apostolate in Combermere, Canada . I met Meaghan when she was visiting our community and became friends with her when she came to join us as a postulant. Although she felt the Lord calling her out of our community and to Madonna House, we have continued to grow in friendship by exchanging letters, and this has been a tremendous blessing for me.

It’s funny to me how important this and other friendships are in my life, because St. Francis de Sales didn’t think it necessary that those of us who walk the safe, even path of religious life have friends. I’m not sure what world he lived in – but it’s not mine! Friendship, and especially friendship with other consecrated people, is one of the greatest gifts in my life. These friends are a comfort and a challenge to me. And the signs of friendship are all around me: a palm cross from a Marian Brother stationed in D.C., a funeral card from a Franciscan sister in New Hampshire, a hand-sized rag doll in the likeness of St. Agnes of Prague sent from Meaghan for my feast day, a business card from a Dominican sister in Nashville, and, of course, a stack of correspondence which never seems to get any smaller.

I cherish these signs of friendship – they are a constant reminder to me that I am not alone in attempting to give my whole life to Christ. Of course, my married friends are also a marvelous witness of holiness, but in a different way. After all, consecrated people are supposed to be a sign, an eschatological witness that says, “Heaven is coming! Love Jesus now!” And I need that witness and that reminder just as much as anybody else – I can’t be a sign for myself! This is part of why religious community is such a precious gift: I spend my days with my sisters, who are striving with me (but also, mysteriously, all alone) to love Christ well.

In spite of this, there have been times when I have wondered whether friends are just a crutch that we use to get by until we lean entirely on Christ. I think it can be helpful to ask what it was that drove Christ (who lived completely for the Father, to do the Father’s will) to be friends with his disciples – and what drives him to be friends with us. In friendship with the disciples and in friendship with us, Christ, like every friend, seeks an alter idem, another self. When this desire is manifest in our fallen humanity, it can lead to selfishness and destructive relationships. We often try to manipulate or control our friends to make them like us. It is different with Jesus: he seeks himself in each heart because he is the blueprint of human perfection, and his image is traced in each person’s very soul. By his friendship with us, the frail outline of his image is sharpened, darkened, and made clearer. This can happen in our relationships with others, too! We can allow the Christ who dwells in our hearts to seek and strengthen his image in our friends. This is a great challenge, a great joy, and a great mystery.

Let us not be afraid of the friendships the Lord offers us – each of which is an opportunity to become more like him, the model of all friendship. And as we walk this road with one another in reverential love, let us always be tracing those lines of Christ’s portrait deeper and firmer in the hearts of our friends, trusting all the while that his image is being engraved ever more deeply in our own hearts as well.

Please join me in praying for Meaghan and her fellow applicants who will make first promises today. May they live each day more firmly in friendship with Christ and one another.
-Sr. Agnes Thérèse Davis, TOR
Sr. Agnes Thérèse wrote the song below as a gift for Meaghan

Little flame, flick'ring near the altar;
your amber glow shows me the way.
If ever you seem to fall or falter
you burst up again as if to say:
"His love cannot be quenched here either,
so stay awhile, my child, and pray."

Dear little flame, is that your only
charge? to simply offer Him
a little light, if He is lonely,
and never, ever to grow dim?
Oh, how I wish that I could offer
something half so pleasing up to Him!

"But dear little one, cannot you see
how your presence here pleases Him so?
He makes me dance so joyfully
when you visit Him here and never go!
Come back, my child, and you will find
a dancing flame within you grow."

O little flame, I will soon return
to watch you shine, silent and bright,
so that I, too, may fiercely burn
and show the world my own love-light!
"He is here," my little flame will say
though all the world around be night.

-Sr. Mary Gemma, T.O.R.
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