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

Contribute to the ministry of the sisters in downtown Steubenville

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.

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.

Pentecost has always been a special time for me, though wrapped in mystery. I remember as a little girl in the Lutheran church learning, to my great surprise, that it was the second great Christian celebration in the liturgical year, trumping Christmas! How could that be possible? I couldn’t really grasp at that point how Easter even trumped Christmas (hard-boiled eggs don’t stand a chance against candy canes in my books), much less Pentecost. There were no parties for Pentecost, no family gatherings, and no special meals. Church wasn’t even much different than normal. What was the big deal, anyway?

As I look back, my disbelief doesn’t surprise me, as there was a pretty serious disconnect between what we said and what we did regarding Pentecost. Despite what we said, Pentecost just wasn’t as important as Christmas. It ranked somewhere between Memorial Day and the Fourth of July: we remembered it, we went to Church, and we moved on. While both Christmas and Easter were preceded by special seasons of preparation, Pentecost wasn’t.

Things changed a bit when I became Catholic. Then I attended a Pentecost Vigil Mass for the first time, at a parish with a great devotion to the Holy Spirit. I still remember the holiness, the specialness of the Mass – the whole atmosphere was charged with expectation, with the feel that anything could happen next. Most of the congregation was dressed in red, and the church was packed to the rafters and lovingly decorated. I remember the prayers of the faithful, read in all different languages, the incense, the music, and the joy of all present. Finally I saw Pentecost as counting. It really did matter.

This sense has only grown in me as time has passed. In fact, now it seems to me that Pentecost does have a preparatory season: the Easter season, of which Pentecost is both a culmination and apex. You could even say that Pentecost contains within it all the other great celebrations of the liturgical year. It completes the unveiling of the Messiah’s name and mission begun in the Annunciation, inviting all the nations to learn the name of Jesus, first heard by Mary from Gabriel’s lips. Like Christmas, it celebrates a birth – only now, instead of the human body of Jesus, we honor the mystical body of Christ, the Church born after a period of silent, prayerful waiting. Pentecost develops the proclamation heard at Christ’s Baptism, “you are my beloved son” and extends those precious words as an invitation to all who receive the Spirit of adoption in baptism. It announces in many more tongues what was written on Christ’s cross on Good Friday in three languages, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”. The coming of the Spirit also reminds us of and completes the joy of Easter: the One whose Spirit has filled the infant Church with such life is certainly risen, as he promised.

Our community will be ushering in the Holy Spirit
with the extended form of the Pentecost Vigil Mass, as we have since it became available for use with the new edition of the Missal. This is a lovely end to the Easter season, forming with the Easter Vigil a sort of frame for the whole time. It is a great source of joy to me that this occasion doesn’t feel stale, forced, or old, despite the fact that we seem always to be calling down the Holy Spirit, imploring him to come and fill our hearts. I attribute this constant newness to our community’s love for Our Lady, who teaches us to await and to receive the Holy Spirit. Recently, I was at a votive Mass for Our Lady of the Cenacle, and was captivated by the words of the preface:

"She who waited in prayer for the coming of Christ is still at prayer as she calls upon the promised Paraclete; she who was overshadowed by the Spirit at the incarnation of the Word is once more filled with your Gift from on high at the birth of God’s new people. As she keeps vigil in prayer, her heart on fire with love, she is the model of the Church, enriched by the gifts of the Spirit and keeping watch for the Second Coming of Christ.

Wow! No matter how much Mary has received of God’s life, she is always longing for more, waiting for more, praying for more. May we imitate her as we prepare for and celebrate Pentecost, and may the Holy Spirit “whom the Father sent as the first fruits for those who believe, bring to perfection his work in the world”.

-Sr. Agnes Therese Davis, TOR

Christ invites us to more! 
Christ invites us to cast into the deep. 
He invites us to leave the safe relationships and safe conversational patterns that we’ve grown accustomed to and to journey into the hearts of our brothers and sisters. 

Let’s not be afraid to ask the real questions in our hearts, and let us not be afraid to be asked questions. 
-Sr. Agnes Therese Davis

             
Some sisters like to say that our simple way of life makes us easy to entertain. It's another way of saying that our simplicity makes us childlike. It opens our eyes to the miracles that are of the everyday variety - like Chesterton's God who cries, "Do it again!" before each new sunrise.

Birds hatch all the time. But that doesn't make it any less of a miracle, especially when we come close and can see it with our own eyes!

This is our second year witnessing the growth of a killdeer family at our motherhouse. Last year, a killdeer couple decided to build their nest near our driveway. This year, they were a little more prudent and built it a little further from traffic - in the grass behind the professed house.

Now, one of the things about killdeer is that they build nests on the ground. Yes, on the ground. It sounds pretty vulnerable ... until you learn the other thing about killdeer. They have a system of defense that is nearly incomparable in the birdie class. The mother guards the nest (with a rather threatening and ear-splitting cry) while the father distracts all predators away with an elaborate "hurt wing" show. This is really quite entertaining in and of itself (It would also be admirable if it were not for the fact that the bird is not virtuous and performs this self-sacrificing act merely out of instinct).


This being the second year, some of the especially enthusiastic sisters attempted to predict when the four little killdeer eggs in the nest would hatch, based on last year's numbers, and were often found checking the nest as the climax approached.

That brings us to the evening of Mothers' Day, a few days ago. I was out planting the kitchen garden with Sr. Della Marie. We decided to move a particular bean plant to a place that faced the east and would get more sunlight. Sr. Della Marie moved it and happened to glance over at the killdeer nest (she being one of the aforementioned enthusiastic sisters). Her intuition told her something was afoot, er, a-cracking.

She called to me: "The eggs hatched!" I echoed her call to two nearby studious novices. I regret to say my temptation was a welcome one to them : ), and we all soon joined Sr. Della Marie in oohing and aahing at the 3 baby killdeer who were quickly morphing from wet, ugly aliens to cute fuzzballs with little dinosaur feet. The fourth stubbornly remained in its shell, and night prayer called us into the chapel.

But the next morning, as soon as we finished morning prayer (we have no more than 15 minutes' break between morning prayer and Mass), sisters went to the nest, summoned alike by that childlike wonder and desire to see. This time the crowd had grown, since news of the hatching had spread like wildfire at the motherhouse (I regret to add, some spread just before or during grand silence : ) ).

And it was just at that moment that the fourth killdeer chose to emerge. Well, since we know the birds are driven by instinct and not by choice, I must say our heavenly Father chose to grant His daughters a wonderful gift: witnessing a bird break freely into this strange, beautiful world.

It was a surreal experience. I felt privileged to see what seemed to me such a sacred thing. It spoke volumes of the awesome gift of life we share with all God's creatures - even more of the new spiritual life we have in Christ. It was really something to ponder. And you should have seen the joy we sisters shared in that 15 minutes!

I do have another regret ... we frightened the parents out of their wits (or lack of). But no harm was done; we went to Mass and they instinctively returned to the nest.

I wish I could say, "Do it again!" Maybe next year?

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