About eleven weeks ago, I got a call to say that my Dad was on the brink of death. While not unexpected, this was still shocking news and I rushed to Vienna airport in Austria where I was based at the time, wondering if I would see him alive again.

As I made my way to the airport gate, fighting tears and hoping quite honestly that nobody would approach me, I heard a man’s voice behind me say, “Where is God?”

(On a side note, I am always intrigued by the fact that wherever in the world I travel, regardless of the language of the country I’m in, people will unfailingly address me in English! Maybe it’s got something to do with my red hair and pale skin!)

I turned around thinking that maybe I had misheard and that he was actually looking for directions to the bathroom. But no, he was serious, and he repeated his question, “Where is God?”

I was taken aback by his question and responded somewhat haltingly at first, “Well, he’s present around us and within us, within our hearts”.

The man said: “So he’s not in heaven?”

I responded and said, “Yes, yes, he is in heaven, but he’s also right here, right among us, alive within our hearts”.

The man, who later told me that he was from Iraq, was stunned. He turned to his friend and said, “Can you believe this? She is saying that God is alive! That he’s within us!”

I turned to him again and said, “Yes, and not only is he alive, but we can talk to him. In fact, he loves when we talk with him and share what’s on our heart with him”.

The man again exclaimed with great surprise and excitement that he had never heard this before. He seemed to be really moved.

He then asked me where I was going.

I told him about my situation and he was so kind. He didn’t say a lot but what he did say communicated a genuine warmth and compassion.

I left our encounter feeling consoled and grateful for that short time capsule of human interaction. It also challenged me to stay open to even the “bite-sized” opportunities for sharing the Gospel that come our way, though we may be at our weakest and most “out of it”.

When I got to my Dad’s bedside, I was overjoyed that he was still with us. I smiled as I thought about how he had influenced me so much in the area of evangelization. Post-retirement he led more than thirty-five separate mission trips outside of our home country of Ireland, trips that were based on the New Evangelization. Even in the last months of his life, as he travelled over and back to a London hospital for treatment for his leukemia, he would regularly engage the London taxi drivers in discussions about faith, experiencing great joy in these encounters and discussions as he shared and listened.


We had two more weeks with my Dad before he passed away. Thanks, Dad, for all that you taught me!

- Sr. Miriam O'Callaghan
     

            I approached the “Helping Hike for the Poor” with some mixed feelings. I was excited for a challenge, nervous about how it would go, grateful for the opportunity and my sisters’ support, and a bit concerned about the logistical aspects (I was the self-appointed “Sherpa” for the day).  It wound up being a beautiful day all around: the weather was clear and not too hot, we finished (!), and it was also, for me, an object lesson about the meaning of community in the Christian life.
            After the sisters who joined us for the first stretch of the trail left, the remnant group decided to pick up the pace, to make sure we finished the hike at a reasonable hour. This movement intensified at the halfway point after lunch, when only Fr. Matt, Morgan (a Franciscan University student), and I were left. We would take turns setting the pace, because after a certain point, it’s just hard to go fast if there’s nobody in front of you encouraging (or shaming!) you to keep pushing. As we trudged, climbed, jogged, and trod through the woods, I suddenly thought, “This is the Christian race! This is what St. Paul was talking about!”
            You see, I am competitive by nature, and I’ve often reflected on St. Paul’s running metaphor for the spiritual life. He encourages us, saying that we must run so as to win – after all, only one man wins the victor’s crown! This is certainly an inspiration for us to strive earnestly in the spiritual life, but how does this somewhat individualist notion cohere with the communal aspect of the Christian life? Where is my neighbor? Am I trying to pass him?
            The answer, of course, is “no.” Each time I would take the lead in the hike, I would push myself just as hard as I could to set a good, quick pace. But it wasn’t to win first prize or to be the best. It was in order to serve my brothers, traveling alongside me. When Fr. Matt took the lead, I was grateful to follow, and focused just on encouraging (and sometimes entertaining!) him. His speed was a challenge to me, but it was also a gift to me. To use another Pauline metaphor, we were members of one body, Christ’s, and together we were striving to finish the race.
            This is a microcosm of the Christian life. We all must strive to push on, to do our best, to be saints. And as we do so, we are not in competition with one another. Rather, we are on the same team, working together in Christ to become Christ, or, as St. Paul says, to “attain to the unity of faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a mature man, to the measure of the stature which belongs to the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13).

- Sr. Agnes Thérèse Davis, T.O.R.

When someone learns that our daughter is a Sister, he or she typically responds in one of two ways.  Most people, especially other moms, relate to the difficulty of being separated from their daughter.  They say something like, “Wow!  That must be so hard.  I don’t know if I could do that!”  The second response, which I hear less often, goes something like this, “Wow!  That must be such a blessing for your family!”

To be honest, it is both of those:  incredibly painful and difficult at times, but always, even in that loss, an indescribable blessing.   And as such, I have often pondered how my life as the mother of a Sister might draw me closer to the heart of Mother Mary, and how my life might even reflect hers in some ways, if by the grace of God, I can do this well. 

I begin by thinking about the Annunciation (Luke 1: 26-38). Our Lady’s life was completely changed with her fiat when her life as the Mother of her Savior and ours began.  She was already holy, full of grace.  That was not quite true of me, but I was hungering for God in my own way. Newly married and fairly new to the Church, my life truly began with the conception and birth of our first child, Sarah.  I began to fall in love with God as I beheld our tiny child.  As she loved me unconditionally, I felt God’s love as never before.  As I loved and nurtured her, God healed me of many wounds, and I grew in awe of Him.  With her birth came the true birth of my faith.  Wanting to be the best mom I could be, I wanted her to know, love and serve the Lord.  Thus, I grew in the knowledge of my faith as I began to teach her.  God continued to bless us with six more beautiful children, and the journey continued. 

Now to focus on the Finding of Jesus in the Temple (Luke 2: 41-52):  I relate to this story as well.  When Jesus was twelve years old, his parents had lost him on the way back from Jerusalem.  They found him after three days.  He was in the temple teaching, and everyone was amazed by his words.  But he went back to Nazareth, and was obedient to his parents.    Perhaps Jesus was already very capable of beginning his work.  But it wasn’t time.    How difficult it must have been for him to wait to begin his public ministry. And from this time, Mary held all this in her heart. 

Like Jesus, my daughter had to be in her Father’s house.  She loved the Lord from a very young age and began serving him in many ways.  By the time she was eleven, I knew in my heart that our Lord was calling her to a religious vocation.  As soon as she visited the Franciscan Sisters T.O.R. for a young girls’ day, she knew.  She said she felt like she was “home.”  I, like Mother Mary, had to hold all this in my heart.  She didn’t talk about it often, and didn’t tell people outside the family, but she knew.  And as her mother, I knew as well.  Occasionally I thought about what this might mean to me personally, the losses I would have to suffer.  But mostly I was filled with awe that God was calling one of our daughters to this very special and important vocation. I know it was hard for Sarah to wait.  She prayed about when she should apply, and if she should attend Franciscan University for all four years.  After much prayer, she was obedient to what she believed the Father wanted. And as difficult as it was at times, she waited until after her college graduation. 

At the Wedding Feast at Cana (John 2: 1 -11), we see our Blessed Mother’s influence on the beginning of Christ’s public ministry. From my own perspective as a mother, I see this as a mother’s little nudge. To me, it is as if she was saying to him, “It’s time.  I believe in you. You can do this.”  Jesus knows all and didn’t really need that nudge, but perhaps Mother Mary needed to give it.  Perhaps it was a gift from God to Mary to help prepare her heart for what was to come. She had to begin to let go of that life they had been living together, the quiet life of the Holy Family.  It was the beginning of a different way of life for both of them. So it was for us.  Mary told them to do whatever Jesus asks of them.  She tells us the same thing.  Do whatever Jesus asks.  The application process, the appointments, the packing, everything that had to be done in preparation for entering candidacy:  we were preparing our hearts for everything to change.  We were preparing for our daughter to do whatever God was asking of her. 

Like Jesus, our daughter had lived at home.  She had commuted to Franciscan.  This was not always easy for her, but she did it for us because we could not afford for her to live away.  And although she had studied abroad in Austria, and had been away for mission trips and summer work, she had been part of our home, our family life, and was truly leaving for the first time when she entered the Monastery. 

I will always remember the day Sarah entered the Franciscan Sisters T.O.R.  It was one of the happiest and yet most sorrowful days of my life.  If I may compare it to Good Friday, it was truly something like that for me.  I had to let go of my daughter so that she could go fulfill the Father’s will for her life, so that she could go serve him in complete and total abandonment of the world.  Of course, none of us dare compare our sacrifices to what our Lord has done for us, and we never could come close.  But since he called us to take up our cross and follow him daily, I do dare make some analogy here.  I felt like I lost my daughter that day. I felt like I stood with Mother Mary at the foot of the cross.   I truly mourned like never before.  No actual death that I had ever experienced came close to the grief I felt when we returned home that day without our daughter.  I sat at the kitchen table completely lost.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I cried easily for days, weeks, even months. I was lost. There is no other word to describe it besides grief. 

And then the joy of the Resurrection:  Christ lives!  My daughter lives.  Yes, she has a new life.  Our little family will never be the same as it was before.  But now I can honestly say, it is not only different but better.  One and a half years after our daughter entered as Sarah Kilonsky, we were waiting for the phone call to hear that she had been accepted as a novice and had been given her new name.  I waited as an expectant mother.  I waited like I had waited the first time: to meet my daughter.  Who would this new person be?  What would God name her?  And we got the call: Sr. Agnes Maria.


 I praise and thank the Almighty God for he has done good things to me. 
-Shirley Kilonsky (mother of Sr. Agnes Maria)

We don’t use hashtags in our daily experience of religious life (unlike many of you, dear readers), but if we did, a lot of our posts these days would probably say #TRANSITION.

It’s just that time of year. In early August, our sisters move to their respective mission houses, our novices make first vows, our postulants become novices, and new postulants come our way. Some sisters have the same assignments they had last year, and others have new, sometimes dramatically new, assignments. We call it #transition.

Another hashtag would be #thegraceforthat. I joked with a sister a few days ago – there’s a grace for that! Wherever the Lord puts us, He gives us the grace to be there – to do that specific thing, to be his light in that specific way. But sometimes it’s hard to see for all the newness. Where is it to be found? Where is the grace?

I am in the midst of #transition too. Sure, I’m still here at the motherhouse, and still working in the heart of the home (a.k.a. the kitchen), but now I have the responsibility of coordinating all of it.

It can be easy to compare. “Last year, I didn’t have to …” “Her assignment is so much more exciting …” It can be easy to be discontent.

But I realized something recently – I don’t have the grace to do anything else right now. I don’t have the grace to serve the poor or to minister to college students, as our mission house sisters do. I don’t have the grace to teach the novices. I definitely don’t have the grace to be the Reverend Mother! =) I am exactly where He wants me – where the grace is. And if I look more closely, I can see it. I can see how He has gifted me and put me right where I can use my gifts for the greater good.

St. Peter writes, "As generous distributors of God's manifold grace, put your gifts at the service of one another, each in the measure he has received" (1 Peter 4:10). The stay-at-home mom who offered to bake and decorate the cakes for our celebrations this summer – she has the grace, the gift, for that. The retired painter who volunteered his time for a couple of weeks to help repaint our dining room and hallways – he has #thegraceforthat. The married couple with children who farm and garden here at our motherhouse property and share the bounty with us – they have #thegraceforthat. And they all put their graces, ultimately God’s gifts, at the service of others. And I can do the same! Why would I want to do anything without His help?

Just because God supplies it doesn’t mean it is easy to share the grace. But it is comforting to know He is ultimately the source. I’m just distributing what He gives.

Where is the grace? It’s right here. I’m already knee-deep in it. I just have to move my feet forward to feel the rush, the wetness, around me. I have to move. When I’m standing still, looking back at where I was, I can’t see the grace I have for today, for tomorrow.

So, in the midst of all the #transition, I know God is the same, and his hands are always open, full of gifts. I want to stay right here – where the grace is.
Sr. Katherine at her First Profession of Vows
 in 1990
 25 years ago on this day, the feast of St. Clare, our own "St. Clare" and one of our foundresses, Sr. Katherine Caldwell, gave over her life by pronouncing her first vows to the Lord and this community. We want to give the Lord due honor and thanks on this silver jubilee of her first "yes" for her and the gift of her faithfulness these past 25 years!

I knew her well over 25 years ago when as fellow Californians we had a common interest in following the example of St. Francis in our lives. I was studying at Franciscan University of Steubenville, from which she had just graduated, and I still remember how warm and welcoming she was as she invited me to learn more about the Secular Franciscan Student Fraternity that existed on campus, of which she was a member. Her passion and zeal to follow Christ by the radical witness of St. Francis inspired me to want to join the Secular Franciscan Fraternity and to make a deeper commitment to embrace the spirituality of St. Francis in my own life.

Like St. Francis, who stripped himself of his fine clothing before the Bishop, proclaimed God as his Father and embraced the lifestyle of a poor beggar, Katherine (Katy) Caldwell also chose to be poor in the world’s eyes, to forsake worldly prestige and the honor of titles and graduate degrees, in order to let Christ be her wealth, her value and reward. She was led by the Spirit of God, though it seemed foolish to some, to help found a new religious community that would live a hidden life of prayer, sacrifice, and humble service.

Sr. Katherine with her parents and sister
after her profession ceremony in 1990
Though she owned nothing, and felt small and ill-equipped for the task, she trusted God and stepped out of her comfort zone and with great faith and humility, helped to found the Franciscan Sisters, Third Order Regular of Penance of the Sorrowful Mother. During that founding year of 1988, I witnessed the great courage of Sr. Katherine and our community’s founding members who impelled me to want to learn more about the community and their charisms of crucified love, mercy, poverty and contemplation. Sr. Katherine generously paved the way for the rest of us who joined later, laying down her life for the sake of the Gospel by embracing the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Empty handed, she offered her ‘all’ to God, to do with as He wished, just like the boy in the Gospel who offered the disciples of Jesus two fish, together with five loaves, to be miraculously multiplied.

From the earliest years until today, Sr. Katherine has always been deeply serious about the pursuit of holiness, while also fun-loving and joyful, willing to do the humblest of tasks, as well as join in the fun and recreation with all the Sisters who have needed relief and balance amidst the intensity of founding a new religious order. She has been a tender sister and a wise reverend Mother for 10 years. I have often experienced her deep wisdom and gained from watching her bear labor pains no less than a mother bears for her child. These pains are, I believe, a true badge of courage.

Sr. Katherine renewing her vows
this past August 1st at a Mass at our
Motherhouse
Ever loyal in saying ‘yes’ to God’s will for the past 25 years, Sr. Katherine continues to be an example of passionate zeal for the Kingdom of God. In the name of all of your Sisters, I thank you, dear Sr. Katherine, for your friendship, spiritual motherhood, and constant example of undying courage and zeal.

We love you!
Sr. Mary Rose Bratlien, TOR and all your TOR Sisters

Sr. Katherine is currently on sabbatical after serving in leadership in our community for 21 years (11 of these years were as Reverend Mother). She was part of the founding of our community in 1988. She developed our formation program and served in formation for 12 years. She was the main author of our Constitutions and Statutes and also spearheaded the designing of our chapel, Father of Mercy. She has two graduate degrees and is currently working on a third in counseling that will assist her in serving the poor in downtown Steubenville. This is only a few of many accomplishments.


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
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