Journey Spring 2010

page 1JourneySpring 2010

Congregation of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Scranton, PA Vol. 28, No. 1 Spring 2010

Journeypage Spring 20102

The Healing of the Non-Prodigal Son or Daughter by Sister Mary Persico, IHM

Our mission as Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary of Scranton, Pennsylvania, is to follow Jesus as a community of disciples, aware that we are sent to be a clear and understandable prophetic witness to the presence of God in the world. - from the IHM Mission Statement

Congregation of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Scranton, Pennsylvania

Journey is published by the IHM Congregation for its members, friends, donors, sponsored institutions and supporters of the IHM Sisters and their ministries. Opinions expressed by authors published in Journey do not necessarily reflect those of the IHM Congregation. Correspondence should be addressed to the editor at: IHM Center, 2300 Adams Avenue, Scranton, PA 18509 E-mail: [email protected] Journey is online at: http://ihmnew.marywood.edu/1.WhoWeAre/1IHMJourney.html

Proofreaders: Sr. St. Anthony Radzikowski, IHM

Advisory Board: Sr. Gilmary Beagle, IHM Sr. Benedicta Berendes, IHM Sr. Suzanne Delaney, IHM Sr. Ann Barbara DeSiano, IHM

Sr. Lillian Marie Farrell, IHMSr. Maryalice Jacquinot, IHMSr. Lisa Perkowski

Editor: Sr. Fran Fasolka, IHM Copyeditor: Sr. Kathleen McNulty, IHM

Cover Art: Karen Amelia Brown

The healing that

changes lives comes

not necessarily from

physical cures or

temporary fixes for

fleeting disruptions

along the way,

but rather from

the deep-down

movement of God in

our lives to change

attitudes and release

the often self-made

bonds that keep us

captive within our

very souls.

continued on page 19

Spring always arrives with such welcome! We look for

signs that newness is on the way and our spirits are lifted from the dreary remnant of winter. For the Christian spirit, signs of Easter are equally welcome as we drag through the last weeks of Lent, lamenting that once again it wasn’t exactly how we wanted it to be. We don’t feel any holier or more reconciled than we did on Ash Wednesday. We might just as well get on with it. In the same way we look for the first robin or the heads of budding crocuses as signs of new life, we find glimpses of resurrection in the Lenten scriptures. For some reason I have been captivated by the account of the prodigal son this Lent. It appears several times in the liturgical cycle but unlike other times, my focus has turned to the older brother, the other brother, the loyal son who stayed at home to tend the flocks and plow the fields. His plight has touched my heart, perhaps because he is often the neglected character in the scriptural pas-sage, and perhaps because his feelings sometimes resemble our own human sentiments. Surely there are signs of resurrection in this fascinating story. As author Henri Nouwen wrote: “I never dreamt that becoming the son was only a step on becoming the welcoming father…and trusting that real joy and real fulfillment can only come from welcom-ing home those who have been hurt and wounded on their life’s

journey, and loving them with a love that neither asks nor expects anything in return.” This volume of Journey ad-dresses the concept of healing. We pray for healing in our world, in our homes, and in our hearts. Healing is akin to and necessary for the peace and harmony we seek in the depth of our spiritual selves. Healing leads to freedom and offers new life. Healing is a resurrection theme and reminds us that to be the Easter people we claim as our inheritance from the resurrected Jesus, we are as Christians called to be reconcil-ers of people. The healing that changes lives comes not neces-sarily from physical cures or temporary fixes for fleeting dis-ruptions along the way, but rather from the deep-down movement of God in our lives to change at-titudes and release the often self-made bonds that keep us captive within our very souls. The return of the prodigal son, or daughter, portrays the humble picture of a compassion-ate and all-loving parent who can’t be deterred from offering forgiveness to his son even in the face of hurt, embarrassment, anger, and rejection. After all, to ask for one’s inheritance is tan-tamount to claiming one’s parent as dead! Psychologists, spiritual counselors, and pure human experience would teach us that the forgiving father, in welcom-ing his wayward son home, was himself healed of all the emo-tions that had been the source of

his pain since the departure of his younger son. It was not only the return of his son that healed his suffering spirit, but also and more to the point his magnanimous act of forgiveness that restored peace to his heart. As for the brash younger son who gave in to the often decep-tive notion that life is greener on the other side of the fence, he learned a few of life’s lessons the hard way. Who knows what really went on in his heart? We like to believe that he came to his senses, realized that he had hurt the very one who had given him life and the means to grow better as a person, and repented of all that had brought shame to him and to his family. Sometimes our critical twenty-first century minds would argue that he knew where he could find a comfortable bed, a good meal, and a place where he could earn a few shekels. Jesus, in the parable of the prodigal son, did reveal the state of the elder son’s heart. He was resentful! In fact, his immediate reaction to the father’s generosity toward his brother, who had aban-doned his sibling as well, was anger and the refusal to enter into the joy of his father’s spirit. How often do we think what it would have taken to heal the heart of the son who stayed at home, faithful to a fault? In spite of our wonder-ing, we don’t know the answer to this question because here is where the story ends.


There are probably not more than a dozen statements—not many

more—that are guaranteed to ruin your day more thoroughly than, “You have cancer.” One of those dozen is an even shorter one—two words—“It’s back.” I have heard them both. But because, as I am fond of say-ing, “God looks out for tall Irish nuns,” those sentences have ruined only a few days of my life. I have had several rounds of chemo (twice), lost my hair (twice), underwent surgery (twice), and experienced deep, powerful healing—still. It has been my good fortune to be sur-rounded by a loving family, a supportive congregation, incred-ibly thoughtful neighbors, an awesome team of medical pro-fessionals, and a loving God who helped me focus on healing, not only from the surgery and chemo but also from the jarring reality of my own mortality. Over and over again during the eight years of dealing with cancer, people have commented on my approach to having the disease, on my “attitude.” So perhaps attitude has no little influence on healing. During the years, in conversations with other patients sitting for hours in chemo chairs while powerful drugs dripped slowly into our bodies, talking with and encour-aging others who had recently received the diagnosis and who were trying desperately to come to terms with it, in discussions with surgeons and oncologists who expect patients to be part of the decisions that must be made, one thing became eminently clear: how you think about and how you approach the disease has a significant impact on its affect on your life. And while there are certainly people who would say that that is true of almost everything in life, it is especially true of things that

fall into “cat-egory one” of the Serenity Prayer: things we cannot change. Things happen: we make mistakes, we are hurt, we become ill, we lose those we love, we age, our ability declines, our enthusiasm wanes—most of which, perhaps none of which, we can change. What the human heart and mind is left with, then, is how to approach those contin-gencies, what attitude to bring to the reality that has struck. I do not know where, how or why the attitude I have toward cancer and healing came from. When the first diagnosis came eight years ago, I was caring for my mother in Riverside, Penn-sylvania. I remember cross-ing the street to a neighbor and going through a long disserta-tion about exactly how I wanted the disease treated. When I paused for a breath she asked, ever-so-sarcastically, “Do you think there is the remotest pos-sibility someone at Geisinger knows more about this than you do?” (For those of you not familiar with Geisinger, it is a state-of-the-art, world-renowned medical center in Danville, a small rural town just about half way between Harrisburg and Scranton. It has an internation-ally recognized staff of doctors and medical professionals, and, for me, the best part, is twelve minutes from home.) At any rate, my friend’s question is probably what “jump-started” my current attitude toward a life-threatening disease and the healing it would necessitate, what would become a sort of “Four Commandments for Healing.”

I. Accept the ReAlItyOnce the di-agnosis is in, it cannot be changed. I spent a good amount of time berating myself for not getting mammo-grams regularly until my sur-geon (I think all medical people become “ours” when they are working to save

our lives) reminded me that even God cannot change the past and that the matter of greater impor-tance now was dealing with the cancer, the reality.

II. let them Do “theIR thIng”I now have a working agree-ment with the surgeon, nurses, oncologists, everyone involved in my health care: They won’t try to teach Shakespeare, and I won’t try to tell them how to treat cancer. If you are “dam-aged,” by a disease, an event, a loss, you can’t begin to heal without assistance. The doc-tors included me in their plans, but I needed to come to realize that they do, indeed, know more about cancer than I do and that placing myself in their care is not unlike placing myself in the hand of God. Chemo and surgery are not fun, but they were, at least in my case, necessary for me to get better.

III. move onYes, I lost my hair. It grew back—curly—twice. Yes, I have spent more time than I would have liked hooked to dripping IVs. Yes, I had surgery and the resulting scars. And I am alive, and well, and able to go into school every day and enjoy the

sometimes frustrating, always challenging students God has entrusted to me, six periods a day. To heal you have to remind yourself that treatment is “cate-gory one,” something that cannot be changed, but it is also some-thing that allows you to get back to what is important in life.

Iv. WAtch foR the hAnD of goDI truly believe that there is a lesson in every event in life, a “teachable moment” for us. So what is the lesson here? Multiple choice: a) you are not in chargeb) you are not independentc) others care for you and about you d) the lines all connecte) all of the above.The correct answer is e. Here’s a fascinating story of God and those connecting lines: Per-haps thirty years ago Sister Jean Conaty, then Sister Mary John, taught math to a young man at St. Leo’s, in Ashley. Sister thought he had some ability, so she encouraged him to study hard and allowed him no slack. Four years ago, after having earned an MD from Temple, being the director of oncology at Boston’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital and having taught at Harvard Medical School, Dr. Charles White, the boy from Ashley, became the head of oncology at Geisinger and my oncologist. So, in God’s wis-dom, the plan for the treatment of my cancer began long before the disease ever hit. When that reality becomes evident, healing is inevitable. It’s the only attitude that makes any sense.

Sister Gilmary serves as a teach-er at York Catholic High School in York, Pennsylvania.

AttItuDe AnD heAlIngby Sister Gilmary Beagle, IHM


by Sister Christine Koellhoffer, IHM

Becoming a “We”A Justice and Peace Perspective

Mysticism and relationship converged the day the

tulip tree died in our back yard. Over 80 feet tall, towering and solid, the tree seemed a magical companion to me, since she sprouted green “tulips” each spring. She was the keeper of my childhood secrets and the patient listener to my rambling imaginings. One day, the old tulip tree, having faced too many seasons of heavy snow, fierce wind, and disease, was struck by lightning, splintering its huge branches. All through the following day, I heard the steady whine of the buzz saw cutting through the flesh of the injured tree. All day long I imagined—or did I?—my magical tree crying out in pain. When the cutting back and cutting away finally ended, I went out in the back yard to help clean up the debris. But mostly, I went out to console my friend and examine her wounds. At one point in gathering up the fragments, I caught my finger on the rough edge of a branch and cut myself, my blood mingling with her sap. It occurred to me that the two elements are not all that different, as life forces go. I already knew intuitively that we were somehow related, that in some way the coming together of my blood and the tree’s sap made us blood sisters, forming a pact that implied that we were in this together, that we would stand by one another no matter what. There were no words in my childhood vocabulary to describe this, but I believe it’s what Barbara Brown Taylor names as “bearing the reality of the universe in your flesh like a

thorn.” (An Altar in the World, A Geography of Faith). And just what is that reality? That our Earth is in pain, crying out like the wounded tulip tree. Crying out ultimately for healing and wholeness, but first and foremost for right relationship, an initial and critical step toward the healing of the whole. The call to healing our Earth is a call to communion, to understand that we are not separate nor apart from what wounds her, just as we’re not distant from what restores her vitality and richness. It’s a call to continually examine our pronouns, relating to Earth as a “she,” a vibrant mother, rather than an “it,” a thing to be used or abused to suit our own purposes. Marilou Awiatka expresses this relationship and the implications of disregarding it in her poem, “When Earth Becomes an ‘It’”:

When the people call Earth “Mother,”they take with loveand with love give backso that all may live.

When the people call Earth “it,”they use herconsume her strength.Then the people die.

Already the sun is hotout of season.Our mother’s breastis going dry.She is taking all greeninto her heartand will not turn backuntil we call herby her name.

How we name ourselves and all of creation has much to say about how we relate to

one another. The movement towards healing the Earth comes about in a paradigm shift where we no longer see our survival or our thriving as in any way separate from that of our Earth. Wesley Granberg-Michaelson, in “Renewing the Whole Creation,” calls on us to examine our theology of relationship in regard to the Earth, defining three possible ways of relating:

Dominion (assuming that •humanity’s God-given duty is to exploit the Earth in meeting any needs and fulfilling any desires)

Stewardship (stressing •humanity’s obligation to be a wise caretaker of the Earth; this still implies a managerial relationship to Nature. Humanity’s task is to govern and order Nature wisely, like a good monarch)

Interrelationship (seeing that •creation has value because of its relationship to God, rather than its utility for humanity)

Clearly, the healing of our Earth, the healing of ourselves, is bound up with living from the third theology of relationship, one that will save us all both now and into future generations. I was taken back to the day the tulip tree died when I read “For All My Relations” by George Tinker. He relates a blessing ceremony where Native Americans formed a circle around a tree that was about to be cut down, speaking prayers and uttering words of comfort to the tree. Those gathered also made an offering to the Creator as a way of maintaining the harmony

and balance of creation even as an act of violence (cutting down the tree) was about to be enacted. Tinker asks, “What sort of reciprocity do we engage in, will we engage in? What do we return to the Earth when we clear cut a forest or strip mine, leaving miles upon miles of Earth totally bare? Perhaps more painfully, the same question can be put in terms of human justice: where is the reciprocity, the maintaining of cosmic balance, with respect to those who are suffering varieties of oppression in our modern world?” Tinker emphasizes the Lakota phrase, Mitakuye oyasin, “For all my relations,” to show the centrality of creation. Our relations, our relatives, must necessarily include the four-leggeds, the wingeds, and all the living-moving things on Mother Earth. So we aren’t the only ones doing the naming! I like to imagine that our four-legged and winged relatives and all the “above-me and below-me and around-me” beings have already chosen names for us. What will those names reveal about who we are? Mitakuye oyasin. The heart of the matter is interrelatedness and interdependence, balance and relationship. The hour is upon us to see ourselves as one with all creation. The hour is upon us to make the movement from living as an “I” to becoming a “We,” for the sake of all our relations, for the healing of our Earth.

Sister Christine serves as the director of communications for the Daughters of Wisdom, U.S. Province, Islip, N.Y.


Reconciliation and Sacramentby Father Frank P. DeSiano, CSP


It’s not easy to know how to cure the present Catholic malaise over the sacrament

of reconciliation, or confession as most people still refer to it. No one, however, would credibly deny that a malaise exists. As a priest, I am well aware of present patterns in the practice of this sacrament: about 15-20% of active Catholics will celebrate the sacrament once or twice a year, typically at services provided by parishes during Advent and Lent. Most Catholics, clearly, do not celebrate the sacrament, and this for a variety of reasons. One basic reason comes down to a substantial change in the way Catholics look at sin. Whereas once sin seemed to be impossible to avoid and almost always “mortal” (especially after the onset of puberty), now Catholics tend to see sin as mostly venial. Catholics are not obsessed with sin, probably a reaction to the past experience of a Catholicism totally obsessed with sin, particularly sins “against the sixth and ninth commandments.” While some pastoral leaders might want to lead us back to our former obsession, most Catholics think that an unhealthy focusing on sin obscures the dominant points of the Gospel. It isn’t so much that the Catholic definition of sin has changed, nor is it so much that Catholics suddenly live in complete innocence; rather, decades of psychological insight have led many Catholics, often rightly and often wrongly, to a new perspective about sin. Another basic reason revolves around our modern phobia about shame. Modern people cannot tolerate shame. Whereas former generations witnessed children making fun of others because of the size of their noses, or how many blemishes they had,

or even their ethnicity and skin color, today doing something like this would seem like a massive violation of the human person. Fifty years ago a teacher might deliberately shame a student. Try that today and the lawsuits would follow. Perhaps modern psyches have become so frail that shame has become the ultimate enemy. So when it comes to whispering sins to another, it takes a lot for modern people to swallow this. Far better to pay professionals to hear our faults; the professionalism itself mitigates the shame. Perhaps a third reason is the substantial demotion priests have received in the eyes of many—both Catholics and non-Catholics. Catholics always knew their priests were “human,” and we celebrated this in the years after Vatican II. “Call me John,” father would say to his friends. Father was one of us. But the persistent exposure of the terrible failings of a small percentage of priests has colored how everyone looks at priests. “Why tell my sins to a human”—the standard argument of non-Catholics against confession—has morphed into “Why tell my sins to a sinful priest,” merging with the suspicions that mark modern life. The malaise of reconciliation will not be healed so long as these three factors loom large in the public mind. Yet none of them speaks to the fundamental value, the essential importance, of celebrating reconciliation. For the sacrament is not about obsessing over sin, or inducing shame, or pretending that priests are perfect; rather, the sacrament is an indispensible step in the whole process of reconciliation. Catholics often have had it put to them, “God forgives sin in the sacrament of confession.” This just as often translates

into the totally incorrect (and heretical) idea that unless we do one thing or another, God does not forgive. The truth is that God has already forgiven humankind of sin; that’s what the death and resurrection of Jesus is all about. God’s forgiveness has been offered. This issue, then, is not about God’s forgiveness, but about our ability to actively appropriate that forgiveness in our lives. I may offend a person; that person may forgive me; but unless that forgiveness becomes relationally active in my own life, it has no power to change and heal. God, indeed, has forgiven the world. But that forgiveness becomes real only when humankind accepts and appropriates it. The sacrament of reconciliation is the process whereby God’s forgiveness is actively received and accepted by someone who seeks to renew his or her discipleship. Through this process we make the experience of forgiveness real. In reconciliation we face the stark reality of our true sins, the bluntness of how we have compromised our discipleship, the pain of our broken relationships (with others and God), and the concrete patterns that lead us to obscure God’s love in our lives. While much of reconciliation can happen in our heads (examination of conscience) and our hearts (sincere contrition), a solid piece of it needs to be enacted, put into human action and discourse, in order to become real. The recitation of sin privately to a priest emerged slowly in the Church’s experience of reconciliation. We may well be experiencing the emergence of other styles of reconciliation—and it may take hundreds of years for this

I may offend

a person; that

person may

forgive me;

but unless that

forgiveness

becomes

relationally active

in my own life, it

has no power to

change and heal.

God, indeed,

has forgiven

the world. But

that forgiveness

becomes real only

when humankind

accepts and

appropriates it.


Coincidentally, as I write this, I’m spending most of each day flat on my

back, a ‘booted’ foot suspended above my heart, healing from complex foot surgery. As much as the boredom, isolation, and occasional pain are a factor these days, this is not one of life’s hurts. It’s a protracted incon-venience. For, as a friend once counseled, “If you’ve got a prob-lem and you get upset about it, now you’ve got two problems.” So I’m trying to focus on one, not-so-dreadful problem. For me, a genuine life hurt is the bone-searing kind. It may be the loss of a beloved parent, partner, friend—or of a deep and private hope. It’s the kind of loss that has us questioning ourselves and wondering how we can possibly go on. It’s that senseless grief when years ahead loom cold and lonely. When all the props of everyday life are not enough and only God is left. I’m paraphrasing, but Anthony de Mello had a haiku about this: “My barn burned down. Now I see the moon.” Hurt is when your barn burns down. Healing is when you see the moon. When my much-loved fa-ther died, it was a sad time for all of us for the first two years. And then my first husband was diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer at age 44. Thus began a gut-wrenching grief that lasted the 8 ½ years of his illness and well beyond. Years later, I’m happily remarried, my three children, who fell apart in stages dur-ing those years, are grown and thriving—finally, thank God. But along the way, I learned a lot about hurt and healing and how angels are sent us when we need them the most. Even now, on a difficult day, I ask God to send me an angel. Of course, he does. You, too, know such angels. They come from the

kindness of friends. From strangers. From an inspira-tion God sends us. And sometimes they come through people we may not even like. Such is our divine healer, with a robust sense of humor. As I look back over my life—so blessed and rich, so challenging at times—I’ve thought about what helps when life is overwhelming and hurt so acute the solar plexus feels pummeled. Here’s a sample of what’s supported me. I pray something here might support you, too.

When Jamie, my first •husband, was diagnosed and often throughout those years, there were times at work I’d think, “Who cares about this stuff?” (All right, I didn’t use ‘stuff.’) And more desperately: “Dear God, I can’t get through this next hour, much less this whole day.” And then I was given a gift that has sustained me ever since. This was my arrangement with God: “Despite this anguish, I can make it through the next fifteen minutes—only the next fifteen minutes, okay?—and then I’ll renegotiate.” And, thus in my absolute worst times, God has led me from one small stone in the stream to another—in fifteen-minute segments.

Years later, I understand this gift better. As a friend noted recently, “We can’t meet God an hour ago. And we can’t

meet him an hour from now. We can only truly meet him this very moment.” And that’s why I think God lets us be ‘reduced’ to mo-ments of seeming aloneness—so he alone can carry us—in my case, fifteen minutes at a time.

When Jamie •died, I don’t need to tell you, it was a very dark time indeed. But every Sun-day for months, his best friend from college and his wife—both

therapists—would call me to talk. As this friend said of-ten, “Let us be your lifeline, so you can plunge into the icy waters of grief and know we’ll help to pull you back. But you must go into that dark, miserable pond when you can. God will be with you. And you’ll come out of it over and over. And that’s when the healing begins.”

Of course, being a “J” on the Myers-Briggs, I wanted to know when the pain would stop. I was sick of it. Then another gift: I realized pro-found, daily love comes to us when we just lie there broken before God.

You may wish to think back on your own hurts. You know your angels come, and especially when you ask God for them, because then they show up in big and small ways one after another. A kindness, an e-mail, an in-sight, and just unexpected

times of palpable relief that let us know that St. Paul had it right. In God, we do live and move and have our being—which means that our loved ones in heaven, as well as on earth, are all with us more intimately than we can imagine: living, moving, having their own being. We haven’t lost them. Far from it.

Finally, years ago, another •message arrived from a thera-pist. He gave me wisdom to help with daily hurt. If I’m down for whatever reason, I ask myself: “What thought can I think that will make me feel better?” Feelings follow thoughts, as we may remem-ber from Psych 101. It’s just we forget very often that it’s true.

In the end, God, who never leaves us to grapple with heart-ache alone, smiles with us when morning comes at last. When we throw off the covers and raise the blinds. It’s then that he’s there in the washing up and dressing and the squaring of our shoulders. And he shines in our wide grin, that with him, we’re healing, and we’ve made it once again. Oh, happy day.

Susan Porter Robinson (formerly Sister Georganne, IHM) recently retired to Lewes, Delaware, after serving for many years as Vice President, Lifelong Learning, at the American Council on Educa-tion. Last year, she graduated from the Contemplative Leader-ship Program at Shalem Insti-tute for Spiritual Formation in Washington, D.C. Today Susan consults in both higher education and contemplative leadership in Delaware and around the country.

Healing Life’s Hurts by Susan Porter Robinson

In the end, God,

who never leaves us

to grapple with

heartache alone,

smiles with us when

morning comes

at last.


A few years ago a task force of my congregation, the Sisters of the Divine

Compassion, was charged with creating a “tag line” for a congregational chapter. The phrase we adopted was “Compassion heals a world of violence.” The wordsmiths among us particularly appreciated the subtle nuances of the statement. While the occasion has receded into history, the words have taken root. As a congregation whose charism is compassion, we’ve explored, parsed, studied, prayed about, meditated on and dissected the word scripturally, philosophically, and psychologically. It was through this phrase, however, in the context of the vision of our founders, by which we came to a deeper understanding of the core meaning of compassion. In my thinking and praying, I have come to view compassion as the synergistic intersection of attentiveness, strength, and tenderness that holds the possibility of transformation. A sort of divine alchemy. Alone each of these qualities has a vital place in the human story, but together their total effect becomes even greater, especially in the face of alienation, isolation, rejection, invisibility, marginalization, and oppression.There are favorite stories that I return to again and again that I find are wonderful narratives of compassion. These stories

by Sister Susan Becker, RDC

enflesh at least one or all of the components of attentiveness, strength, and tenderness that lead to transformation. I think of the Old Testament as God’s encounter with “the people,” and always God’s response to them is elegant in its design and significant in its timeliness. Probably because I am a lover of the Arizona desert and find God waiting there for me, I automatically go to the Exodus story and think about the God who showed attentiveness and tenderness to the beleaguered people who were confused, frustrated, displaced, and losing heart. For that moment, that day, and the next day, and the next, the people are not only fed but given direction that would lead to their transformation. I believe, though, that it is in the Incarnation and in Jesus’ command, “Do this in remembrance of me,” that divine compassion becomes most possible and plausible. It is in his encounter with the broken ones and his healing miracles that we can see the what and how of that compassion. On one level, the lives of a few fortunate people were changed forever: a blind man, no longer in darkness; a leper, no longer alienated from the crowd; Lazarus, no longer separated from a grieving family. And in all of these, what becomes abundantly clear is the interplay among the three components of compassion:

attentiveness, strength, and tenderness. And yet, these three components are not enough. For compassion to be truly the compassion of Jesus, it must culminate in that transformation that is possible only in a personal encounter which permits reciprocity. It is easy to think of compassion as a one-way street—the healed one and the changed one, but what about the healer and the changer? If an act of compassion holds the possibility of transformation for one, is it also present for the other? Gospel compassion is intensely personal. In his healing ministry, Jesus was not the Oral Roberts who invited us to put our hands on the TV set and be cured, or Sun Yung Moon who rounded up 15 thousand couples for a mass marriage in Madison Square Garden. Compassion is person-to-person, one person at a time, and it is this aspect of compassion that allows reciprocity. It is the invitation to all of us to be mindful of our own unfinished business and to allow the other to compassionate us. Compassion—giving and receiving—tells us who we are and moves us toward wholeness. It might seem a little strange to think of Jesus as having unfinished business and to be on the receiving end of compassion, but I wonder about the impact his compassion had on him? In the story of the woman touching his

cloak looking for a cure, I cannot imagine his becoming aware that his power was tapped into and not reflecting on the meaning. I wonder what occurred for him after he raised the widow’s son or when the rich young man came with such promise and went away sad. Was this part of his own discernment process in coming to a fuller understanding of his mission? He could not not be changed. And what of us? Compassion for “everyperson” can be found in the fourth station of the cross. A woman watching the procession to Calvary has the courage to step out of the crowd and into the road face-to-face with the suffering Jesus. She takes her head covering or her apron and wipes the blood and sweat from his face. She does not put an end to crucifixion or change anyone’s mind about its wrongness. That’s not what the moment is about. Rather, it might simply be that in this encounter with its attentiveness, tenderness, and strength she is transformed, lives into her wholeness and becomes Veronica, bearer of the face of the divine compassion itself. A speaker who once addressed us gave us a wonderful image to ponder: at every moment in every place on the earth these sacred moments of encounter are creating a web of compassion that is spreading one person at a time around the globe: on the road to Calvary and on the interstate, in classrooms and in check-out lines, at Lazarus’ house and ours, and everywhere. And so it goes….

Sister Susan is a Sister of Divine Compassion, White Plains, NY.

Compassion Heals a World of Violence

Compassion is person-to-person, one person at a time, and it is this aspect of compassion that allows reciprocity. It is the invitation to all of us to be mindful of our own unfinished business and to allow the other to compassionate us.



Stations of Reflection and Hope

“O Lord, you have probed me and you know me, You know when I sit and when I stand.Even before a word is on my tongue, Behold, O Lord, you know the whole of it.Behind me and before me, you hem me in And rest your hand upon me…” (Psalm 139)

The pain, the sights, the smells, this bed onto which others must lift and lower me, no energy, no “script” for how all this has happened,This awful not-knowing, almost not making it, this cannot be me.And in these hemmed-in, still living moments, I remember… “You rest your hand upon me… “Though I walk through the valley of darkness, I fear no evil for you are with me.”

*****

“Let my prayers rise like incense before you.”

When my eyes can begin to focus, when I can utter brief drifts of prayer,I look to my wall of hope, to candle-pictures, cross, and cards encircling all.Sisters, friends, nurses, family, cannot reach inside me to speed my healing or find hopeful answers but their presence surrounds me with prayer and love.Let all these priceless gifts of caring lift my spirit to you, O God. and let my prayers rise to you for them.

*****“Not a hair on my head falls, but you, O Lord, know it.”

The darker hairs of once “much younger 50s” are falling fast and gray.Ribbed, shadowed, older, weaker, I do not know who I am in the mirror.Yet, Lord, even in this, you speak, “You are precious in my sight and I love you.”This very earthen vessel, my body, you hold gently in your hands. Again and again, I begin to pray, This is my body and I am healing.

*****

“Today I set before you life and death… choose life”

Choose life when moments are hazed by pain and waiting, when afternoons stretch into longer nights with clutched beads, when any steps are moments of energy with a walker.

A Spiritual Journey to Healing and Healthby Sister Theresa Frere, IHM

And later, when I begin to measure my days, in cans and tubes, my life-lines, in “what-if’s” and “when’s” Choose life moment by moment, hour by hour.

Use everything, embrace everything, even the most ordinary self-care needs.Surround everything with prayer, not just for me, but for so many others, for the world beyond my own now

very small one.

Look for moments of beauty and surprise, nurture life and learning, relationships and prayer, celebrate each new milestone of wholeness.Faithfully greet the precious gift of life in each new day.

*****

“Let nothing disturb you, nothing affright you, Allthingsarepassing,Godalonesuffices.”

When days stretch into weeks and longer months, when treasured items and possessions have long since been in

storage, when previous ministry becomes a memory,

When milestones become detours, when more incisions map the story of my journey back to healing, when clothing, steps, words, and song are limited,I struggle to remember… “all things are passing…” This is not all I am or will be.”

*****

“You have grasped me by the hand, I cling to you, in hope, O God.”

In the sameness of these desert days, I long for what I had and was before,Of ministering to others, not feeling so “in-between,” with few answers, waiting stretching into more waiting, the next test or needle, the next results, the next appointment.So many Emmaus walks in prayer, So few Emmaus meals of tastes and smells, preparing and sharing My Emmaus meals now a small fragment to nourish my spirit.What lies ahead for me and when?

*****

I firmly grasp this hope, “The one who has begun this good work in you, will bring it through to completion.”

I have come too far not to continue to hope.These community spaces of faithful prayer and witness have much to teach my heart and spirit.


the ARt of heAlIngby Karen Amelia Brown

Last fall, a dear friend of mine received a diagnosis of breast cancer— her second time around. Our friendship

began about fourteen years ago when she was a student in a class I taught based on the popular book, The Artist’s Way. Since then, we have collaborated on more than a few creative projects, enjoying color, design, fun and laughter, always laughter. After she shared her recent diagnosis, I automatically went into “helper” mode. What could I do to help her through the ups and downs of this new journey? As I shared my brainstorming results with her, she asked me to wait as she wanted to get a feel for what felt right. I had been part of a group that collaged a gigantic “happy wishes” card for her. I contributed my small part to a larger project to be assembled for her. Before long, she e-mailed an invitation for tea and some creative time with her to transform a journal into a personal journey. The project was simple—as she thumbed through catalogs and magazines and cut out images and words that called to her, my part was to paste them randomly throughout the book for her to “discover” as she turned a new page. As we finished, she said “I’ve ‘spent’ more than $1,000 here today without denting the bank account. Her journal became known as the “Thousand Dollar Journal.” More than once, she has been tickled to find just the right quote or image to fit the current day—her art for healing. Art is what we make of life and what we make about life and what we make for life. Art is not limited to the big ART found in museums and on movie screens and in symphony halls and in large coffee table books. In fact, art is not to be limited or contained at all. To do so would be limiting life and our souls. Art is all around us each and every day, just waiting to be noticed or created or indulged in. Art helps us celebrate and acknowledge all the parts of life and is a powerful tool available for times of need and healing. What my friend and I did will probably not be found in a museum or even on the internet, but it made a difference for both of us. Many memories come to me of how art has helped me with healing. As a child confined to bed with pneumonia, I surrounded myself with my favorite books to

read, crayons to draw with and paper dolls to dress in new outfits. As a young mother, I sang and danced with sick babies, made comfort food to soothe ailing bodies and helped them create with crayons or Legos. Yes, all these activities helped pass the time, but also fed the spirit through doing or making something. The need for healing touches all our lives, whether from the large tragedies of life or the daily small hurts that pop up. This need can be individual, familial, cultural, national or global; wounds occur at every level. For many, there is the need to do something, to bring out what is inside, what needs to be touched and comforted. Emotions cry for expression—somehow. And so we write, dance, sing, make quilts, cook, clean or search for images and sounds that feed our souls. And often what we do then reaches out to touch others. I am often amazed at how my work, created out of my need to do something, touches others and helps them express what is inside while, at the same time, giving comfort or bringing tears or a smile, a nodding of the head as they say “Yes, this is what is in me; this person knows.” When my brother died after struggling with ALS, I was filled with rage, pain and a deep hurt. I didn’t know what to do with my emotions and frustration. A friend simply said, “Karen, you’re an artist. Go to your studio and make something.” I filled pages with paint and layers of words as I moved through my hurts to a place of acceptance. A few years after that, my best friend, a man I dearly loved, died suddenly, way too young. Again I was engulfed by grief with all its pain and emotions. For nearly a year, I poured my wounded heart and soul into journal after journal. Images began to appear in my dreams and my writings. Finally, I was drawn to put paint on paper, first just shapes and motion using a palette of deep earthy colors (a stretch from my usual pastel favorites) until I was ready to paint my journey through grief. Thirteen paintings, full of emotion and some with words, were born displaying my shock, despair, anger, isolation, depression, calming, relief, release, hope and healing.


Remembrance and Resurrection My response to the loss and devastation of 9/11

moved me to create this piece, remembering all the souls lost.


Chicago Mourns Its Second Cabrini, read the headlines of the city’s prominent newspaper on April 17, 1940, upon the death of Mother Maria Kaupas, foundress of the Sisters of St. Casimir. Casimira, an immigrant from Lithuania, would have been shocked to see herself so described. To her, her life story was a sincere response to the Lord’s call and her desire to help a hurting humanity as she witnessed it in the lives of the Lithuanian immigrants coming to the US at the turn of the twentieth century. She had done what Mother Cabrini had done for her people. The most significant parallel of resemblance was their zeal manifested particularly in bringing help to the poor and needy. Upon her arrival in 1897 to Scranton, Pennsylvania as a 17-year old housekeeper for her priest brother, Father Anthony Kaupas, founder of St. Joseph Church in North Scranton, Casimira, witnessed the plight of the Lithuanian immigrant parishioners. Here in America, she recognized the danger in this time of change. She knew the material influence would steal from their children’s souls the faith and language of their fathers. The Priests’ League in Pennsylvania was earnestly searching for ways to counteract this and assist their parish children. While here in the US, during her brief stay, Casimira experienced a culture shock, and so after four years she returned to her homeland seeking the prayerfulness of her parish and family and also to contemplate her life’s meaning. In Scranton she had seen sisters for the first

time, the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the very ones who years later would play a major role in her life. Casimira was deeply attracted to their way of life. Resolving to return to the United States and enter a religious community, she wrote to her brother of her intent. Father Anthony responded by saying the Priests’ League would like her to establish a religious congregation to teach the youth in the schools they would build. Casimira filled with great trust in the Lord agreed to this. She prayed continuously that she could fulfill God’s will for her. Prayer was an integral part of her life and she always exhorted the sisters to form the habit of weaving short prayers into their work and to teach this to the children.

After schooling and religious training in Switzerland, in 1905, she and two other young women returned to Scranton. With the help of a few priests, also Bishop John Shanahan of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and Bishop Michael J. Hoban of Scranton, along with the sisterly mentoring of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary at Marywood, Sister Maria, established a new religious community in 1907, known as the Sisters of St. Casimir. Their role now was to educate both in faith and knowledge this growing generation of Lithuanian

children. The young congregation began to grow quickly. Chicago was chosen as the site for the first motherhouse, for it was there the largest number of Lithuanian immigrants were living and working. Within a few months of entering the new motherhouse, Sister Maria opened a school known as St. Casimir Academy. In her circle of love, she quickly embraced all children, be they Lithuanian or not. She stressed faith formation as part and parcel of education and daily life. Mother Gabriel, IHM from Scranton, became the school’s first principal and continued to mentor the newly formed congregation. Over the years the ministry of the sisters expanded into 14 states. Mother, herself, visited the classrooms often, being a great source of wisdom both for the sisters and the students. In 1928, responding to growing health needs, Mother Maria prepared her sisters as nurses to staff hospitals. In 1937, Mother Maria sent her sisters to New Mexico where they eventually served in five schools, often enduring poor conditions, but radiating a joy and exuberance for their ministry. In her wisdom, Mother Maria encouraged the sisters to teach the Mexican children while not trying to impose a new culture upon them. Three years after her death, in 1943, with the approval of Cardinal Stritch, a prayer card was issued

praying for the beatification of Mother Maria. Throughout the following years people prayed to her for healing, believing in her compassionate love witnessed while she was alive. In the midst of caring for her sisters and their mission, Mother nurtured and reflected the Lord truly alive within. They especially noted her great love

The Power of Prayer in Healing

Mother M. Cyril, IHM and Mother M. Gabriel, IHM (seated)with Mother M. Immaculata, Mother Maria

and Mother M. Concepta on the 25th Jubilee of the Sisters of St. Casimir in 1932

Mother Maria as a postulant at Marywood

Watercolor painting of Mother Cyril Conway, IHM and Mother Maria Kaupas, SSC presented by the Sisters of St. Casimir to the IHM Sisters on October 11, 2003


for all, her patience, her understanding, her humor and the joy she brought to daily living. And in the end, they noted her heroic acceptance of cancer and how through prayer she endured the unbearable suffering. On June 3, 1986, Maria Kaupas was named, “Servant of God.” In 1999, a seven hundred and two page book known as the “Positio” was completed wherein her life was historically presented in light of her life of heroic virtue. The Positio was recently reviewed in Rome by nine theologians, and they unanimously deemed her life to be one of heroic virtue. When the Holy Father accepts their decision, Maria Kaupas will become “Venerable.” In order to be beatified one bona fide miracle must be presented. One

by Sister Margaret Petcavage, SSCThe Power of Prayer in Healing was submitted and doctors in Rome are currently reviewing it as a potential miracle attributed to Mother Maria. The power of prayer often defies medical science. Throughout the 70 years after her passing, people have prayed to Mother for healing. Many prayers were answered and her file continues to grow both with requests and notes of thanksgiving for healing. A sister was totally healed from “acute myoblastic leukemia” after being diagnosed as having only three weeks to live. The sisters fervently petitioned Mother’s intercession. Thirty years later sister lives to tell the story with no sign of the leukemia—this being deemed a healing beyond medical science by three doctors. A sister from another community was cured from Guillain Barre Syndrome (paralysis of the nervous system)

and left with no disability. The prayers seeking Mother Maria’s intercession on sister’s behalf were answered. A young mother, a graduate of Maria High School, gave birth to a girl who had extreme respiratory symptoms. The doctor gave the parents the sad news that she was not expected to live. The baby’s grandmother called the sisters to pray to Mother Maria for the little one. The baby survived and when she

was 11 years old the same doctor testified that her healing was miraculous, something beyond the medical field’s treatments. A priest who has partial hearing loss comes frequently to place his head on Mother’s sarcophagus. The intercession book before Mother Maria’s sarcophagus, filled with healing requests and prayers of thanks, supports Mother’s own statement when she said shortly before her death that should the Lord wish, she will send baskets full of blessings from heaven. Providence has a way of directing events, and though we do admit that the Lord is the One controlling the destinies of all, we continue to be amazed at the generous response of Maria Kaupas, her zeal to sacrifice everything, her family, her country, her personal advantages, to help the Lord’s poor and needy. Known as a “Woman of Hope, she continues to instill this hope in the hearts of all with her lived conviction that, “God is within us, and all that he grants or permits flows from the love he has for us.”

Sister Margaret Petcavage, SSC is the vice postulator for theBeatification/CanonizationCause of Mother Maria Kaupas. Sister Margaret has written the “Positio” supporting Maria Kaupas’ heroic virtuous life. Presently Sister also serves as an administrative assistant to the vice president at the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas.

Prayer for the Beatification of

Mother Maria Kaupas

O loving Jesus, we beseech you,

grant that your servant, Mother Maria,

who was imbued with your Eucharistic Presence

while on earth, may through the intercession of your Immaculate Mother

and Saint Casimir, beglorifiedbyvisiblesigns

and miracles; so that for your glory and salvation

of souls, she may by your power

be declared blessed. Amen.

Mother M. Cyril, IHM and Mother M. Gabriel, IHM (seated)

Watercolor painting of Mother Cyril Conway, IHM and Mother Maria Kaupas, SSC presented by the Sisters of St. Casimir to the IHM Sisters on October 11, 2003

The sarcophagus of Mother Maria which contains her holy remains


by John Lemoncelli


Throughout my “journey” in the fields of counseling and

academe, I have been blessed with wonderful mentors who have taught me so much. One of the most important things I believe I have learned from those mentors is the fact that my greatest teachers would be the patients and students I would be privileged to serve. During the course of years in a part-time private practice, I was amazed at the number of my patients who had suffered from childhood trauma. Being most aware of my ignorance of how exactly to help ease my patients’ pain, I began reading every piece of literature I could find. I also attended numerous conferences and workshops. It seemed to me that no one had the answers I needed to aid my patients. And then I began to listen to the experts, my patients, to attempt to find a way to genuinely help. Their childhood journeys were nothing short of horrifying, and yet these people had an incredible resilience. Many of them had chosen careers in teaching, ministry, or other forms of service.

Those who were blessed to become parents themselves were caring, gentle, and loving as parents. At first glance it makes sense that those who had experienced such pain in their childhood would be the last ones to inflict pain on others. While this would make sense in a logical world, we know that this is not a logical world. And we also know, too well, that many victims have become abusers. Having worked with the abused who became abusers, and “survivors” who chose not to abuse children or adults, I began to see how all of them struggled. Whether they struggled with alcohol, food, pornography, saying “yes,” allowing themselves to be used, they were all in pain, and no drug or behavior made it truly stop. As I continued to work with the patients, many, if not all, talked about a “thing” that came over them that “baited” them into their negative behaviors. About 15 years ago, I

began to theorize about this “thing” and began to use the metaphor of a “Parasite” to describe the “thing.” One may ask, why a Parasite? Well, first of all, we are all familiar with the term and that ingesting a parasite can make us ill. I have come to believe that all childhood abuse is similar in function to a

physiological “Parasite.” This Parasite is ingested into the child’s/adolescent’s psyche disguised as “nourishing love.” Once ingested into the child/adolescent, the Parasite causes ego fragmentation. This ego fragmentation is due to the conflicting feelings the child/adolescent typically experiences. The fragmentation of the ego leads the child /adolescent to incorporate both the pain of the abuse and the responsibility for the abuse. The responsibility for the pain is one of the most difficult burdens for the victim. Think of these examples: “If I had only been good, mommy would not have drunk tonight and beat me and sis,” or “I wanted him to touch me, but not like that, not there.” The logical adult mind might be able to come to a different conclusion, but typically the child/adolescent feels the responsibility. And then, the child/adolescent sets off on a course to change the unchangeable. It also sets the stage for the victim to create an abuse-pain-abuse-pain addictive cycle. This cycle causes the abuse victim to plunge into a journey of self-loathing, self-abusive, and self-destructive behaviors. The Parasite model aids the victim in relinquishing the responsibility for the pain. The Parasite model also affords victims an opportunity to attack something other than the self. The treatment approach of the Parasite Model incorporates the disease model often used in the field of addictions. I am not saying that victims are “sick,” but I am saying they have a horrible illness that they have through no fault of their own. Perhaps, more importantly, they have an illness

that only they, with their God, can achieve healing. The Parasite model also incorporates numerous Alcoholics Anonymous principles in the course of treatment. The incorporation of these concepts has enabled the victims to bifurcate the pain and responsibility aspects of their trauma, and, thus, empowers them to direct their energies at healing the pain while shedding the responsibility for their pain. The first step is to surrender to the reality of what has happened to them. Unfortunately, I have no answers to the human question “why me?” I do know that no one can give them back their childhood, but I also know that they with their God do not need to give their abuser one more minute of their life. Another key element of the model is the need to examine the individual’s spirituality, including the image of a God or Higher Power. The Judeo-Christian religions, as well as many other forms of religion, rely heavily on the notions of Parent or Sibling: God, the Father, God our Mother,

heAlIng the mInD AnD heARt


The Potential of Music to Healby Sister Mariam Pfeifer, IHM


In every culture music is an es-sential part of life. . . . When words fail us, music succeeds. Today researchers and scientists are finding that simply listening to music can improve our physical health . . . . Music’s ability to cut straight to the core and affect our emotions is perhaps its strongest attribute. The Power of Music by the Discovery Health Network (2003) Music has certainly been central and truly essential in both my personal and professional life’s journey. It brings to mind the song, “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” for music as well as life, brings with it many sweet memo-ries. The journey began when my congregation discussed the pos-sibility of my taking educational requirements to become a regis-tered music therapist and sent me to a workshop in special music education, offered by Dr. Richard M. Graham at Peabody Conserva-tory, Baltimore, Maryland. This educational experience set a new life direction for me, culminating in degrees and internships which led to my current profession as a registered music therapist. My first work as a registered therapist was at St. Joseph’s Center, where I created a music therapy department to meet the needs of several medically fragile children. Subsequently, I was invited by the administration of Marywood College to design a music therapy program to be implemented in1979. With the program approved by the National Association of Schools of Music, the bachelor of music in music therapy degree was begun and continues to flourish. It is at Marywood University as an assistant professor and director of the Music Therapy Program that my ministry encompasses a continual exploration of the literature that provides “best practice” and

continues to shed light on some of the mystery of music’s potential to heal. I’ve observed first hand endless cases where music has successfully served persons with various special needs. These cases have deepened and verified several aspects of the power of music and especially “music’s ability to cut straight to the core.” According to Melissa Healy (“Scientifically Sound,” The Times-Tribune (Scranton, PA) March 14, 2010), research shows that “Musical memories can be imprinted on the brain so indelibly that they can be retrieved, perfectly intact, from the depths of a mind ravaged by Alzheimer’s disease.” This proved to be true when I was working with a stroke patient who loved to sing hymns before the stroke left her speechless. I invited her to come to the chapel where we could make music. She seemed delighted for the opportunity. As I played the organ, I witnessed how music provided her with the ability to retrieve all the words as she beautifully sang her favorite hymns. “When words fail us, music succeeds!” Another time, I watched a video which demonstrated in one moment how music organizes the disorganized. The video was of a gentleman suffering from

Alzheimer’s disease who could no longer speak coherently. He engaged in garbled disconnected sounds/noises that were disorganized and meaningless. His agitation and stress level were quite obvious as he tried in vain to convey his message. The music therapist sat in front of him on eye-level, gently greeted him, and continued to tune a guitar which began to calm him and as she moved into a soothing simple song, I could see his body relax as he fully attended quietly and near the conclusion of the song clearly articulated the phrase, “I like that, don’t you?” What a healing moment! A colleague of mine, Maria Fay, coordinator and supervisor of the Marywood Music Therapy Clinic tells a story of using the Bonny Method of Guided Imagery and Music. The Bonny Method of Guided Imagery and Music (BGIM), is a music-assisted transformational therapy for emotional, psychological, physiological, and spiritual exploration and support. It involves the client listening to selected classical music while relaxed, expressing the imagery as it comes to mind with a professional guide. This technique engages a person in creative opportunities for self-exploration

and therapy to gain personal and transpersonal insights for those seeking growth, transformation, and healing. Here a person can discover many creative opportunities for self-exploration and therapy (Association for Music & Imagery 2009). In processing a BMGIM session, a client described her experience. She exclaimed, “Wow! Where do I begin! When I first started here, I was struggling with territorialness in relation to my job and other people. After my last session, a lot has happened - happy, sad, internal, and external. I listened to religious songs to help me get in touch with my former image of God the Father. I had become uncomfortable with that image. When I then meditated and chanted on the image of the old woman, a poignant image from my session, I came to the realization that God is both male and female.” Her experience in a BMGIM session transformed old belief systems that were holding her back. By integrating both male and female energies, she had a strong sense of planning her future. This decision was paramount, and led her to apply to graduate school with hopes of continuing in higher education. A life-changing experience through music! As with many of you, music has accompanied me, motivated, supported and healed me time and again throughout life’s journey. During joyous celebrations, as well as in times of heart breaking losses, it has been music that supported and facilitated me through several mourning processes. Music was the powerful means that led me to Marywood College, called me to a deeper relationship with God, led me to respond to the call to the religious congregation of the IHM Sisters more than a half


Of Poetry, Trees, and Healingby Sister Lillian Marie Farrell, IHM

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. Joyce Kilmer

How does one say to the beloved and oft-quoted hero-poet, “Sir, I respectfully disagree. I too am a lover of trees, one to whom they bring joy and healing. And yet, a greater solace has come to my heart from ‘eating and drinking the precious words’ (Emily Dickinson) of poetry.”

Both poetry and trees can bring to us an awareness of “the dearest freshness deep down things.” (Gerard Manley Hopkins) When one looks at a tree, the sensory appeal is immediate. Its God-given beauty can spontaneously delight the eye as well as (at least sometimes) the nostrils with its scent and the ear with its rustle. Poetry, on the other hand, is more demanding. Sometimes, its truth hits one between the eyes, but usually a deeper gaze is required to see “how” the poem means, and how it speaks to the individual. Many of us poetry lovers have been using this art as personal therapy all of our lives. We experience “Aha” moments when we come upon such a stanza as: The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door. On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Emily Dickinson

No less a therapist than Sigmund Freud has observed “Not I, but the poets discovered the unconscious.” To give artistic credence to Freud’s assertion, one can look back centuries to Shakespeare: “Give sorrow words, the grief that does not speak Whispers the o’er fraught heart, and bids it break.”

Contemporary poetry therapy can be defined as the intentional use of poetry and the interactive process to achieve therapeutic goals and personal growth. This adjunct therapy can be used in a poetry therapy workshop, or it may be employed by a therapist with a single client. In either case, a poetry therapy session is not a poetry workshop! The accent in poetry therapy is on the client; the accent in a poetry workshop is on the poem.

In poetry therapy we use the words of a poet to enable the client to know more about herself or about life. The hope is that the self knowledge arrived at through exposure to a poet’s work or through actually writing a poem can lead to an insight which could contribute to an inner healing. The materials required for this therapy are few: a trained facilitator with a background in both literature and psychology, a quiet place to “hang around words and listen to them talk.” (John Ciardi) The poetry used can be that of outstanding authors, or it can be work at which critics would scoff. In contrast to a poetry workshop, the emphasis is on the client, not the quality of the work. An important principle in using poetry for healing is the Isoprinciple, a sophisticated word for a sensible technique. Essentially the Isoprinciple means that in working with a client, one takes the person where he or she is emotionally. One doesn’t urge depressed clients to “put on a happy face.” Rather, a therapist chooses a work which matches the mood of the client, but which, by the end of the poem, hints at least at the beginning of hope and healing. Depressed people often feel that their despondency is unique to them. “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.” The very idea that people such as Shakespeare or Sandburg or Emily Dickinson have known such feelings can be reassuring. Trained therapists usually choose works of quality, but they are open to lesser verse which speaks to the client. The Isoprinciple uses poetry to help a person face anxiety, fear, depression, or grief and helps the client realize that there is a way out. One simple but profound poem such as Carl Sandburg’s “Bubbles” could be employed with terminally ill patients of any age. Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: It was worth being a bubble To have held this rainbow thirty seconds.

Since space in no way permits listing the myriad poems which have been found to contribute to healing, I suggest that those interested consult the book Poetry as Healer, Copyright 1985, Vanguard Press Inc., 424 Madison Avenue, New York, NY.

Sister Lillian Marie serves as a proofreader for doctoral dissertations at Marywood University, Scranton, Pennsylvania.

continued from page 5, Reconciliation

to happen. But the private recitation of sin contributed one absolutely necessary dimension of reconciliation—it forced the personal involvement of a person with the reality of his or her sin. It discouraged the bland euphemisms and bromide evasions by which we buffer our experience of sin. It made sin personally real.

Catholic piety abounds with stories of saints who, in the confessional, were able to read souls. Catholic discipleship, however, needs to emphasize the blessed grace of all Catholics being able to read their own souls by bringing themselves and their stories into the openness of God, of forgiveness, of healing and community. This experience—widely practiced in a different way in a whole

slew of self-help and recovery programs—is what Catholics need today. Honesty, insight, correction, faithfulness and change! Otherwise reconciliation will still seem to be about shame, or obsessiveness, or the priest—when it needs to be, most of all, about our engagement with the wonder of grace and forgiveness in the nooks and crannies of our lives.

Frank DeSiano is a Paulist priest. A former president of the Paulist Fathers, he now leadsthePaulistEvangelizationOfficeinWashington,DC.Hewrites extensively and regularly presents to dioceses, clergy and laity involved in ministry. His newest book, Reactivating our Catholic Faith, is available from Paulist Press. Father Frank is the twin brother of Sister Ann Barbara DiSiano, IHM.


My sisters who live with walkers, wheelchairs, canes, diminishment and rich spiritual personhood, cheer my small victories and pray me through my struggles.

I choose the small, important steps each day, one day back to ministry, small acts of kindness, humor, surprise, celebration, reflecting on the changing of the seasons beyond my windows and within me,I cherish the smallest opportunities to renew, learn anew, receive and give.And one day, long months from the start of this journey, I embrace the hope-filled dates for new healing, new life to begin, And pray for those whose knowledge, healing hands will change my future days.

*****

continued from page 8, A Spiritual Journey

“Comfort, speak comfort to my people.”

A smaller, older me, my body forever changed, so very much alive and yet still healingOne day finally moves on to newer journeys in ministry and community, to days of being with others who are sick and homebound, to sacred spaces of fear and faith, comfort and hope.

I know rich blessings of truly “coming home” again.Each day I give thanks, lift my cup of gratitude to God, for each breath, each swallow, the gift of movement, and all my senses.For all that I can think and feel and remember,For all this journey back to health and healing, For all that is to be.

Sister Theresa serves as the coordinator of ministry to the sick and hombound at St. Peter’s Church in Waldorf, Maryland.

continued from page 12, Healing the Mind and Heart

even the use of Brother. If my earthly father was vindictive and abusive, how difficult might it be to experience the embrace of a Heavenly Father? Or perhaps, my brother molested me. How difficult might it be to experience the warm embrace of the Father, the Mother, or the Christ? In my treatment of adult survivors of abuse, I have discovered that many individuals hold both a “cognate” and an “affect” image of God or a Higher Power. The cognate higher power is often caring, benevolent, and compassionate. This cognate higher power is the one the individual talks about, and wants to believe in. The affect higher power, however, is punitive, conditional, and often abusive. Unfortunately, the abused individual typically relates to the affect higher power, which is more consistent with the earthly parental (or authority) figure. Thus, it is critical that an investigation of the image of God or a Higher Power be afforded to the victim. As a psychologist, I am well aware of psychology’s reluctance to delve into the spiritual aspects of our clients. If we as counselors or psychologists are not comfortable with using spirituality as a part of our therapy, we can work hand in hand with trained spiritual directors. I have witnessed the tremendous healing when a “victim” comes to truly believe God did not cause their pain, nor did God abandon them. I firmly believe that unless a modification into the person’s affect notion of a God or Higher Power is achieved the abusive cycle will not be thwarted, and true healing will not occur. I have been privileged to work with so many incredibly resilient people. I needed to tell some of their stories to bring hope to those who suffer from childhood trauma. I urge all people who have suffered from childhood trauma to begin their “journey” of healing, and make sure they take the gentle, loving God with them.

Dr. Lemoncelli is a professor in the Psychology and Counseling Department of Marywood University. He resides in Archbald, Pa. with this wife the former Peggy Kolmansberger. They have two adult children: Mark and Mauri. His book, A Mind of Its Own: Healing the Mind and Heart of the Parasite of Childhood AbuseisavailablethroughMarywood’sbookstore,Amazon.com,Barnes&Noble.com or the publisher Avventura Press.

continued from page 13, The Potential of Music to Heal

As I completed them, I felt whole again and was astonished at what had come through me to the paper. I have been honored and humbled to share those paintings with some grief support groups and deeply touched by the responses of those present. My images helped them put words to their experiences of grief and loss. Truly, God’s Spirit was guiding every part of my journey, from my grief to helping others. My paintings aren’t great art, most likely will never be seen in a museum, yet they became more than paint and words and images. They were my lifeline and became a comfort for others. I think it is safe to say that the art of healing is gift and surprise and always helpful. Karen Amelia has been an artist for more than 18 years. She works with calligraphy, watercolors, acrylic and fabric and creates unique art quilts. Through various workshops, including The Artist’s Way, she helps others to discover and enhance their creative spirits. Karen is currently artist-in-residence at Emmanuel Monastery in Lutherville, Maryland. Karen’s Web site may be found at: http://karenamelia.com

continued from page 9, The Art of Healing

century ago. Ministry as a music educator for more than twenty years, followed by further education and certification as a music therapist and more specifically by working in the field, has shown me, more than anything else, “music’s ability to cut straight to the core and affect our emotions.” The power of music!

Sister Mariam serves on the faculty at Marywood University in Scranton, Pennsylvania.


In MemoriamFriends of God and lovers of the dream

Ellen Mullen, IHM June 20, 1940

August 13, 2009 by Carolyn Mullen, IHM

To be the youngest in a fam-ily of eleven kids is a challenge, I suppose. However, it does have its advantages. There are ten others to protect you, as well as “teach you the ropes.” Ellen, our young-est, was a fast learner; she got away with her share of pranks, but there’s always a balance of power in a big family. Ellen was twelve when I entered the convent in 1952, so I missed her teen and high school years. How-ever, I was always caught up on her adventures on family visiting days. Then she entered the community in 1959 and made her own history there.From students in the classroom to elderly patients in nursing homes, Ellen was the one they loved to see coming. She left her mark wherever she went, especially on those whose need seemed the greatest. She was all theirs when she was with them. And our family will never forget the care she gave to our mother and our sister, Kitty. Ellen’s biggest asset was her sense of humor. She saw the funny side in everything and was quick to jump on any chance for a laugh. She instigated fun, and that served her well when her disease became so difficult. Even in her last days, she could come out with some humorous line that would lighten a heavy moment. Ellen Mullen was close to God. I know that because of the time I spent with her. As her disease pro-gressed, I watched her turn to God with a comfortableness that is found only in the holy of heart. She taught me, yet again, about the value of prayer and the acceptance of the difficult.

Agnella Murtaugh, IHM October 4, 1913 August 29, 2009

by Patt Walsh, IHM Sister Agnella was born in Scran-ton as Mary Regina on October 4, 1913 and entered Eternal Life on August 29, 2009. Had she lived this year would be her 75th Jubilee year. She spent more than fifty years as an elementary school teacher including a dozen years as a school principal. I first came to know Sr. Agnella in her ministry as a dorm reception-ist at Marywood. Had she pursued a different life vocation she would have made a wonderful grandmoth-er. Many a college student truly valued both her welcoming spirit as well as her sincere interest in their personal lives. Sister Agnella continued her hospitality ministry as a reception-ist at both the IHM Center and at the Marian Convent. Her arrival or departure from the dining room at Our Lady of Peace almost seemed to be a continuation of that spirit as she always had time to stop and greet others. Sr. Agnella was a strong ad-vocate for Marywood Campus Ministry’s “Adopt a Grandparent” program. Long after her graduation, Christmas never seemed to arrive in Sr. Agnella’s room until her “grand-child,” Liz McKittrick, arrived to put out the seasonal decorations. Family was very important to

Sister Agnella and, no matter what her physical condition; a visit from them was a great source of joy. An avid reader, Sister Agnella developed a friendship with the librarian of the Scranton Library’s Bookmobile and she often prepared for its monthly visit by taking trips to Borders making a list of the popular reading of the day. When her vision grew poor she took advantage of a volunteer reader at Our Lady of Peace and, ironically, the final book that was being read to her at the time of her death was Grisham’s Skipping Christmas. My own friendship with Sister Agnella began in 2006 when, while I was recovering from surgery, she and I became members of the same household. Always wanting to have a “little something” to share with visitors, one of my favorite memo-ries of our time together was a trip we took to get some supplies at Gertrude Hawk’s candy store. As we turned the corner she turned and said to me “I may not look it, but, I’m having a ball!” One of the resources for prayer for Sr. Agnella was the daily medi-tation book Living Faith. Appropri-ately, the reflection she was reading two days before her death was titled “Awake to Life, Not Death.” She had a habit of underlining her favor-ite passages. Among other phrases perhaps none better reflects who she was than the line “If I stay awake to what happens in daily life, it will prepare me well for when my death comes.” Two days later that time came, and, when it did, it found her well prepared.

Ricardus Tuskey, IHM June 13, 1928

September 3, 2009 by Johnice Grand, IHM

Sister Ricardus was from Susquehanna, PA, the only girl of

How do you measure a person’s impact on others? I miss Ellen—very much. There is emptiness because once there was fullness. Her laughter and her smile stay with me. There are classrooms, nursing homes, and parishes that are richer for having had her with them, if only for awhile. I’m glad Ellen was my sister.

four children in her family. I met Sister when I helped her to move to our new residence. Little did I realize then that we would become close friends. She loved reading, playing bingo, and writing to family and friends. When Sister Ricardus’ eyesight began to fail she would dictate messages in cards for special occasions and as re-plies. Through correspondence, she rejoiced in all the happy occasions that she was unable to attend. She was very intelligent and had a wonderful memory, taking special joy in keeping up on congregation news and sharing in the success sto-ries of her former students. Sister Ricardus faithfully prayed for ev-eryone and their special intentions. She appreciated the thoughtful things done for her—all the extra care, because there was something special about her. She never com-plained about dialysis or the losses she experienced—vision, reading, and walking. She was always look-ing at the things she could do. Her inner spirit danced. I know the most important life lesson that Sister Ricardus taught me was not always in words, but in how she lived her life. I saw her struggle silently through health problems as she reached beyond them to embrace everyone she knew. I will always be grateful that I had the privilege of knowing and spending time with her. Thank you Sister Ricardus for sharing your journey with us. Though you are missed you live on in our hearts.

Obituaries for IHM Sisters may be found on the

Sisters of IHM webpage:

www.sistersofihm.orgGo to Who We Are and

click on Obituaries


In MemoriamInspire us to lives of meaning

St. Rita O’Boyle, IHMDecember 25, 1918 September 4, 2009

by Myra Gilbart, IHM

I met Sister St. Rita for the first time when I was sent to teach fifth grade at Archbishop Neale Elemen-tary School in l974. At that time, Sister’s ministry was secretary for the elementary school. She was one of the first in our congregation to have permission for a car, and she drove that blue car everywhere. Sister St. Rita was family oriented, and on many weekends, she would visit her mother in the nursing home or visit one of her many brothers and sisters who lived in the D.C./Maryland area. In 1992, I was missioned to teach fourth grade at St. Mary of the Assumption School. Sister St. Rita had come to the school in l988, working as a part-time assistant in the library. Cathy DeVaughn, the librarian, commented that Sister was nice to work with, a companion to talk to, a good worker, and a dear friend. Cathy related that Sister told the children how important books were and that it was their responsi-bility to take care of them. Denise Jenkins, the kindergarten aide, remembers having pleasant conversations with Sister St. Rita as she passed through on her way to the library around 9:00 a.m. and again when she returned at noon. On most weekends, Sister St. Rita drove to Hyattsville to visit her sister, Ann. They would go shopping and play bingo. It was a huge loss for Sister when Ann died in l994. The Knights of Columbus began bingo at St. Mary’s and Sister St. Rita’s sister, Alice, began com-ing to play. Sister would join her. Besides shopping and playing bingo, Sister St. Rita also enjoyed reading the morning paper, par-ticularly checking out the lottery numbers as well as stocks and divi-

dends. She also enjoyed Irish music. I heard beautiful music one Sunday morning coming from Sister’s room. I went to ask her about it, and she had found a station on the radio that played Irish songs for an hour. She also sang along. In October of 1999, Sister St. Rita celebrated her golden jubilee with relatives and friends at Mass at St. Mary of the Assumption Church. A reception and dinner, catered by the Knights of Columbus, followed in the school hall. Sister St. Rita’s health had been failing and in October of 2000, Sister was taken to the Marian Con-vent. It was very difficult for her to leave St. Mary’s and also to give up her car. In April of the following year, the principal of St. Mary’s, Patty Petruzzelli, invited Sister St. Rita back to St. Mary’s for “Sister St. Rita Day.” Students and faculty assembled in the school hall, while Sr. St. Rita sat in a special chair on the stage. The children sang a song and presented Sister with home-made cards and gifts. She sat there and smiled all the while. I think she is probably smiling now, too.

(Joseph) Gerard Manning, IHM June 19, 1911

September 12, 2009 by Janet Jeffers, IHM

Sister Gerard Manning, daughter of the late Michael J. and Hester Mullady Manning was one of five children: two brothers, Fr. Gerard and Joseph and two sisters, Helen Kelly and Peg Spires. She was a member of St. Ephrem’s Parish, Brooklyn, NY where she attended school and first met the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Coming to the congregation in February 1930, she soon found herself in the classroom where she taught in several elementary schools throughout New York State as well

as St. Petersburg, FL. In addition, she served as a business teacher at St. Alphonsus High School in New York City in the 1950s and again in 1970s. Sister Gerard was a very success-ful teacher. She loved her students and they, in turn, loved her and were very faithful to her, grateful for hav-ing had one of the congregation’s finest teachers. After leaving the classroom, Sister Gerard worked as a member of the office staff at St. Joseph’s Hospital, (now Marian Community) in Carbondale. Later, she was ap-pointed the founding director of the Marian Convent Guild, serving with many family members and friends of the IHM Congregation to assist the retired members of the congre-gation at the Marian Convent. Sister Gerard’s friendly smile and outgoing personality won her many friends throughout the years. Many of her former students/friends are some of the congregation’s greatest supporters. Having been called home by a loving God on September 12, 2009, Sister Gerard, it can be said, enjoyed her life here on earth. Those who knew her well enjoyed her company and her many stories, and have expressed many times that they are better people for having known and loved Sister Gerard Manning.

Mary C. Ryan, IHM May 3, 1924

September 17, 2009 by Peg Offenberg

One of the most wonderful words in any language is “joy.” We speak it when referring to the com-ing of the Christ Child at Christmas. “Joy to the world the Lord is here.” We speak of joyous occasions; the birth of a child; the marriage of a son or daughter; or the joy of a family when someone is restored to health.

The word applies to the life and spirituality of Sister Mary C. Ryan, IHM. She was ever joyous in her vocation as a Sister, Servant of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. She reached out with joy in the Lord to everyone she met. Couple that with the twinkle in her eye and her ever ready Irish wit and you experience the essence of the woman. She loved community living. Her nurturing nature found joy in preparing dinner for the sisters. She was a great and creative cook. Each evening meal was a time of sharing. Dinner could be two hours of laugh-ter and sometimes a tear or two as each sister related the joys and woes of her ministry. Inevitably, when she went out and about in Scranton Sister Mary met a former student. As a teacher and as a principal she “cared” for each pupil. She attended several or-dinations of former students. Other students also credited her with changing their lives for the better. As administrator of the St. Jo-seph Hospital (now Marian Com-munity Hospital) in Carbondale for twenty-five years, she brought her joy and compassion to the ill and dying. She worked diligently to maintain and increase the quality of care given by the medical and nursing staff. Hospital doors were always open to the poor in need of medical attention. Mention her name to anyone in the Scranton/Carbondale area and you will get a wistful smile and, “Ah! What a wonderful woman, a saint!” Her last ministry was in Palm Coast, Florida. Many people refer to Florida as God’s waiting room. Sister sat in the waiting room, com-forted and prepared guests for their final journey. Then she reached out to the family and friends in an effort to show them how to grieve and how to accept loss. There is so much to remember about Sister Mary C. Ryan. I leave it to each person who knew her to fill in his or her own experience of her. For me, I remember her as my dear friend and as the adopted grandmother to my daughters. For the privilege of knowing her I am deeply grateful. May she rest in peace and enjoy eternity. My guess is she has brightened heaven with a wee bit of joyous wit.


In MemoriamWalk closely by our side until that day

Venard Ryan, IHM April 5, 1916

October 30, 2009 by Mary Ryan, IHM

As I write this brief account of Sister Venard’s life, I pray that I will do justice to her, and write as candidly as possible. For those of you who knew her, I am sure that you would agree with me when I say that she would never have approved of my doing this task. She was a very private person and rarely revealed her personal life to others. And so I begin by telling you that Agnes Leona was the third child born to Patrick and Nellie McHale Ryan. Four more would follow. She, like all of us, was baptized and received all of the sacraments in St. Mary of Mt. Carmel Church in Dunmore. Her early education was in the Dunmore public schools. As for her sacramental and prayer life, this all took place at my mother’s knees. Mom taught us our prayers and introduced us to some of her favorite saints. In other words, I would have to say that we all received our vocations in our home setting. God came first! The family rosary was said each evening before any other goings and com-ings. After graduation from Dunmore High School, Sister Venard applied for enrollment at Bloomsburg State Teachers College, now Bloomsburg University. She graduated with a major in business education. At this time the country was in-volved in World War II, and because so many men went off to war, she was fortunate in obtaining a teach-ing position in a high school near Philadelphia. She remained in this position for about three years, at which time she felt attracted to the religious life and moved on to an

entirely new way of life that, as she herself said “was most rewarding.” She applied for entrance into the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary at Marywood. As for her teaching years, I had always heard that she was a superb teacher, and I saw this fact in actual-ity. She was a demanding teacher, but just and fair in her dealings with students. She could not tolerate seeing a student doing second-class work—she called it: talent wasted. We often talked about our expe-riences in teaching, and I learned that her favorite teaching assign-ment was at St. Alphonsus in New York City. This school, being near Wall Street, gave her students the opportunity to use their business knowledge obtaining jobs. As late as last year she heard from these students who had great jobs on Wall Street, simply because they learned the skills in taking dictation. This pleased her immensely. I also have heard from many of her former students who have spoken so beauti-fully of her, not only as a teacher of business, but of her influence on their lives with God. I could write pages about her prayer life and her dedication to our Lord and the Blessed Sacrament. Her prayers and meditation came before all else. Family trips—and there were many—did not interest her, or could never take her away from her convent life of prayer. Sister Venard always enjoyed excellent health, and never that I can remember did even a cold keep her away from the classroom. This past year, however, was different. She developed a cold and cough that medicines did not seem to touch. So after a few weeks in the CMC, she was allowed to leave the hospital and went directly to Our Lady of Peace Residence. She was not there more than 4 or 5 days when the final day came and she died peacefully. This was the finest moment in her life and the time she had prepared for so diligently. She could honestly say as with John XXIII, “My bags are packed and I am ready to meet my maker.” “Rest in peace, “Queenie.”

Nora Clarke, IHM November 10, 1917 November 26, 2009

by Lillian Farrell, IHM and Annellen Kelly, IHM

A blithe and generous nature,A benevolent spirit too... These are the gifts that good Saint Patrick has surely given you. Many years ago we read this statement: A woman who knows that she is loved is always a woman of grace and charm.Our Sister Nora’s long and beautiful life reflects this statement. She grew up in a loving home, and when she entered the novitiate of the Immacu-late Heart Sisters she brought with her the joy and love which charac-terized her family life. Sister Nora used her gift of teaching and love of education throughout her life. I wish to include one teacher’s message to her before she left Binghamton for OLP. “I just want to let you know that you have made a huge impact on my life. Your support, guidance and encouragement during the past twenty-four years have helped shape me into the teacher I am today. Your gentle, loving spirit has been and continues to be an example of how I try to be within my classroom. I thank you for all you have given me.” Sister held many responsible positions in the course of her com-munity life: teacher, principal, su-pervisor of schools and membership on the council of the IHM Congre-gation. She brought a lightness of heart as well as affection for all who crossed her path, including pastors, parish priests, sisters in community life, children she so enthusiastically taught, lay teachers, school staffs and people in the parish communi-ties where she ministered. In all her contacts, Sister Nora had a way of reaching out and touching hearts!

Noralene Calpin, IHM March 21, 1927

December 22, 2009by Claudette Naylor, IHM

With the annual March for Life recently past, I am reminded of freezing, black, January mornings, when Sister Noralene and her loyal band would gather at the parking lot at St. Mary’s for the bus to Washington. Even the years when her knees would be hurting, or after she had a knee replacement, she would endure the cold and long blocks, and keep tabs on excited kids. One year, the threat of a blizzard was so great, only Sister went on the bus. But march she did! While the Pro-Life cause was dearest to her heart, she was also an inspiring freshman/sophomore religion teacher. She presented sure faith to their questioning hearts, met their arguments with love, and encouraged their school activities. She was a great support and friend during our years at Bishop O’Hara. She also inveigled me into joining her in the St. Mary’s Choir. She loved to sing and had many good friends among the choir members. The choir sang for Governor Casey’s inaugural, and getting up the twisting steps to the choir loft in the Cathedral was a challenge, but made it she did. If you lived with her, you also knew her family. Their interests were always dear to her heart. Whether you were family, priest, nun, parent, or student, Sister Noralene would keep reminding you of Christian principles and love for life. Her dedication and prayers will be with us from heaven.


Imagine another twist. The non-prodigal son may have been justified in his resentment. He was obviously not invited to the party and was even overlooked as the merry-making was being planned and implemented. As a hard-working adult son, he had not been made a partner in the family business, and although always present and accounted for, he wasn’t convinced that he shared in all that belonged to his father.

Sadly enough, there are times when we can all lay claims to the feelings of the non-prodigal son. Sometimes our resentments, hurts, and feelings of abandon-ment are real and justified and we are reminded that life is not always fair. Here’s where our humanity often fails, for we seek healing in the undoing of that which has been unfair in our lives. If we could write the ending of the story of the elder son, would he find peace in the freedom of his spirit or would

he remain the brooding child of his father? Faced with similar choices, we believers in a heal-ing God can open our hearts to the mystery of Easter. We are not bound by the resentments to which we cling; we are not relegated to undo that which is unfair in our lives. Spring and signs of new life are all around us. They teach us the good news of Easter—today is a new day, filled with prom-ise! Springtime and Easter! With Denise Levertov in her poem

entitled “Beginners,” we muse: “We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life.” In the risen Jesus we have been healed for all time but we have only begun to celebrate.

References:Nouwen, J.M. (1994). The return of the prodigal son: a story of homecoming. Doubleday: NY.

Levertov, D. (2002). “Begin-ners,” in selected poems. New Directions Publishing Corpora-tion: New York.

continued from page 2, Non-Prodigal

Sheila Reilly, IHM February 25, 1914 December 24, 2009

by Benedicta Berendes, IHM Sister Sheila was a native of Pittsburgh and of Saint Rosalia Par-ish in Greenfield. Sister loved this neighborhood and was always so

happy to talk about it and the many persons who entered religious life and the priesthood from there. Of the elementary and second-ary schools in which she served, the place she liked best was Immaculata High School in New York City. She felt the students there wanted to be challenged, and Sheila liked noth-ing better than challenging them and having them challenge her. I first met Sheila at St. Bernar-dine’s in Baltimore and she had already made her reputation as a scholar. She was always an avid reader. Her interests were vast, but in the last decades of her life, the study of theology became more and more important. From those first years with Balti-

more, until very recently, our paths seldom crossed. One memorable event was a Thanksgiving when Sheila was in Oyster Bay. She was invited to celebrate the holiday with our family and graciously accepted. Sheila always enjoyed good food and lively conversations. When I returned to the IHM Center in 2004 Sheila was a resident in Our Lady of Peace Community where I had been assigned. When her residence was changed to the Marian Convent, I visited with her often and later accompanied her when all the residents moved to Our Lady of Peace Residence. She loved a good conversation and top-ics could range from Joan Chittis-ter’s latest book to the most current

topic on the front page of the New York Times. Sheila had strong viewpoints on many topics and expressed them candidly. If your opinion differed from hers, be pre-pared to defend your point; but even if she did not agree, she respected what you had said. I knew the end was not too far off when she merely scanned the front page of the New York Times and said, “You can pass it along, now.” As I watched at her bed side during the very last days, I contin-ued to learn much from Sheila. She was prepared to meet her Maker, and she went to him without any fanfare, so typical of her.

Forty-five IHM Sisters and friends traveled to Wash-ington, DC in March to view the Women and Spirit,

Catholic Sisters in America exhibit at the S. Dillon Ripley Center at the Smithsonian. Featured among the women noted for their pioneer spirit, trust in the provi-dence of God, and passion to serve those in need, is Theresa Maxis Duchemin, co-founder of the Sisters of IHM. The exhibit is the first of its kind to highlight the many accomplishments of women religious in the build-ing of the Catholic school system in the United States as well as many health care and social service institutions.

April 8 marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of Theresa Maxis Duchemin. Born in Baltimore,

Theresa was educated by the Oblate Sisters of Provi-dence, later to become a member. In 1845 Theresa left the Oblates for Michigan where she founded with Louis Florent Gillet the Congregation of the Sisters of IHM.

In Memoriamwhen we shall meet again.


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Documents

Journey Spring 2010