By Sister Jeanne Cmolik

You should pray always. To help you get the hang of it, here are my 10 tips for pray-ers!

1. Keep it simple

You don’t have to be good at it, just do it! Start now and for five minutes, turn to God in your heart. Author Anne Lamott says the three essential prayers are “Help, Thanks, and Wow.”

2. Use your own words

You don’t talk with a friend using words from a book, do you? Put aside the prayers written by someone else—beautiful as they may be—and speak from your heart. God wants to hear your voice!

3. You don’t always have to use words

Sometimes the most precious time with a friend is sitting together in silence, looking at the autumn leaves or at a sunset. You’re enjoying a deep connection; you’re just not using words. Sit with God like that. You can go to a beautiful place, but you don’t have to. Just be with God.

4. Stay with it

So you’re tired; you’re not in the mood to pray. You have a thousand things to do. If this is important to you, make time to do it, even if you just sit and wait for God to show up.

5. Put your heart in it

Tell God why you have come. Tell your Friend that more than anything you want to be there, fully present, growing in love.

6. Be honest

It’s okay to tell God you’re having a bad day (God knows it without you saying so, anyway.) Tell God what’s going on, and what you would like to change. Ask for help.

7. Sing, dance, or walk your prayer

God doesn’t mind if you fall asleep while you’re praying. (I call it “resting in the Lord.”) I think God actually enjoys seeing us dozing peacefully in our prayer like little children, but if you’d like to rouse yourself and be more active in your prayer, sing a favorite song or hymn to God; use your body and do a dance for God; take a walk in God’s creation, aware of the holy presence.

8. Say “thank you” before you say “please”

I think it’s a good strategy to thank God for gifts you’ve already been given before you ask for more. Begin your prayer with a list of daily blessings. (It puts God in a good mood.) If you really get into this, you may even forget what you were going to ask for, or decide you don’t really need it.

9. Remember, God wants this relationship even more than you do.

Spiritual writer Joan Chittister reminds us “the God we are seeking is also seeking us.” I find this comforting, because for me it means even if I get tired of trying to find God, God never gives up finding me.

10. Don’t waste time and energy evaluating the quality of your prayer.

That’s God’s business, and God doesn’t do report cards. God’s just so happy when you take the time to deepen your friendship!

Bonus Tip: Expect God to show up!

God always shows up—we just don’t know where or when.  Believe this. Watch for it.

About the Author

Sister Jeanne Cmolik, CSJ, has served in various leadership positions including being a member of the Congregation Leadership Team from 2008-2013. She has also ministered in elementary schools, high schools, and parishes in the Cleveland area, and served in vocations working with new members. She enjoys reading, travel, music and writing blog posts!

By Gina Sullivan

I recently returned from a trip to Ireland where I was blessed to spend two weeks traveling the Irish countryside and getting to know the locals in small to mid-size towns with names like Whitegate, Mountshannon, Kenmare, and Kilaloe. This trip, which I had dreamed about since, well, as long as I can remember, checked a fairly sizeable box on my personal bucket list. It was everything I pictured Ireland would be but more beautiful – rolling, emerald green hills, stone houses and thatch-roofed cottages, ancient castles and churches, colorful streetscapes, and inviting pubs filled with music. What I could not have imagined, however, was how lovely and warm the Irish people would be, and how the many interactions and conversations I had would change me.

Because I work in the field of communications, it is my job to transmit information, stories and narratives about the Congregation and our work outward to the world. The transmitting part I know, it’s the receiving part that can be tricky, mainly when the feedback is from those who do not agree with us. It’s a microcosm of what is going on in this country. Civil discourse, defined as “an engagement in conversation intended to enhance understanding,” has been replaced with vitriol in social media conversations where consequences are absent, and perhaps more concerning, avoidance and silence in our interpersonal conversations – even with family and close friends. Not so in Ireland.

One of the commitments of the Congregation of St. Joseph is to “Respectfully engage people who may hold different values or worldviews to bring about personal and cultural transformation.” I held this intention as I engaged in conversation with the Irish. Because we stayed in a very small town, we got to know the townspeople personally. They were curious about us and asked many questions about what was going on in the U.S. They listened, rather than simply waiting to speak, and were never sarcastic or disrespectful. When we spoke about their concerns -Brexit being foremost currently – even when one disagreed with another about whether it was a good idea for England to withdraw from the European Union and how it would affect Ireland, they were still cordial and respected the other’s views. Civil discourse demonstrated, I thought, although they would not define it as such. To the Irish, it is simply being polite.

I came away from my trip with a renewed value on listening and civility; on relationships over opinion; on people over politics. Like the Sisters for whom I work, this does not mean I don’t have issues I care deeply about or that I won’t express my views. But it does mean the way in which I communicate and conduct myself with those who hold different views than I do, both at work and at home, sets an example and matters. A return to civil discourse begins with me.

Someone once said, “The best things in life are the people we love, the places we have been and the memories we have made along the way.” My journey to the Emerald Isle was all that but much more. It was a road I needed to travel…and it definitely rose to meet me.

About the Author

Gina Sullivan is the Director of Communications for the Congregation of St. Joseph and is also an Associate. She is the mother of two daughters ages 21 and 18 and step-mother to another daughter age 17 and son age 19. She enjoys cooking, walking, reading, playing with her three mischievous cats, and experiencing new places and people

By Elizabeth Powers

I have a confession to make – I love watching Dancing with the Stars. For those of you who aren’t familiar, Dancing with the Stars is a reality television program where famous people are matched up with professional dancers and, over the course of several weeks, learn how to waltz, samba, and quickstep, competing against each other in the hopes of winning the coveted “mirror ball trophy”.

I know, it sounds incredibly silly. But it’s my guilty pleasure.

I’m not sure what it is about this show that is so appealing. Maybe it’s because everyone starts on equal footing (no pun intended), trying to learn a new skill. Maybe it’s my love of dance, the upbeat nature of the music, the fun costumes. Maybe it’s just an easy way to escape from the heaviness of life that we are all inundated with every day.

Regardless of why I watch, I was excited this September when I realized that a new season would be starting soon. When the show announced the list of “stars” who would be taking part, the usual suspects were present– actors and actresses from old television shows, former athletes, musicians. But this year, there was also someone signed on who I found personally divisive: a politician.

“It’s so frustrating,” I said to my mother. “I just want a little bit of time each week where I’m not focused on all the terrible things going on in the world. Why do they have to put someone from the political arena on the show? Regardless of your political leanings, it just seems wrong.”

My mother, of course, offered her wisdom.

“He’s probably not a very good dancer,” she said. “Get some popcorn, watch the show with us, and just hope he gets sent home early.”

I followed her advice, and I have been enjoying the season (who doesn’t secretly want to learn how to ballroom dance?) Still, every time this particular figure was on screen, it irked me.

Then, last week, I had an unexpected change of heart. It was this person’s turn to dance and as I was about to roll my eyes at my mother, they started his introduction.

Usually, the introduction clip offers a glimpse into the star trying to learn the dance they’re about to perform, the difficulties of the dance style, and to share some humor and heartfelt moments. This week however, this individual talked about losing his father, how his family had shaped his life, and the memories he held onto when his father passed.

By the end of the clip, I was near tears. Here was a man with whom I disagreed with about nearly everything, and yet this silly, reality TV show had reminded me of our shared humanity.

One of the things the Congregation of St. Joseph is committed to is to “respectfully engage people who may hold different values or worldviews to bring about personal and cultural transformation.” While I obviously don’t personally know this political figure and hadn’t engaged with him on a personal level, how had I been treating even the idea of him? Hadn’t I been making assumptions about his life, about this family, about his very being? Hadn’t I forgotten that even though we disagree, we are all human?

Sometimes, in this world of the minute by minute news cycle and social media, it’s far too easy to see someone as “other.” To look at them as a one dimensional being, who represents something we disagree with, whether it be a social issue, politics, or even some aspect of the church. This is what I had been doing to this politician – looking at him only as a person I disagreed with rather than looking at him as a whole person. A person who has a family. A person who has a full, interior life that I know nothing about. It took a reality television program to remind me that whether we know each other personally or not, we are all God’s children, all deserving of empathy and understanding, even when we disagree.

And maybe that’s at the heart of why I love watching Dancing with the Stars. We are all just people. We are all just living our lives, trying to learn new things, the best we can. Maybe, if we can remember our shared humanity, we can work towards building a more caring world, and help one another through this dance we call life.

About the Author

Elizabeth Powers is the Electronic Communications Manager for the Congregation of St. Joseph and manages the blog, Beyond the Habit. She sometimes acts as a contributing writer. She loves reading, writing, Harry Potter, and Dancing with the Stars. She is a new mom, and working to figure it out!

By Sister Jacqueline Goodin

One day in mid-summer, I looked out my window and over to the athletic field of St. Joseph Academy, our sponsored high school in Cleveland, which sits next to the center where our sisters live and work. I saw a group of young women running hurdles.

I marveled at how easily and courageously they seemed to run and jump, with some speed, over the series of hurdles in training for an upcoming sports season.

I flashed back to my own high school days in P.E. The hurdles seemed at least five feet tall to me then. I spent my entire time in those classes always moving myself to the end of the line so that I would never have to attempt the high jump and face the ultimate humiliation of falling flat on my face.

In those years, I could never imagine all of the hurdles that I would face in the following decades. Nor could I have taken in the very real hurdles that people all over the world face in the daily challenge of existing amidst poverty, racism and oppression. At that time, avoidance was a very smart strategy. But not so much anymore.

The image of hurdles has made me reflect on the ways in which I engage (or not) with hurdles in my life. How do you get over them, especially when they seem too big? First, let’s drop consideration for the many small hurdles in life that we inevitably face, such as a too-long grocery store line when I’m in a hurry or a small favor that a friend asks that isn’t very convenient to me. In the cosmos of things, this is not really a hurdle. It is a minor irritation. We can call upon our gracious God to ask for a bit more patience in those instances.

I am referring to those hurdles which seem to plague us, injure our sense of well-being or safety, or which block us from believing deep down that we are loved by an Everlasting Love, whom we call God. These are real hurdles which one cannot avoid or run around. They must be faced, for on the other side is the abundance of life which we have been promised by our loving Creator. It’s worth the hard work of learning to jump those hurdles to have a taste of this abundance.

I believe the first step is to humbly ask our God for the gift of wisdom to discern what is a real hurdle and which hurdles are superficial. Then to ask for whatever other gifts we might need to break the hurdle down—such as the gift of self-compassion, courage, honesty, willingness to ask for help from friends or professionals. These are the gifts God never fails to give if we first take the often-time difficult step to simply ask and keep asking.

Perhaps more importantly is “how do I accompany others who are facing their big life hurdles.” This is the call to turn compassion and justice-making into verbs—not nouns. We are called to be the bearers of hope that this abundance of life is possible and within reach if only we lay down our unnecessary burdens. Emptying ourselves of what is unnecessary only opens up space in our hearts for more love and life, for ourselves and for the world. We who are experiencing this abundance of life cannot remain satisfied and self-protective; we must reach out to those who are suffering in any way—through our prayer, advocacy, service, and hospitality.

So, let’s get going and jump over a few hurdles today! No hurdle is too small or too big that it cannot be conquered.

About the Author

Sister Jacqueline Goodin, CSJ, is a member of the Congregation Leadership Team. She is a Clinical Social Worker with broad experience working with adults and children in varied settings. A transformative experience for her was the five years she served in Tanzania at St. Joseph Hostel for Girls, in collaboration with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chambery.

By Sister Marcella Clancy

I am not good at making small talk and often feel awkward around those who are incapacitated. A few years ago, a sister with Alzheimer’s disease made a directed retreat with me. I came to understand the great suffering this disease caused. She felt shunned. She said to me, “They think I have a contagious disease and if they get too close to me, they will get it too.” There was great wisdom in those words. The others did not think she was contagious, but there was a tendency to avoid the confusion, the dementia, the cognitive impairment. Perhaps, like me, they felt awkward and impatient at having to answer the same question again and again and again. In her we perhaps foresee our own reality, and that frightens us.

This past April I was invited to give a retreat at Borgess Place, where 12 of our sisters live who require nursing care. It was an unexpected invitation and though I accepted, I wondered what I would do. How would I give a retreat to women who had differing levels of cognitive ability and who all had some physical impairment? To my embarrassment, I rarely visited the sisters at the nursing home even though it is on the same grounds as our Center. I was awkward. I was in unfamiliar territory. I came with some thoughts but not sure how to proceed. They taught me.

My overall theme was from Henri Nouwen’s book, You are the Beloved. Each day we focused on another Eucharistic word: Taken/Chosen; Blessed; Broken/Vulnerable; and Given. I found pictures on the Internet that represented the theme for the day and added in large print a few lines from Scripture. I spent from 9:30 to noon each day talking to them individually about the theme, showing them the picture, and then praying over them. At 1:30 we all met together. I talked a little and we sang songs. One afternoon we sang one verse of You are My Sunshine – first hearing it from God and then a second time singing it to one another. After we finished, one of the sisters who usually was non-responsive started singing clearly in perfect pitch, not just the first but the second verse. Everybody else joined in with a hushed reverence.

I learned to ask them questions and not just talk to them. What is one blessing you can name? What is your greatest suffering? Out of her deep confusion, one woman told me with absolute clarity, tears in her eyes, “I had a good priest friend.” Another, “We were poor but the riches of my family sustained me.” One told me with such deep anguish that the pain was tangible, “I have to be here for the rest of my life.” One expressed how disappointed she was that more sisters did not come to visit her and I wanted to cry. My own heart began to crack open. I began to see them not as cognitively or physically incapacitated but as they really were, the Crucified Christ, some feeling abandoned by God, some burdened by their physical inabilities, all slowly dying and waiting, waiting, waiting to go home to God. All hidden. All beautiful.

Three women did not have the capacity to respond. There was no way to know what they heard or understood. I was asked to visit them too. Knowing hearing and touch were the last senses to leave, I went in and laid hands on them and played soft, prayerful, hopeful music: “May the longtime sun shine upon you. All love surrounds you. And the pure, pure light within you guide your way home.” Then I prayed over them, asking God to take them home. One woman who continuously uttered unintelligible words, grabbed my hand. After I prayed, I kissed her forehead and said “I love you, Pauline.” And I heard so very softly but clearly, “I love you,” and she took my hand and kissed it. And I knew, no matter how incapacitated, someone dwells within these bodies. Someone who still yearns to be touched tenderly, prayed over, and loved. Pauline died a couple of weeks later. She left me with an indelible blessing and grace.

So many sisters told me they were praying for me and the retreatants. I knew without any doubt it was their prayers and the abundant grace of God that enabled me to do what I did. I feel so humbled and awed by this experience. I visited each of them when I came back a few weeks later. I asked one very serious sister, “Rosemary, your sister tells me sometimes you have good days and sometimes you have bad days, what kind of day is it today?” Sr. Rosemary’s response, “You’re here. It’s a good day.” I wanted to fall on my knees in tears. This is the sheer grace of God. I’m visiting again next week, and I can hardly wait to see my new friends.

About the Author

Sister Marcella Clancy, CSJ, has degrees in nursing and theology. In the past she ministered in hospitals, taught nursing and theology at the college level and served in parishes in the Archdiocese of Detroit. Currently, Sister Marcella ministers as a spiritual director, facilitates retreats and offers presentations through Transformation Spirituality Center at our Nazareth Center in Kalamazoo.

By Sister Sallie Latkovich

I like to say that Fr. Jean Pierre Medaille FOUND the Congregation of Sisters of St. Joseph, who had already come together in 1650 in LePuy, France.  He discovered that they had divided the city and lived in small groups in order to serve the needs of the people among whom they lived.  Medaille was a fine spiritual director, who guided the little group in strengthening its foundations and being recognized as an apostolic religious order. (Learn more about our history here.)

One of his writings was entitled The Eucharistic Letter from which this quote is taken:

“They will have an immense love for this adorable mystery and will recall that this holy sacrament of the Eucharist, having given a beginning to their little Congregation, should also serve to maintain it and cause it to grow more and more in every kind of grace and virtue.”  –Jean Pierre Medaille, SJ,  LePuy, France, 1650.

We hear in the Acts of the Apostles that in the early Church, followers of Jesus “met in their homes for the breaking of the bread and the prayers.”   Of course, the ritual evolved from homes to church buildings;  and the celebration of the Eucharist became more stylized and universal.  The Constitution of the Sacred Liturgy of Vatican II named the Eucharist as “the source and summit” of Christian life.

There is a familiar hymn which summarizes the meaning of the Eucharist in this way:  “We remember how you loved us to your death.  And still we celebrate for you are with us here.  And we believe that we will see you when you come in your glory Lord:  We REMEMBER, we CELEBRATE, we BELIEVE.”

We continue to gather around the table of the Word and the Bread.  Indeed, we REMEMBER the life of Christ, the example for living that we hear in the Gospels. He showed us that love, forgiveness and healing are the way to live.  And he always sought out the poor and marginalized.  He was a prophet, a wisdom teacher, and a builder of community.

Although the Scriptures we hear at the Eucharist always seem to be proclaimed with such seriousness, let us not miss the joy of CELEBRATION which must have been present especially in the accounts of being gathered  with others at table.  St. Frances de Sales highlighted the gentleness, peace and joy in which we are to live.

And, we BELIEVE.  Liturgists use the Latin phrase:  Lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi .  The loose translation is:  As we worship, so we believe, so we live.  Thus, worship leads to our belief and to our lives.

I realize that there are many hurdles that can get in the way of entering into the Eucharistic celebration fully:  poor music, poor lectors, poor homilies, poor presiding, etc, etc, etc.  Nevertheless, let us take Medaille’s words to heart:  that we be joined in immense love for the Eucharist, that it may cause us to grow in every kind of grace and virtue.

About the Author

After nine years at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago, Sister Sallie Latkovich was elected to and currently serves on the Leadership Team of the Congregation of St. Joseph.

By Sister Judith Minear

Writing this blog is the last bit of work I need to do before I take a day of vacation. That is quite a juicy carrot dangling before me! And yet my fingers falter. I have hit a wall. One of the attractions of the Sisters of St. Joseph’s spirituality for me when I was discerning my vocation is a teaching we adopted from Ignatian Spirituality: as sisters, we are called to be contemplatives in action. My conversation about this with a sister friend last night along with my deep fatigue led me (where else) to Google to study more about this.

In a blogpost by writer Andy Otto, I learned that the anchor scripture in which Jesus models contemplative action for us is Mark 6:30-34. Here it is, from The Message:

“The apostles then rendezvoused with Jesus and reported on all that they had done and taught. Jesus said, “Come off by yourselves; let’s take a break and get a little rest.” For there was constant coming and going. They didn’t even have time to eat.

So they got in the boat and went off to a remote place by themselves. Someone saw them going and the word got around. From the surrounding towns people went out on foot, running, and got there ahead of them. When Jesus arrived, he saw this huge crowd. At the sight of them, his heart broke—like sheep with no shepherd they were. He went right to work teaching them.” This pattern for contemplative action is exactly what I needed to remember. The Ignatian way says, “Being a ‘contemplative in action’ means that your active life feeds your contemplative life and your contemplative life feeds your active life.”

In case you’re wondering, being “nuns” does not pre-empt us from struggling to honor this balance between work and prayer.  Our culture seems to increase the speed of the “rat race” daily, and it is very easy for all of us to get pulled into the vortex of busy-ness, which often ends in exhaustion and self defeat.  Certainly, it can create a sense of dis-ease and emptiness, wondering both “am I doing enough?” and “does anything I do actually make a difference.”

Like you, we sisters have to consciously and intentionally step away from work, rest, reflect on what we have been doing, and then, once refreshed, step back into our work with renewed zeal. These are the steps I often take, and the questions I ask, as I aim to be contemplative in action.

1. STOP: In order to begin the cycle of balance, we first need to step away from our work. When we are fatigued, our work becomes just that: work. We need to restore wholeheartedness.
2. REST: It is almost impossible to move from periods of overwork directly into peaceful prayer and reflection. What does your mind, body and spirit need? Sleep? Play? Connections with family and friends? A retreat? Find what you need, and do that.
3. REFLECT AND LEARN: When I reflect on my life and ministry, I ask myself a few questions. Where have I been seeing God in my work? Where might I have been avoiding God? What do I need to do to help myself find quiet, reflective time in the midst of my busy life? What did I learn from my reflection that will help me in the future?
4. WORK: When I am rested and have renewed my energies through reflection, I can allow this to inform my ministry when I step back into an active life. I am a better reflection of God’s image and carry a brighter light to the dear neighbor.

Each of these steps – work, rest, reflection, repeat – informs the other. What I, and each of us, needs to remember is that for this restorative cycle to begin, we have to STOP. Which is what I am doing now. Next time, I won’t wait so long!

About the Author

Sister Judith Minear currently serves as part of a 3-member team for CSJ Ministries as Coordinator for Mission Integration. CSJ Ministries is the umbrella organization that works with our 25 sponsored ministries. In her free time, she loves drawing zentangles, stalking birds and savoring poetry.

By Sister Christine Parks

This morning I had to toss out what I had begun writing for this blog—something “poetic” about August, the month when summer begins its slow stroll toward Autumn and harvest time. After the news of two more mass shootings on the first weekend of this month (El Paso and Dayton) all of that poeticism felt more than a bit frivolous, and disrespectful to those who were victims of the shootings, their families, and to the very serious state of our nation these days.

So having let go of my first draft, I’m left sitting here, heart bruised, mind reeling, fingers poised over the keyboard, wondering: what’s left to say? What’s left after all the news coverage and analysis; after all the words of experts, and comments of survivors of prior violence; after all the tears of those who have lost loved ones to another inconceivable act of gun violence; after the trauma or numbness of seeing and hearing over and over the details of two more of these horrendous acts.

One response could be to simply stop—stop listening to and watching the news, stop reading the reports whether in print or online, stop talking, over coffee, lunch, the “watercooler”, about another unthinkable event (and how many unthinkable events are required before we begin to think this is our new normal? And I know some who have.) This option, however doesn’t help, doesn’t ease the pain, doesn’t stop the hatred, doesn’t eliminate the fear that it can (and probably will) happen again, and again—and maybe next time in my city. Although, actually, it already has happened where I live.

Like many of you, I also bring this to prayer. Praying for those who lost their lives, the injured, families and friends, and even for the shooter—for the healing of all those whose anger, pain, suffering, hatred bring them to this place of unholy violence. But even that doesn’t feel like enough, not when I know what lurks in the depth of my own mind and heart sometimes. Perhaps any prayer for a change of heart must begin with my own.

As a community, sisters and associates, who believe wholeheartedly in the union of all creation in a loving compassionate God, we stand with all those striving to bring about an end to violence and hatred. We stand with all those who are willing to write, act, work—and yes—pray for a change of heart for our nation and world. Some days my personal contribution doesn’t feel like that much, but when added to yours, and yours, and yours it increases exponentially; becomes part of the field of compassion that spreads out from every heart (yours and mine) and makes space for healing and love to grow.

 

About the Author

Sister Christine Parks formerly served as a member of the Congregation of St. Joseph Leadership Team. She currently serves as a Spiritual Director, and occasional program presenter, with Transformations Spirituality Center in Kalamazoo. Her leisure activities include gardening, long walks in nature, reading, writing, attending plays and concerts, as well as museums.

By Sister Mary Jo Curtsinger

Mid-July presented us with two kinds of scorching heat that made it hard to breathe; one reported by the weather channel and the other by political newscasts. At the same time, the lectionary presented us with the Gospel of the Good Samaritan from Luke:

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the Law?” Jesus replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and, love your neighbor as yourself.”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

We know this story pretty well, right? The scholar questioned Jesus, yet then answered his own question correctly in describing the heart of revelation as loving God with one’s whole self, and loving the neighbor as oneself. But the scholar couldn’t stop there and asked Jesus this follow-up:

And who is my neighbor?

Imagine a mixed crowd of people in the United States today, listening closely to Jesus’s response to try to catch a political spin. Would his answer to the question be:

 “Your neighbors are the migrant peoples desperately running for their lives from their violent homelands…”

Or, maybe they’d be listening for a lead-off reply like:

“Your neighbors are the innocent unborn children in this country, in mortal danger of ever drawing their first breath…”

With either answer, Jesus would lose half the crowd. Today we live in the land of sound bites and snap judgments, rarely waiting for what follows a comma.

But Jesus answered, as he often did, with a story or parable of people who found themselves traveling the same road. One of these people shows us what it looks like when someone lives wholly in love with God, whose nickname is Compassion.

I checked out what eminent scripture scholar Father Raymond Brown (d. 1998) had to say about this parable in his book An Introduction to the New Testament.

       

Fr. Brown wrote that Jesus’s answer—that is, his telling the story of the Compassionate One on the road—illustrates Jesus’s point that, one can only define the subject of love, not the object.

That is, one can only define the lover, not the ones who are to be loved. Jesus chose a Samaritan to illustrate a person, a subject, whose range of loving is unlimited. So, Jesus is telling us that asking, “who is my neighbor?” is the wrong question. The better one is, “who am I, and who do I want to be?”

Thank you, Fr. Brown.

Let’s take a look at a few more people who have meditated on this story. Consider this artistic interpretation of the parable by 17^th century Italian painter Domenico Fetti (d. 1623).

Apparently, Domenico doesn’t want us to spend too much energy on the two figures receding in the lower left corner of the painting – the priest and the Levite who hurried past. Luke doesn’t actually tell us why, but as Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. once observed, the ones who hurried away may have asked themselves, “If I help this person, what will happen to me?”

In Jesus’s parable, the compassionate Samaritan asked, “If I don’t help this person, what will happen to him?”

Clearly the Samaritan and the object of his mercy are front and center. Domenico seems to want us to look into the eyes of the one who has been saved from the ditch, because it is his eyes we can see. The face of the merciful helper is not revealed.

Where is the rescued person’s gaze at the moment he’s hoisted to safety? At first I thought he was looking straight at me, trying to catch my eye. But then I wasn’t sure…maybe his gaze is unfocused, sort of lost in utter amazement that he was suddenly given hope again,  and surprised that his life has been given back to him.

Can we dare to put ourselves in the place of this vulnerable one? To realize that we too are this vulnerable when alone, and to feel the wonder and gratitude of, “…I once was lost but now am found”?

What about the figure of the Samaritan, whose face we cannot see? We know that the hearers of Jesus parable looked down their noses at Samaritans; they were traitors,  hated foreigners, enemies.

But Jesus’s listeners didn’t really know any Samaritans personally. They would hardly let their eyes meet those of Samaritans, much less ask the 1^st century equivalent of, “How’s it going?”

Let’s hear from Dr. Amy Jill Levine, a Jewish scholar of the New Testament. She notes in her book, Short Stories by Jesus, that, not only does the Samaritan feel the pain of the wounded one in his gut (compassion), he allows himself to be inconvenienced by time-consuming, resource-depleting action. That is, he showed mercy.

I turn to a final interpreter of this Christian tradition, to the Jesuit priest who was living in neighboring France during part of Domenico’s day. He is none other than the one who co-founded the Sisters of St. Joseph (along with our first 6 sisters) in 1650, Fr. Jean Pierre Médaille.

Fr. Jean Pierre reiterated Jesus’ teaching that we are to love God and neighbor without distinction. If you’ve heard this before, what is your understanding of it? That when you’re loving your neighbor, you’re loving God?

Or,

That you are to love all neighbors as you love God without distinction? That every neighbor, every person, is to be loved as much as any other neighbor or person?

Fr. Médaille headed off the red herring-question of, “Who is my neighbor?” by his choice of words. In his original French, he referred to the neighbor as la prochaine, which means “the next one.” That is, the neighbor is the next one you encounter, or the one who is right next to you.

Consider one of Fr. Médaille’s maxims, one that reflects Jesus’s teaching on compassion: “Interpret another person’s actions in the best possible light.” Many of us sisters would tell you, it’s one of the most challenging to heed in everyday life.

Sisters and associates of St. Joseph have inherited the Ignatian spirituality of being “contemplatives in action.” The scholar in Luke’s gospel seemed to get it: that compassion (a feeling) and mercy (an action) are Jesus’s teaching. And so, that’s our call: to open ourselves to feel the gut-wrenching needs of the ones we encounter, and to act with mercy in response.

But where to start? With whom? How?

God revealed the answer in Deuteronomy (30:10-14) which tells us to fear not, the command is not too mysterious or remote for you. The Word of life is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts, you have only to carry it out.

When we need help, we look to God whose range of loving is unlimited. The Spirit gathers us at Eucharist and elsewhere to remember and know the One who lifts us up and pours the wine of compassion over our wounded hearts, and anoints us with the oil of mercy… so that we might go and do likewise.

 

About the Author

Sister Mary Jo Curtsinger, CSJ, holds a Master of Divinity (M.Div.) degree from Catholic Theological Union (CTU) in Chicago where she later served as the director of the Biblical Study and Travel Program. She was received as a candidate for vowed membership with the Congregation of St. Joseph in 2002 and professed final vows in 2011. She taught theology courses at Nazareth Academy in La Grange Park (a sponsored ministry of the Congregation), and now serves as Co-Director of Vocations Ministry for the Congregation.

 

 

 

By Sister Chris Schenk

My Mom had a very hard time accepting my desire to be a nun. We could not really talk about it. She had great dreams that I would have a nice career, marry a wealthy man (preferably a doctor or lawyer) settle down, have children, and live a happy life.

In retrospect, I think I fell in love with God somewhere around the eighth grade, although I did not realize it until much later.

I have always loved things religious. Whether it was attending Mass, learning about the great philosophers, or reading the lives of the Saints, God seemed the ultimate of  “strange attractors’ to use the language of today’s science. I could not really explain my attraction to God, only that it was often more interesting to me than many other things in my life. I had boyfriends of course, sometimes more than I wanted.

While I liked men a lot, I often liked them better as friends than as romantic partners. I fell in love a couple of times but somehow the relationships never felt like quite enough.  Something inside was not real thrilled with settling down with just one person. Something inside was searching for “something more,” as I have now come to recognize.

God, on the other hand, was gradually becoming my most interesting and most long-lasting relationship. After a retreat in which I was blessed with a powerful experience of God’s unique sense of humor, unconditional love, and profound acceptance of me in all my quirkiness, I drove home filled with the knowledge that I would give my life over to this delightful Mystery.  But how? For me, it would have to be through Catholic nundom.

While in one way it made no sense, in another way, it made the most sense of all. How better to express my longing to love God with my whole heart, soul, strength, and mind, than through my most precious gift, my body?

For me, vowed celibacy is an embodied response to Mystery. It springs from the profundity of a relationship, no less than the marriage commitment.

Needless to say, my Mother was not pleased. I have forgiven her though, because, why would she be pleased? Her deepest happiness had come from falling in love with my Father. Their 60-year marriage was filled with ups and downs, but also much, much love. Why wouldn’t she want this for her daughter?

I worked as  nurse midwife for nearly 20 years and know quite a bit about the awesome gift of our sexuality. I was afraid I must have some deep-seated psychological dysfunction that would make me want to choose celibacy as my desired mode of expressing love in our world. It seems pretty oxymoronic, after all. On the other hand, how could anything adequately express love for God? I wonder if this is the best deep down philosophical and psychological explanation for the attraction to religious celibacy. When no amount of loving could ever be enough to express such a big love, a commitment to love beyond the physical, may for some be the best response of all.

The celibate mode of loving is not about giving up, but about witnessing to a love that fulfills and completes as deeply as the most passionate of sexual expressions. One thing I know from my midwifery career is that a big part of the pleasure of sex, is its ecstatic, almost mystical component.

Prayer can lead to a similar fulfillment. After all, doesn’t it make sense that the God who created us for ecstasy would also attract us in this most positive of human experiences?

Not that being a nun is always ecstatic! Any more than being in a married relationship is always ecstatic. My choice of religious celibacy, while not always easy, has been deeply fulfilling, healthy, and what brings me the deepest happiness.

Which is not to say that I don’t need deep down soul friends and companions as much as the next person. These anchor me in the sure knowledge of being loved and valued. Some of my deepest down soul friends are married couples who have on occasion blessed me with some pretty profound conversations. They tell me their married intimacy both expresses and deepens their relationship to God as well as to each other. Their spirituality, growth, and capacity for intimacy are of a piece with their married commitment in, through, and with this God of wondrous Mystery.

Deep waters these, and very beautiful.

Another thing I love about the celibate way of loving is that it really does free me to take risks and be available to the needs of others. More so for me than if I had family obligations which must enter the decision-making equation. This is a good choice for my adventurous spirit.

When all is said and done, I guess my celibate commitment is the best response I can give to Mary of Magdala’s plaintive refrain in Jesus Christ Superstar:  “I Don’t Know How to Love Him.”  I don’t really know how to love the God of Love either, but this feels right, and it makes me happy.

Deep waters these, and very beautiful.

About the Author

Sister Chris Schenk has worked as a nurse midwife to low-income families, a community organizer, a writer, and the founding director of an international church reform organization, FutureChurch. Currently she writes an award-winning column “Simply Spirit” for the National Catholic Reporter.

Her recent book Crispina and Her Sisters: Women and Authority in Early Christianity (Fortress, 2017) was awarded first place in History by the Catholic Press Association.