Saint Therese, co-founder of the Sisters of the Cenacle, loved everything about religious life, including her sisters.  But if you had asked her why she loved religious life and why she thought other women should enter religious life (if that is their call), I doubt very much that she would have said it is because the sisters are extraordinarily good.  She would have been much more likely to respond, “Because God is good.” God, she commented, is not only good, God is goodness itself.

About Catholic Sisters

There has been much discussion lately, online and off, about religious life and the lives of sisters today.  Discussion is a polite word, because some of it has descended to the level of slander.

But whatever you think of today’s Catholic sisters, we are, after all is said and done, ordinary human beings, as much in need of mercy as anyone else.  As the hymn, “For All the Saints” puts it, “We feebly struggle, they in glory shine.”

God is surely calling all of us – sisters, priests, and laity – to a deeper fidelity to Christ.  Unfortunately, none of us – sisters, priests, or laity – will ever in this life attain perfection in the living out of our call, as much as we may struggle and pray.  We can nevertheless be consoled by the next line of the hymn, “Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine, Alleluia!”

A Blessed Way of Life

I think our Mother Therese would have said that being a sister is without doubt a blessed way of life, but that this is not because the sisters themselves are flawless.  (In fact the early history of religious congregations sometimes reads as if it belongs in a melodrama, featuring extraordinary Christian heroism side-by-side with commonplace pettiness.)  If religious life is is a blessed way, it is because God is the one who is wonderful, and can work through the clay vessels that we all are.

For me as well, the perfection – or lack of it – of my sisters in Christ is not why I entered the Cenacle,  though many of them are indeed remarkable and holy women who never cease to inspire me.  And neither is the goodness of my sisters, though they are all good women, the reason that I stay.  I entered and I remain, because God is wonderful.

What does it matter if my feet, bare and torn, fill my wooden shoes with blood? I would willingly begin my journey all over again, for I have indeed found the Good God!

- Saint Therese Couderc

September 26 is the feast day of Saint Therese Couderc.

Here are four recent examples — small actions, but not insignificant, for kindness is never insignificant:

After I filled the gas tank, the pump flashed a message instructing me to pick up the receipt inside the store. So I locked the car and went in.

As I returned to the car, I had a sinking feeling. Where were my keys? I peered inside, and as I feared, they were on the seat inside the locked car.

Back in the shop, I asked if I could use the phone (because of course the cell phone was also in the car), then wandered about the aisles, waiting for our Sister Annette to locate the extra key and pick me up (one of the many kindnesses I take for granted on the part of my community).

Quickly tiring of the cramped store, I went back outside to wait. A woman pulling away in her truck stopped. She smiled, showing a mouth mostly bereft of teeth.

“Are you going to be okay, Baby?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “I locked my keys in the car, and I’m waiting to be picked up.”

“I do that all the time,” she said, to encourage me. “That’s why I have three sets of keys. Is there anything I can do for you?”

I told her no, and thanked her. She drove off, and I continued waiting, but now feeling a bit more positive about myself and life in general.

On primary election day — the local primaries here in Gainesville — I bicycled to our polling place and afterward on to the public library, where I found a book and read for a while. At the table next to me was a middle-aged couple, and when I got up to leave, the woman noticed my “I VOTED” sticker.

“Oh, you voted!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, I did.”

“You go, Girl!” And she high-fived me.

Such a small event this was, but immensely cheering.  And as the high five is not a common convent greeting, I was thankful that I knew how to respond to this gesture of approval.

There is a mentally handicapped man whom I encounter occasionally, a small and rather round African-American who is often visible downtown — at the library, in the post office, outside on the sidewalk. His mission in life seems to be greeting passersby and wishing them a good day — far from a worthless calling when you think about the general state of human relations, and I earnestly hope most people respond to him in kind. His greetings serve as a reminder of God’s never-failing good will.

Another mentally handicapped citizen is the physical opposite of this greeter, a very tall white man whom I have met at daily Mass. His mission is similar, but with an explicitly religious slant. He blesses the congregation as he goes out after communion, anticipating the priest’s official blessing.

The other day at church, he was alone in the row just behind Sisters Annette, Elizabeth, and me. During the Our Father when worshippers in our parish generally hold hands, everyone in our pew had already taken the hand of the next person. He moved forward, but instead of trying to break in, he simply placed his left hand on my shoulder and his right hand on the shoulder of the man standing next to me. His hand was warm and weighty as we prayed, which was fitting, I thought, because a genuine blessing is not as insubstantial as we might think. No, a blessing has heft.

And like all blessings of which I am mindful, these small acts of kindness are not lacking in heft for me. Even what seems trivial can shed a glimmer of light on that supreme truth which Christ’s Resurrection manifests in splendor: that all the evil so evident in our world cannot annihilate the Goodness of God.

The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;
the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.

(Numbers 6:24-26)

Sister Elizabeth and I recently returned from New Orleans, our first visit there since Hurricane Katrina.

Our own house, the Cenacle Retreat House on the lakefront in Metairie, was spared major damage. Unlike other parts of town — Lakeview and St. Bernard Parish in particular— most buildings in our neighborhood look unchanged — except that the street is lined with FEMA trailers, so you know the houses were flooded and are unlivable.

One day Sisters Rosalie, Elizabeth, and I drove to Pass Christian, Mississippi, where Sister Rosalie’s family home was located before Katrina. The house was completely destroyed by the storm surge. Now when you walk where the house used to be, you see not only beach poppies and Easter lilies sprouting in the sandy soil, but also spoons and forks and pieces of broken china. The Pass Christian town center is made up primarily of trailers housing banks, library, and city government.

For a good part of the next day I felt like weeping, and my stomach was upset — a delayed reaction to the hundreds of miles of devastation we had seen the day before. I can only try to imagine what it is like for the people who live with it every day, for whom wreckage is the new normalcy. Listening to some of them, I had the impression of a citizenry that had survived a war, with the resulting damage to property and wounds to the psyche.

While we were there, the Times-Picayune printed an article about modern-day “carpetbaggers,” who, after first looting the damaged houses in New Orleans, are now back, stealing shutters, doors, and other historic architectural elements. And this week the National Guard has been called back in, following the murders of five teenagers and an adult.

Where is goodness amid the destruction?

We had just gotten out of the car at the empty lot where Sister Rosalie’s family home had been when a man stopped to ask us if we needed help.

“No,” we said, pointing to Sister, “she’s just come to see the old homestead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” was his reply, full of understanding and sympathy.

Simple acts of kindness have abounded, although the crimes, true to the pattern of the news media, have received more attention.

Less than two months after the storm, Daniel P. Aldrich, writing on the Jewish web site, aish.com, said:

In explaining what happened to us, I have sought to show my children that our losses provided us with a chance to experience chesed — kindness — from others…

Aldrich added that the experience of Katrina “has reinforced our belief in the innate goodness and kindness not only of Jews but of the American people as a whole”; and he goes on to tell about an incident in Atlanta, when he was trying to buy gas and having trouble with his credit card.

As a nearby woman heard my wife and me talking with the sales clerk about leaving New Orleans, she walked up, smiled, and said, “I want to give you this.” In her hand was a winning lottery ticket and her collected earnings. … This was one of the myriad of kindnesses showered upon us by strangers, friends, and family alike.

Goodness is found, too, in the courage of people carrying on with life amid the pain. In the neighborhood of the Cenacle, residents tend their lawns, mowing around the FEMA trailers. In Pass Christian, the townspeople rejoice over the opening of their new trailer library.

Life goes on.

My soul is cast down within me;
therefore I remember you
from the land of Jordan and of Hermon,
from Mount Mizar.

Deep calls to deep
at the thunder of your cataracts;
all your waves and your billows
have gone over me.
. . . . . . . . . .
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God;
for I shall again praise him,
my help and my God.

(Psalm 42:6-7, 11)

First, the Resurrection shows us that Goodness is in control of the universe.

Huston Smith puts it this way:

“Jesus’s resurrection was not about the fate of a worthy man. It concerned the status of goodness in the universe, offering evidence that goodness has power—indeed, ultimate power. Jesus was goodness incarnate, and in his resurrection his goodness triumphed….The resurrection reversed the cosmic position in which the cross had placed Jesus’s goodness.” (The Soul of Christianity: Restoring the Great Tradition [HarperSanFrancisco, 2005], 75-6)

It is crucial to remember this when we face the obvious evil in our world. The awareness that goodness is ultimately in control keeps us from losing hope; and hope itself helps us to notice the good and not to get mired in discouragement at the in-your-face presence of evil.

The resurrection shows us that there is no violence in God.

According to theologian James Alison,

“At the resurrection, what the apostolic group began to understand was that there is no violence in God, no wrath, no desire for retribution, no need for vengeance or satisfaction” (“Befriending a Vengeful God,” Encounter, October 24, 2004).

How de we know that there is no violence or vengeance in God? For one thing, Jesus came right back to the people who had denied him and run off in his hour of need—and he didn’t come back to get even. He came into the room where the apostles were quivering in fear and said to them, “Peace be with you” (John 20:19 ).

The early Christians took very seriously the belief that there is no room in God’s love for violence. One of the ways in which this was evident was that they tended to refuse military service.

The Resurrection shows the tender mercy of God toward us.

Instead of taking revenge on us for our own denials and betrayals, God forgives us and turns our falling into new life—life renewed for our earthly journey, and life everlasting after death.

“For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” (Romans 5:10)

The gifts of the Resurrection carry with them a marvelous responsibility. For through the tender mercy of God who forgives us our sins; through the love of God in whom there is no violence; through the power of God whose goodness triumphs over evil—we, puny creatures that we are, are called to let ourselves be transformed into the good and merciful and peaceful presence of Christ for the world.

In John 20:21, Jesus says a second time (they probably needed to hear it again) “Peace be with you.” But then he adds, “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.”

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ.
Indeed I count everything as loss
because of the surpassing worth
of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.

For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as refuse,
in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him,
not having a righteousness of my own, based on law,
but that which is through faith in Christ,
the righteousness from God that depends on faith;

that I may know him and the power of his resurrection,
and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,
that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect;
but I press on to make it my own,
because Christ Jesus has made me his own.

(Philippians 3:7-12 RSV)

When we stop to think about it, it becomes obvious that hurricane victims are just like the rest of the us: some are peaceful, some violent; most are honest, some are out to steal whatever they can; some are filled with love for neighbor; others couldn’t care less about anyone but self; most are upstanding citizens, some would do better behind bars.

Since Katrina and Rita, we have also witnessed remarkable signs of altruism and goodness, both on the individual and the international levels. Some of these are shining examples of what we might call the spirit of the widow’s mite (see Luke 21:1-4). I read about a poor woman, for instance, who donated a single jug of water to collection efforts in her local community.

In addition, some of the neediest countries in the world have offered aid to the United States. Here are only a few of the more than 115 offers:

- Bangladesh, itself struck with disaster after disaster, has offered $1 million and said it would send 160 disaster management experts, including doctors, nurses, and engineers. According to the CIA’s website, “About a third of this extremely poor country floods annually during the monsoon rainy season, hampering economic development.”* This is a country experienced in disaster management.

- Afghanistan, ravaged by war, with the second highest infant mortality rate in the world, and a life expectancy of slightly less than 43 years, has offered $100,000.

- Albania, troubled and poor, offered $300,000.

- Cuba, which has not been considered our friend, has offered more than 1500 doctors and tons of medicine. (The last I have heard, this offer has neither been accepted nor officially declined).

- The tiny Caribbean island of Dominica, with a population of less than 70,000, offered police to help bring control to hurricane-affected areas.

- Djibouti, in eastern Africa, a country where only .04 % of the land is arable, where the infant mortality rate is one of the highest in the world, and where the population has a life expectancy at birth of only 43 years, pledged $50,000.

- Sri Lanka , itself devastated by the 2004 tsunami, promised $25,000 to American Red Cross.

- Thailand has offered at least 60 doctors and nurses, along with rice (very appropriate, as many Southerners consider rice a staple).

- Vietnam pledged $100,000.

Such generosity is humbling. But graciousness in receiving is also a type of generosity, a gift that we offer the giver. The U.S. State Department web site has an article dated September 7 and entitled, “Nearly 100 Countries Send Money, Assistance to U.S. Hurricane Victims,” which leads me to hope that our generosity in receiving will match the generosity of the givers.

Finally, I would like to quote Glynn Stevenson, whose philosophy of life in times of upheaval is to be admired. The Associated Press reported that after swimming out of his New Orleans house, “with belongings taped to his body,” and as he was just beginning to settle into a FEMA trailer in New Iberia, he had to evacuate again for Rita. His response: “Just keep a cool attitude and help your brothers.”

There is much to be said for keeping cool and helping our brothers and sisters. This approach might well make the world a better place, even amid hurricanes.

[Jesus] looked up and saw rich people putting their gifts into the treasury; he also saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. He said, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them; for all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in all she had to live on.’ (Luke 21:1-4)

I saw written as in letters of gold this word Goodness, which I repeated for a long while with an indescribable sweetness. I saw it, I say, written on all creatures, animate and inanimate, rational or not — all bore this name of goodness. I saw it even on the chair which I was using for a kneeler.

This was not just a broad global recognition of goodness, but an awareness of goodness in the details, in the ordinary things of life. The goodness in everyone and everything, she said, comes from God, who has communicated to them something of the divine goodness.

One implication of this awareness of goodness is reverence toward the commonplace. Take off your shoes, God told Moses, for the place where you are standing is holy ground. Our homes, our work places, the day to day objects involved in cooking, working, keeping house, the daily activities such as making up the bed, washing the dishes, praying, being with family and friends — all are holy ground, for God’s goodness is everywhere.

But what about situations? Is the word “Goodness” written on all situations as well as on all creatures? Some situations are obviously evil, while others are subtly destructive, and none of these must we call good. Nevertheless, since God is always present and active, every situation holds within itself the potential for good, just as the crucifixion of Jesus — a blatantly evil action — was turned to good, not only for Jesus but for the whole world.

In whatever situation we find ourselves, we can ask God, “What is the call to me in this?”

I can ask, for example:

or:

Notice that this does not mean that God has brought about a damaging state of affairs or wants me to stay in it when escape is feasible. (If my situation is destructive the call may well be to get out of it as fast as possible.)

Notice also that I am not asking, What is God’s call to my mother-in-law or to my neighbor or to Saddam Hussein? Rather, What is God’s call to me? What are the gracious desires of God for me in the reality in which I now find myself?

We know that in all things God works for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)