I continue to share the process of discernment of a vocation. I fear some of you might not know that it takes a serious and prayerful discernment to make a commitment that will affect your entire life.
This is good prayer to pray:
“Lord, let me know what it is You want me to do in life
because I will be happiest only in doing Your Holy Will.”
God calls us to participate in the mission of the Church and to love His people. You may fulfill this same mission in a variety of ways. You will best be able to serve God in the ministries of the Church by using the gifts God has given you.
How does one know to what community God is calling you? That is a big mystery! It is not a mystery to God, however. He will direct you to a particular community. I wrote letters to different communities. I visited at least three communities. But guess what? I entered a community to which God directed me. I had never visited or written to the Sisters of St. Mary of Oregon. Yet, my love of Our Lady and the fact that I came to Oregon to work as a migrant worker…that was enough for God to point me in the right direction.
Women in religious communities live a simple and celibate lifestyle. They make public vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. These vows free her to serve God more fully. Prayer and work are part of the tradition of all communities. By joining a religious community you will find the support and courage to focus on the ministries of the Church. Depending on the vision of their founders, the charism of the Congregation, and the gifts and talents of their members, each community accents them differently. Thus, some communities are primarily contemplative while others are more active.
I became a “postulant” in September many years ago. A year later I became a “novice”. I remained a novice for three years. Then I became a “junior Sister” until I made my final vows. The congregation prepared and trained me for the community’s particular apostolic work…education. The works of some communities frequently address areas of education, social work, administration, communication, healthcare, etc.
Where to start? You may start by calling Fr. Kelly Vandehey at the office of vocations at our local diocesan office (503-234-5334) and he will direct you to inquire and visit different communities in the area. Personal contact is one of the best ways to gain knowledge of a community and find out about its spirituality, apostolate, and life-style. Some communities offer weekend retreats or live-in experiences. Weekends are scheduled all through the year with the Sisters of St. Mary of Oregon at 4440 S.W. 148th Ave. in Beaverton 97007. Our last weekend with the Sisters is scheduled for May 21-23, 2010. Please feel free to contact Sister Charlene Herinckx, SSMO at 503-906-1131.
Seek information, ask for advice, seek the guidance of competent people, especially religious or priests, evaluate yourself and above all, pray to the Lord for wisdom and courage to discern and do His Will. A good spiritual director may be very helpful in receiving objective advice.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Are Sisters necessary today?
OP-ED COLUMNIST
A Church Mary Can Love
By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF
Published: April 17, 2010
I heard a joke the other day about a pious soul who dies, goes to heaven, and gains an audience with the Virgin Mary. The visitor asks Mary why, for all her blessings, she always appears in paintings as a bit sad, a bit wistful: Is everything O.K.?
Mary reassures her visitor: “Oh, everything’s great. No problems. It’s just ... it’s just that we had always wanted a daughter.”
That story comes to mind as the Vatican wrestles with the consequences of a patriarchal pre-modern mind-set: scandal, cover-up and the clumsiest self-defense since Watergate. That’s what happens with old boys’ clubs.
It wasn’t inevitable that the Catholic Church would grow so addicted to male domination, celibacy and rigid hierarchies. Jesus himself focused on the needy rather than dogma, and went out of his way to engage women and treat them with respect.
The first-century church was inclusive and democratic, even including a proto-feminist wing and texts. The Gospel of Philip, a Gnostic text from the third century, declares of Mary Magdalene: “She is the one the Savior loved more than all the disciples.” Likewise, the Gospel of Mary (from the early second century) suggests that Jesus entrusted Mary Magdalene to instruct the disciples on his religious teachings.
St. Paul refers in Romans 16 to a first-century woman named Junia as prominent among the early apostles, and to a woman named Phoebe who served as a deacon. The Apostle Junia became a Christian before St. Paul did (chauvinist translators have sometimes rendered her name masculine, with no scholarly basis).
Yet over the ensuing centuries, the church reverted to strong patriarchal attitudes, while also becoming increasingly uncomfortable with sexuality. The shift may have come with the move from house churches, where women were naturally accepted, to more public gatherings.
The upshot is that proto-feminist texts were not included when the Bible was compiled (and were mostly lost until modern times). Tertullian, an early Christian leader, denounced women as “the gateway to the devil,” while a contemporary account reports that the great Origen of Alexandria took his piety a step further and castrated himself.
The Catholic Church still seems stuck today in that patriarchal rut. The same faith that was so pioneering that it had Junia as a female apostle way back in the first century can’t even have a woman as the lowliest parish priest. Female deacons, permitted for centuries, are banned today.
That old boys’ club in the Vatican became as self-absorbed as other old boys’ clubs, like Lehman Brothers, with similar results. And that is the reason the Vatican is floundering today.
But there’s more to the picture than that. In my travels around the world, I encounter two Catholic Churches. One is the rigid all-male Vatican hierarchy that seems out of touch when it bans condoms even among married couples where one partner is H.I.V.-positive. To me at least, this church — obsessed with dogma and rules and distracted from social justice — is a modern echo of the Pharisees whom Jesus criticized.
Yet there’s another Catholic Church as well, one I admire intensely. This is the grass-roots Catholic Church that does far more good in the world than it ever gets credit for. This is the church that supports extraordinary aid organizations like Catholic Relief Services and Caritas, saving lives every day, and that operates superb schools that provide needy children an escalator out of poverty.
This is the church of the nuns and priests in Congo, toiling in obscurity to feed and educate children. This is the church of the Brazilian priest fighting AIDS who told me that if he were pope, he would build a condom factory in the Vatican to save lives.
This is the church of the Maryknoll Sisters in Central America and the Cabrini Sisters in Africa. There’s a stereotype of nuns as stodgy Victorian traditionalists. I learned otherwise while hanging on for my life in a passenger seat as an American nun with a lead foot drove her jeep over ruts and through a creek in Swaziland to visit AIDS orphans. After a number of encounters like that, I’ve come to believe that the very coolest people in the world today may be nuns.
So when you read about the scandals, remember that the Vatican is not the same as the Catholic Church. Ordinary lepers, prostitutes and slum-dwellers may never see a cardinal, but they daily encounter a truly noble Catholic Church in the form of priests, nuns and lay workers toiling to make a difference.
It’s high time for the Vatican to take inspiration from that sublime — even divine — side of the Catholic Church, from those church workers whose magnificence lies not in their vestments, but in their selflessness. They’re enough to make the Virgin Mary smile.
A Church Mary Can Love
By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF
Published: April 17, 2010
I heard a joke the other day about a pious soul who dies, goes to heaven, and gains an audience with the Virgin Mary. The visitor asks Mary why, for all her blessings, she always appears in paintings as a bit sad, a bit wistful: Is everything O.K.?
Mary reassures her visitor: “Oh, everything’s great. No problems. It’s just ... it’s just that we had always wanted a daughter.”
That story comes to mind as the Vatican wrestles with the consequences of a patriarchal pre-modern mind-set: scandal, cover-up and the clumsiest self-defense since Watergate. That’s what happens with old boys’ clubs.
It wasn’t inevitable that the Catholic Church would grow so addicted to male domination, celibacy and rigid hierarchies. Jesus himself focused on the needy rather than dogma, and went out of his way to engage women and treat them with respect.
The first-century church was inclusive and democratic, even including a proto-feminist wing and texts. The Gospel of Philip, a Gnostic text from the third century, declares of Mary Magdalene: “She is the one the Savior loved more than all the disciples.” Likewise, the Gospel of Mary (from the early second century) suggests that Jesus entrusted Mary Magdalene to instruct the disciples on his religious teachings.
St. Paul refers in Romans 16 to a first-century woman named Junia as prominent among the early apostles, and to a woman named Phoebe who served as a deacon. The Apostle Junia became a Christian before St. Paul did (chauvinist translators have sometimes rendered her name masculine, with no scholarly basis).
Yet over the ensuing centuries, the church reverted to strong patriarchal attitudes, while also becoming increasingly uncomfortable with sexuality. The shift may have come with the move from house churches, where women were naturally accepted, to more public gatherings.
The upshot is that proto-feminist texts were not included when the Bible was compiled (and were mostly lost until modern times). Tertullian, an early Christian leader, denounced women as “the gateway to the devil,” while a contemporary account reports that the great Origen of Alexandria took his piety a step further and castrated himself.
The Catholic Church still seems stuck today in that patriarchal rut. The same faith that was so pioneering that it had Junia as a female apostle way back in the first century can’t even have a woman as the lowliest parish priest. Female deacons, permitted for centuries, are banned today.
That old boys’ club in the Vatican became as self-absorbed as other old boys’ clubs, like Lehman Brothers, with similar results. And that is the reason the Vatican is floundering today.
But there’s more to the picture than that. In my travels around the world, I encounter two Catholic Churches. One is the rigid all-male Vatican hierarchy that seems out of touch when it bans condoms even among married couples where one partner is H.I.V.-positive. To me at least, this church — obsessed with dogma and rules and distracted from social justice — is a modern echo of the Pharisees whom Jesus criticized.
Yet there’s another Catholic Church as well, one I admire intensely. This is the grass-roots Catholic Church that does far more good in the world than it ever gets credit for. This is the church that supports extraordinary aid organizations like Catholic Relief Services and Caritas, saving lives every day, and that operates superb schools that provide needy children an escalator out of poverty.
This is the church of the nuns and priests in Congo, toiling in obscurity to feed and educate children. This is the church of the Brazilian priest fighting AIDS who told me that if he were pope, he would build a condom factory in the Vatican to save lives.
This is the church of the Maryknoll Sisters in Central America and the Cabrini Sisters in Africa. There’s a stereotype of nuns as stodgy Victorian traditionalists. I learned otherwise while hanging on for my life in a passenger seat as an American nun with a lead foot drove her jeep over ruts and through a creek in Swaziland to visit AIDS orphans. After a number of encounters like that, I’ve come to believe that the very coolest people in the world today may be nuns.
So when you read about the scandals, remember that the Vatican is not the same as the Catholic Church. Ordinary lepers, prostitutes and slum-dwellers may never see a cardinal, but they daily encounter a truly noble Catholic Church in the form of priests, nuns and lay workers toiling to make a difference.
It’s high time for the Vatican to take inspiration from that sublime — even divine — side of the Catholic Church, from those church workers whose magnificence lies not in their vestments, but in their selflessness. They’re enough to make the Virgin Mary smile.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
My talk to the Serra Club
SISTER MARY JUANITA VILLARREAL
(a.k.a. Teresa Cruz Villarreal)
Many Wonderful Memories
We all have a story to tell. This is who we are and sometimes it is who others say we are. Being child number six in a clan of eleven brothers and sisters has given me a unique perspective and a good vantage view.
I have many wonderful memories. I remember playing with dolls or playing with tiny dishes which Mom would buy for us. Of course, we would get one doll at Christmas for all the little girls and maybe one bike for all the boys. I am sure that was the reason that we often had fights with each other.
Mom taught us many things. She even had her own ideas for our evangelization. Every time we got a new doll she would have us “baptize” the doll. She would allow us to invite our little friends or neighbors and she would even buy
“pan dulce” and would make us some hot chocolate for after the baptism.
Mom was an amazing housewife. She would keep our house spotless and wash tubs full of clothes using an old washing machine…there was no water heater so she would heat water in a big tub balanced on top of burning wood. She would creatively make towers of tortillas and cover them with a dishtowel. I think she covered the tortillas to keep us kids from running by and stealing one hot-off-the-press!
I can also remember the pretty bad spankings Mom or Dad gave me when I needed them. I think she spanked me more because I was very stubborn and would not allow myself to cry. I bit my dress collar and braved the spankings and tried not to cry.
I was born number six. I arrived on July 23, 1944, the month of the Precious Blood of Jesus. Later on I joined a community of Sisters who have a devotion to the Precious Blood of Jesus. Mom was 30 years old and Dad was 34. Six kids! Dad was a clerk at the local IGA store and Mom was a “home/family engineer”.
Mom could skillfully complete the morning feed, dress us for school, wash and hang clothes and make beds all before 10 a.m. What a “wonder” woman!
My Dad was quieter but his word … or one simple glance would move us to action. Dad was a butcher by trade. After work he would volunteer to drive the school bus for the football games, etc. To him our schooling was very important.
Mom was great at First Aid, too. One of her unique treatments was when we had air in our ear. She would use a page from the Sears catalog and make a funnel. She would put the funnel in our ear while she would light a match and start burning the opposite end of the funnel. No sooner had the paper caught on fire than the air would puff out with the speed of a jet propeller. Our earache was gone!
Dad and Mom made a great team. Mom and Dad planted the seed of knowledge in me and gave it the first impetus by being such active role models.
I went to first grade without my parents accompanying me. Brothers and sisters walked together taking the youngest one to enter school. How scary! Before you know it, I was helping with the “photo-copying”: a design was made with a purple pencil, then placing the paper upside down on a gummy surface one would moisten the copy with a wet sponge, pick it up and the stencil was made! Now, a clean piece of paper would go over that print, moisten it again and ONE copy was made. The finished copies would be allowed to dry first.
From the third grade classroom door I could see my aunt’s house. By grade five I knew it all! I knew how to spell “vacation”. I was finally in sixth grade and carrying my big books home under one arm like the big kids.
I don’t recall our migratory travels in detail other than to say that Oregon was a more appealing state than say: Illinois, North Dakota or Minnesota. The family lived in Montana, also.
Moving to Carrizo Springs during my eighth grade was both traumatic and challenging. I felt we had finally moved to the big city. Dad was able to sit us around the dining room table and explain to us the need to move and what sacrifices we would all have to make and endure. I enjoyed the ownership these talks gave me!
In his later years I remember Dad puttering around the yard in Carrizo early in the mornings. While in Carrizo he rested more or at least took it easier than during the harvest time in St. Paul, Oregon. Dad was usually up early. Mom was up early, too. He would hoe weeds, water plants, fix a broken hinge or put a coat of paint on the windowsill. Painting was not his strong point. He would get more paint on the window glass than on the sill. His last project was finishing the washer/dryer room in back of the house.
I had visited the Benedictines of Crookston, Minnesota and the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary from Marylhurst. Both of these Sisters had been my teachers in catechism class. But in 1960 I went to visit the Sisters of St. Mary of Oregon in Beaverton with some classmates of mine. I went, I saw and I stayed! I entered the convent at age 18. My parents were hesitant to allow me to join but in the end they were very proud.
After a few years in the convent I organized my brothers and sisters and encouraged all of us to go back home to Texas to visit Mom and Dad together. Well, Dad wanted to get things all spruced up before all of us would arrive to visit them Christmas of 1974. But he suffered a massive heart attack and went to God on December 16, 1974. My world fell apart. My precious Dad was gone without waiting for us to get home.
Before I joined the convent I attended the youth group meetings and Fr. Schneider taught us a marriage class. I also joined the youth choir. I went out with about three different young men from my school. The entire dating ritual fascinated me. I was never overwhelmingly impressed, though. Much of the time I flirted or acted more fickle than necessary.
My last boyfriend continued writing letters and sending me pictures even after I entered the convent. He and I had made a friendship pact that we would always be there for each other. He joined the army and mailed me pictures and I promised to pray for him. But always, and I mean always, it was at church that I became most serious and quiet. The smells and the music were all filled with beautiful tradition and devotion for me—and it all appealed to me.
I graduated from Marylhurst College on August 1, 1967 with a Bachelor of Science in Education—a teaching degree.
In 1967 I lived in Tillamook for two years. In 1969 I was assigned to Stayton. In 1972 I reluctantly went to Hillsboro, but thankfully I quickly moved to St. Agatha’s in southeast Portland. In 1974 I was assigned to be principal of Holy Trinity School in Beaverton. I was so glad to be back home but so scared to be in charge of an entire school all by myself. In 1976 they assigned me to take the leadership of a bigger school. I went to St. John the Baptist School in Milwaukie. I was sent to Spokane, Washington. Oh, I loved Spokane. It was my favorite mission of all, I think.
In 1978 I again was appointed principal of a school in Portland—Holy Cross School in north Portland. I fell in love with the people—lots of African American children—and the area order of priests, the Holy Cross priests. I visited Costa Rica during that summer.
In 1987 I was asked to teach at La Salle High School in Milwaukie. I was superior of the house and lived with two retired Sisters who really came to keep me company while I taught the high school students. It was fun.
I was teaching in St. Mary, Star of the Sea in Astoria in 1993 when Archbishop Levada asked me to take the administration of a parish in Dayton, a quasi-parish that consisted of all Hispanic people. I had never had the administration of a parish all by myself nor worked exclusively with Hispanic people. Well, it was an entirely different kind of job. My Spanish was very rusty. I had to learn to speak and write it well in a very short time. The work was extremely taxing but very rewarding.
And as Sisters often do, I took classes during summer months and I finally graduated from Portland State University with a Master of Science degree and an administrator’s certificate on August 9, 1979. I studied at our nation’s capitol and visited many of the national sights. I have been to Mexico half a dozen times to study or on vacation. I lived in Costa Rica for almost a month. I visited the Holy Land and traveled all around Jerusalem in 1994. I had a year’s sabbatical in Europe. I lived in Spain for six months and in Santa Fe, New Mexico for another four months.
No amount of knowledge would give me even a portion of the knowledge that my Mom and Dad had. I would love to have the simplicity that was theirs. They had all the gifts of the Spirit: wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, awe of the Lord and piety. My Dad was a man for all seasons and my Mom was a double for God, our Creator. From almost nothing she could create something. She could feed, clothe, house and educate eleven kids on one man’s salary! That is one awesome superwoman!
Dad truly was the mystic of the family. His prayer life was solid and his faith knew no fear. He was so disciplined. My Dad would maintain his trucks clean inside and out and his yard all in order. Dad liked music and dancing and storytelling. He shone when he had a joke to share. A five-minute story could take thirty minutes to tell. He captivated his audience. I remember Dad playing with us and making a little mouse out of his big white hankie to scare us into thinking that the mouse was going to get us. We would get close to him and then squeal away, as the mouse would jump out of his hand.
Retelling my story has awakened in me a yearning for our reunion in heaven. I miss my parents. May we look forward to our great reunion and not lose our focus on the important things in life. Staying focused on Jesus will assure us a ticket there. Let’s help each other.
Let me just share with you that religious life … as married life or single life… is not easy! It has its ups and downs. It is a mystery! I know the WAY, the TRUTH and the LIFE. I know how it ended for Jesus and I am following Him, so…
Here is the process of becoming a Sister of St. Mary of Oregon. A young woman (18-30 years of age) discerns her call … her “vocare”. She calls and visits different convents and reviews her gifts and talents. Once she feels attracted to one particular congregation or order she begins the process of discernment. We have a 14 step process. It takes months. The Sisters look at the candidate and the candidate looks at the Sisters in community.
Once the candidate has been accepted, as a postulant, she moves in to the convent. She can have no debts, no other prior commitments to complete, etc. This stage lasts six months to one year. On August 15th, feast of Our Lady’s Assumption, the postulant becomes a novice. She spends two years studying the Constitution and Statues of the congregation while also involving herself in the life of the Sisters. She is under the tutelage of her superior. She learns the art of prayer and meditation. At the end of this time she asks permission to take temporary vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. If she is accepted she lives and works as a temporary professed Sister. At the end of this period she is ready to take final vows…she, in the presence of family, friends and Sisters, pronounces this promise:
In the name of the father and the son and the Holy Spirit. I, Sister ________, in the presence of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all saints, vow to Almighty God, through the hands of our Superior General, chastity, poverty and obedience forever, according to the Constitution of the Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Mary of Oregon. So help me, God, by the merits of the Most Precious Blood of Jesus and the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Amen.
In three short years I will be celebrating 50 years of that commitment. I have certainly been blessed by the love and friendship of hundreds of students, parents, my own religious Sisters and numerous opportunities for learning, traveling, playing, praying, sharing and much more. I really do not know how to value as I ought. God promised on the day of my commitment: “If you love me and keep your promises, I will reward you a hundred-fold in this life and also give you life everlasting with Me in heaven
(a.k.a. Teresa Cruz Villarreal)
Many Wonderful Memories
We all have a story to tell. This is who we are and sometimes it is who others say we are. Being child number six in a clan of eleven brothers and sisters has given me a unique perspective and a good vantage view.
I have many wonderful memories. I remember playing with dolls or playing with tiny dishes which Mom would buy for us. Of course, we would get one doll at Christmas for all the little girls and maybe one bike for all the boys. I am sure that was the reason that we often had fights with each other.
Mom taught us many things. She even had her own ideas for our evangelization. Every time we got a new doll she would have us “baptize” the doll. She would allow us to invite our little friends or neighbors and she would even buy
“pan dulce” and would make us some hot chocolate for after the baptism.
Mom was an amazing housewife. She would keep our house spotless and wash tubs full of clothes using an old washing machine…there was no water heater so she would heat water in a big tub balanced on top of burning wood. She would creatively make towers of tortillas and cover them with a dishtowel. I think she covered the tortillas to keep us kids from running by and stealing one hot-off-the-press!
I can also remember the pretty bad spankings Mom or Dad gave me when I needed them. I think she spanked me more because I was very stubborn and would not allow myself to cry. I bit my dress collar and braved the spankings and tried not to cry.
I was born number six. I arrived on July 23, 1944, the month of the Precious Blood of Jesus. Later on I joined a community of Sisters who have a devotion to the Precious Blood of Jesus. Mom was 30 years old and Dad was 34. Six kids! Dad was a clerk at the local IGA store and Mom was a “home/family engineer”.
Mom could skillfully complete the morning feed, dress us for school, wash and hang clothes and make beds all before 10 a.m. What a “wonder” woman!
My Dad was quieter but his word … or one simple glance would move us to action. Dad was a butcher by trade. After work he would volunteer to drive the school bus for the football games, etc. To him our schooling was very important.
Mom was great at First Aid, too. One of her unique treatments was when we had air in our ear. She would use a page from the Sears catalog and make a funnel. She would put the funnel in our ear while she would light a match and start burning the opposite end of the funnel. No sooner had the paper caught on fire than the air would puff out with the speed of a jet propeller. Our earache was gone!
Dad and Mom made a great team. Mom and Dad planted the seed of knowledge in me and gave it the first impetus by being such active role models.
I went to first grade without my parents accompanying me. Brothers and sisters walked together taking the youngest one to enter school. How scary! Before you know it, I was helping with the “photo-copying”: a design was made with a purple pencil, then placing the paper upside down on a gummy surface one would moisten the copy with a wet sponge, pick it up and the stencil was made! Now, a clean piece of paper would go over that print, moisten it again and ONE copy was made. The finished copies would be allowed to dry first.
From the third grade classroom door I could see my aunt’s house. By grade five I knew it all! I knew how to spell “vacation”. I was finally in sixth grade and carrying my big books home under one arm like the big kids.
I don’t recall our migratory travels in detail other than to say that Oregon was a more appealing state than say: Illinois, North Dakota or Minnesota. The family lived in Montana, also.
Moving to Carrizo Springs during my eighth grade was both traumatic and challenging. I felt we had finally moved to the big city. Dad was able to sit us around the dining room table and explain to us the need to move and what sacrifices we would all have to make and endure. I enjoyed the ownership these talks gave me!
In his later years I remember Dad puttering around the yard in Carrizo early in the mornings. While in Carrizo he rested more or at least took it easier than during the harvest time in St. Paul, Oregon. Dad was usually up early. Mom was up early, too. He would hoe weeds, water plants, fix a broken hinge or put a coat of paint on the windowsill. Painting was not his strong point. He would get more paint on the window glass than on the sill. His last project was finishing the washer/dryer room in back of the house.
I had visited the Benedictines of Crookston, Minnesota and the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary from Marylhurst. Both of these Sisters had been my teachers in catechism class. But in 1960 I went to visit the Sisters of St. Mary of Oregon in Beaverton with some classmates of mine. I went, I saw and I stayed! I entered the convent at age 18. My parents were hesitant to allow me to join but in the end they were very proud.
After a few years in the convent I organized my brothers and sisters and encouraged all of us to go back home to Texas to visit Mom and Dad together. Well, Dad wanted to get things all spruced up before all of us would arrive to visit them Christmas of 1974. But he suffered a massive heart attack and went to God on December 16, 1974. My world fell apart. My precious Dad was gone without waiting for us to get home.
Before I joined the convent I attended the youth group meetings and Fr. Schneider taught us a marriage class. I also joined the youth choir. I went out with about three different young men from my school. The entire dating ritual fascinated me. I was never overwhelmingly impressed, though. Much of the time I flirted or acted more fickle than necessary.
My last boyfriend continued writing letters and sending me pictures even after I entered the convent. He and I had made a friendship pact that we would always be there for each other. He joined the army and mailed me pictures and I promised to pray for him. But always, and I mean always, it was at church that I became most serious and quiet. The smells and the music were all filled with beautiful tradition and devotion for me—and it all appealed to me.
I graduated from Marylhurst College on August 1, 1967 with a Bachelor of Science in Education—a teaching degree.
In 1967 I lived in Tillamook for two years. In 1969 I was assigned to Stayton. In 1972 I reluctantly went to Hillsboro, but thankfully I quickly moved to St. Agatha’s in southeast Portland. In 1974 I was assigned to be principal of Holy Trinity School in Beaverton. I was so glad to be back home but so scared to be in charge of an entire school all by myself. In 1976 they assigned me to take the leadership of a bigger school. I went to St. John the Baptist School in Milwaukie. I was sent to Spokane, Washington. Oh, I loved Spokane. It was my favorite mission of all, I think.
In 1978 I again was appointed principal of a school in Portland—Holy Cross School in north Portland. I fell in love with the people—lots of African American children—and the area order of priests, the Holy Cross priests. I visited Costa Rica during that summer.
In 1987 I was asked to teach at La Salle High School in Milwaukie. I was superior of the house and lived with two retired Sisters who really came to keep me company while I taught the high school students. It was fun.
I was teaching in St. Mary, Star of the Sea in Astoria in 1993 when Archbishop Levada asked me to take the administration of a parish in Dayton, a quasi-parish that consisted of all Hispanic people. I had never had the administration of a parish all by myself nor worked exclusively with Hispanic people. Well, it was an entirely different kind of job. My Spanish was very rusty. I had to learn to speak and write it well in a very short time. The work was extremely taxing but very rewarding.
And as Sisters often do, I took classes during summer months and I finally graduated from Portland State University with a Master of Science degree and an administrator’s certificate on August 9, 1979. I studied at our nation’s capitol and visited many of the national sights. I have been to Mexico half a dozen times to study or on vacation. I lived in Costa Rica for almost a month. I visited the Holy Land and traveled all around Jerusalem in 1994. I had a year’s sabbatical in Europe. I lived in Spain for six months and in Santa Fe, New Mexico for another four months.
No amount of knowledge would give me even a portion of the knowledge that my Mom and Dad had. I would love to have the simplicity that was theirs. They had all the gifts of the Spirit: wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, awe of the Lord and piety. My Dad was a man for all seasons and my Mom was a double for God, our Creator. From almost nothing she could create something. She could feed, clothe, house and educate eleven kids on one man’s salary! That is one awesome superwoman!
Dad truly was the mystic of the family. His prayer life was solid and his faith knew no fear. He was so disciplined. My Dad would maintain his trucks clean inside and out and his yard all in order. Dad liked music and dancing and storytelling. He shone when he had a joke to share. A five-minute story could take thirty minutes to tell. He captivated his audience. I remember Dad playing with us and making a little mouse out of his big white hankie to scare us into thinking that the mouse was going to get us. We would get close to him and then squeal away, as the mouse would jump out of his hand.
Retelling my story has awakened in me a yearning for our reunion in heaven. I miss my parents. May we look forward to our great reunion and not lose our focus on the important things in life. Staying focused on Jesus will assure us a ticket there. Let’s help each other.
Let me just share with you that religious life … as married life or single life… is not easy! It has its ups and downs. It is a mystery! I know the WAY, the TRUTH and the LIFE. I know how it ended for Jesus and I am following Him, so…
Here is the process of becoming a Sister of St. Mary of Oregon. A young woman (18-30 years of age) discerns her call … her “vocare”. She calls and visits different convents and reviews her gifts and talents. Once she feels attracted to one particular congregation or order she begins the process of discernment. We have a 14 step process. It takes months. The Sisters look at the candidate and the candidate looks at the Sisters in community.
Once the candidate has been accepted, as a postulant, she moves in to the convent. She can have no debts, no other prior commitments to complete, etc. This stage lasts six months to one year. On August 15th, feast of Our Lady’s Assumption, the postulant becomes a novice. She spends two years studying the Constitution and Statues of the congregation while also involving herself in the life of the Sisters. She is under the tutelage of her superior. She learns the art of prayer and meditation. At the end of this time she asks permission to take temporary vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. If she is accepted she lives and works as a temporary professed Sister. At the end of this period she is ready to take final vows…she, in the presence of family, friends and Sisters, pronounces this promise:
In the name of the father and the son and the Holy Spirit. I, Sister ________, in the presence of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all saints, vow to Almighty God, through the hands of our Superior General, chastity, poverty and obedience forever, according to the Constitution of the Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Mary of Oregon. So help me, God, by the merits of the Most Precious Blood of Jesus and the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Amen.
In three short years I will be celebrating 50 years of that commitment. I have certainly been blessed by the love and friendship of hundreds of students, parents, my own religious Sisters and numerous opportunities for learning, traveling, playing, praying, sharing and much more. I really do not know how to value as I ought. God promised on the day of my commitment: “If you love me and keep your promises, I will reward you a hundred-fold in this life and also give you life everlasting with Me in heaven
One of my Favorite Songs...The Rose!
Some say love it is a river
that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love it is a hunger
an endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
and you it's only seed
It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed
that with the sun's love
in the spring
becomes the rose
that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love it is a hunger
an endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
and you it's only seed
It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed
that with the sun's love
in the spring
becomes the rose
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