Around eight o'clock last night, I got back to the house after a stressful and challenging day.  As I was putting my used mask into my "Dirty Masks Bag," and settling in, I heard that Sr. Jean Louise was on the phone.  According to custom, she had prepared the "advent practices" for the Sisters from our two convents, who normally spend Thanksgiving weekend together and exchange names for the year's prayer partners.  Due to circumstanes related to this pandemic, we were not able to be together this [liturgical] New Years Eve. :(

Sister informed my of my role in the nativity story for Advent, which corresponds with the "practice" for me to work on.  She said I was the "ass," but I prefer to refer to myself as a donkey.  My exhortation was to "willingly [bear] all the burdens obedience puts on [me], saying “Yes, Father” even in unpleasant tasks." 

I didn't feel so bad about my humiliating role (I'm not an angel, wise man, or St. Joseph) after one of my fellow Sisters told me that she was to be "the Ox."

All kidding aside, I think this Advent practice, this role as a donkey bearing burdens, has real meaning for me this Advent. 

For us at St. Anne's, striving to protect the most vulnerable during a pandemic has not gotten any easier.  We are living and working in very stressful times. 

This burden, as a donkey, I think, includes helping, as I'm able, to ease the burdens of my co-workers.  We are all stressed and burdened, but if I can recognize that my neighbor is just as stressed and burdened as I am, I can try to show her kindness and do what I can to ease her difficulty.

Last evening, as I was preparing for an early bedtime (being tired and facing an early morning), I couldn't help but think of the words of the carol, The Friendly Beasts: "I said the donkey, shaggy and brown..." (even though I did just give myself a haircut the other night).

Being short on time and inspiration, I decided to share a post from 2016.  I hope you enjoy it.

NOVEMBER 18, 2016
I come from a family with very distinct Thanksgiving traditions:

We always went to a certain aunt and uncle’s house in South Minneapolis and carried out several other heartwarming, yet predictable traditions.  The customs were so predictable that I actually wrote a “process analysis essay” about my family’s Thanksgiving Day’s activities my freshman year in college.  From my dad waking us for Mass to ‘give thanks’ to racing my sister for the newspaper for a chance to color the Minneapolis Star Tribune‘s Tom Turkey, the day was full of joy and excitement!

That being said, let’s jump ahead to my first fall with the Sisters…

Sr. Sara Marie, who would become my postulant directress, heard from me that one of our customs was checking the ice on nearby ponds.  To make my first Thanksgiving experience “in the convent” more home-like, and to have a little fun, she had me pose for a picture, broom in hand, “checking the ice” on the little fishpond, to see if it was completely frozen.

Later in the day, we decided to do some baking.  About a month earlier we had carved jack-o-lanterns together to decorate the convent.  Now we were going to make a pumpkin dessert, complete with homemade graham cracker crust.

We were working in the convent bakery.  I had dutifully crushed up some graham crackers and had them in a bowl.  When I set the bowl down on the table (which, to my credit, was quite slippery), the bowl slid onto the floor.

What a mess!!!  To make matters worse, there was a black rubber mat with circular holes on the floor nearby.  Crumbs littered the bakery floor, including between these holes.
Kindly, Sr. Sara Marie got out the Shop-Vac for me.  I proceeded to hook up the hose to the mechanism and turn it on.  I, however, was not used to using that machine and put the hose in the “blow” instead of the “suck” end.  Consequently, as you may imagine, the graham cracker crumbs were blown even more in all directions.

Poor Sr. Sara Marie!  What a clumsy Affiliate she had to deal with!!!  (This wasn’t the first of my humiliating adventures in Hankinson.)

As the years have gone by, different traditions have materialized for me.  Spending the school years during my novitiate and first year in profession in Rugby, I joined my Sisters in travelling “to Grandmother’s House” ever year.

You’ll remember that St. Anne was Jesus’ grandmother.  Thus, we referred to St. Anne’s Guest Home, where we spent the Thanksgiving Holiday with our Sisters, as “Grandmother’s House.”

Now, I have been serving at St. Anne’s, myself, for quite some time, and our Sisters from Rugby continue to grace us with their presence at Thanksgiving, according to Tradition.

Sr. Christina M. Neumann, OSF

A week and a half ago, I spent some time in the afternoon (after finishing my shift at the reception desk and attending resident care conferences) cutting up some bread. 
 
We had received a large donation of day-old Panera breads of all kinds: sour dough, cinnamon-sugar glazed, and more.  After advertising it to our staff (for them to help themselves) and taking some for our kitchen’s use, there was still quite a bit left.  Two viable options (besides just sticking it all in the freezer) arose for me.  Croutons and bread pudding could both be made out of leftover bread.  I ended up making some of each, using sour dough loafs for the former and cinnamon-sugar glazed bagels for the latter. 
 
Unfortunately, though, the project left a tender blister on the forefinger of my left hand.  (Yes; I am a lefty.)  Finally, I noticed this morning that it has really started to heal.  The now crusty area is actually shrinking a little.  It sure was sore for a while, though!
 
I think of this after hearing and reflecting upon the gospel reading this Sunday as well as a poem that was shared from a funeral of a Sister we know.  The poem was about “The Hands of a Sister.”  It chronicled some of the different types of work religious Sisters have traditionally done: forming and teaching little children, caring for the sick, etc. 
 
Some of the deeds described there were not ones that I am called to engage in.  Nonetheless, it made me think about my hands and what they do on a daily basis.  I pray they may always serve in a way pleasing to Our Lord.
 
I think this Sunday’s gospel (about the servants entrusted with varying amounts of money) fits with this reflection, also.  Like these servants, each of us will be called to give an account for how we used what was given to us, what our “hands” did with the gifts we received. 
 
I hope and pray that, like the first two servants, at the end of our lives, each of us will have a good return to show on God’s investment in us.
 
However, as I write this, I can’t help but think about St. Therese of Lisiuex’s reflection on empty hands: “In the evening of life I shall appear before you with empty hands, for I am not asking you, Lord, to count my works.” 
 
Her humble, trusting attitude is something for us to really think about and seek to emulate. 
 
While my hands are engaged in the humble work of cutting up old bread, washing out a resident’s support socks, or taking someone’s temperature, my eyes (inspired by the Little Flower) can be fixed in trust on Jesus.

These words from this morning’s responsorial psalm seem especially appropriate in November of 2020. 
 
Times are uncertain; that’s for sure.
 
Just now, one of our staff had to leave work unexpectedly…I guess I’ll be filling in this evening as an aide. 
(The earth’s ‘shakiness’ has hit closer to home since I began typing this.) 
 
If you haven’t done so already, I’d encourage you to take a moment and read this beautiful psalm (46). 
 
We all know and have heard about God’s omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence.  However, it’s good to be reminded of the implications this theological doctrine has in our lives today. 
 
Despite rising CoronaVirus case numbers, election issues, and everything else we’re facing, God still “is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in distress.” 
 
Turning to Him for support, we need not fear, “though the earth be shaken or the mountains fall into the depths of the sea.”
 
Currently, I’m reading a book about mercy.  It includes passages from St. Faustina’s diary and encouragement to pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy (as well as to practice the works of mercy).
 
At this time, which can stretch our faith and trust, I think it is especially appropriate to pray this powerful prayer: for ourselves, for our nation, and for our world.
 
It is also good to remind ourselves to keep our eyes on Jesus.  If we do this, the earth’s ‘shaking’ shouldn’t get to us as much.