Yesterday afternoon, it dawned on me, "I haven't put the brown suitcase away yet!" 

It was still setting on a sofa in the parlor...It's been busy, and I hadn't gotten everything back inside immediately after the Triduum liturgies. 

This famous brown suitcase contains a wooden clapper, crucifix, purple covers, kindling for the Easter fire, an instruction sheet, and other supplies for Holy Week.  There's a lot packed into that single piece of luggage!

Climbing up on a step stool to take it out, around the fourth week of Lent, and then putting it away during the octave of Easter, carries sentimental "baggage" with it as well. 

I tend to think to myself something like "Here we are again!" The months have come 'round, and it's time to enter into this holy season once again.  On returning the case to its abode for eleven months of the year, my mount is accompanied by a feeling of accomplishment and happiness that we've made it through another Holy Week and Triduum. 

As one who helps coordinate and set things for these beautiful liturgies, this is no simple task.  I imagine that people who aren't involved in this have very little realization of all that goes into preparing for Holy Week! 

So, as I put the suitcase, packed with important "equipment" for this special time, back into it's place, there's a sense of closure. 

It's rather interesting, when up in those cupboards, what other hidden objects one sees. 
I inherited the job of sacristan from another Sister, who had only trained me to do the job to fill in for her during her vacations, so I didn't get a thorough training in what was what.

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.

Although he's not a patron of mine, or a saint of our Franciscan order, today's memorial of St. Peter Claver has resonated with me during my adult life. 
 
On this feast, which I also remember as the birthday of the sister of my best friend from childhood, my mind tends to go back to a visit I made with the St. Peter Claver Sisters, who had a house a little ways away from my home.  When I was first exploring religious life in my early twenties, I spent a day or two with them for a brief experience of life as a Sister.  I even volunteered a little for them afterward, helping with a writing project for their Echo magazine.  I pray for both these Sisters and the sister of my friend on this memorial.
 
In his homily today, Father mentioned the aid, physical and spiritual, that St. Peter gave to the African slaves as they arrived in Colombia.  I was reminded of the movie Roots, which I saw as a child or early teen.  It definitely made an impression on me; I can still remember seeing footage of captives in the terrible conditions of the slave ship, practically piled on top of each other.  It was only years later that I learned about the Saint who met these poor people and shared Christ’s love with them. 
 
St. Peter Claver’s example of charity is a reminder to me of the call to love those who the world might see as “the least of my brothers.”  This gospel call aligns with our mission to the elderly and disabled here at St. Anne’s.  Today, if I let it, can serve as an examination of conscience and an impetus to do better in my own life. 
 
An amazing fact about St. Peter Claver, also mentioned in today’s homily, is that he baptized about 300,000 people during his 40 years of service to the African captives.  According to my calculations, this means that about twenty people a day were brought into God’s family through his ministry!
 
St. Peter Claver, please pray for us!

This morning, during the Mass live-streamed from the local parish church, my ears delighted on hearing the notes of the "Easter Alleluia," as Sister Elaine calls it.  (This particular musical setting was used at the Easter vigil when she was young.)

Other than at last weekend's Masses, this was the first time I had heard the alleluia sung for several weeks.  (We don't get much of that during Lent, you know.)

It was so beautiful to here this joyful song of praise amidst the turbulent times we are facing. 

Here we were, watching the Mass on a large screen (in a gathering of less than ten people), still singing this age-old canticle of praise.  Long ago, the psalmist sang this ejaculation, lifting up heart and voice in thanksgiving. 

This morning's alleluia was a fitting reminder to me, during a twenty-first century pandemic, that it is truly "right and just" at all times to give thanks and praise!

I know that, as faithful Catholics, we're urged to undertake some form of voluntary penance during the days of Lent (Sundays and probably solemnities not included).  As kids, we were introduced to the practice of "giving up something" for Lent.  I can remember saving up the restricted item to relish on Sunday, though.  

Although appropriate Lenten penance has changed for me over the years (I no longer feel impelled to give up "after-school snacks"), I'm still called to give up my own will as I go through this season of conversion and renewal.  

The past few days, however, I found it challenging to do any special penance of my own choosing.  I've been sick in bed.  Between chills, terrible headaches, and all the rest, I felt awful, not to mention, terribly week.  To even walk down the hall or get up to use the bathroom took a lot out of effort.  

These past days, my Lenten penance (much more substantial than anything I would have chosen) has included forcing myself to drink more water (even though this meant more trips to the sink to re-fill my bottle)...It has included offering all of this all up - I really made use of my morning offerings!

Thankfully, my fever broke this morning, and I no longer feel like I'm being dragged behind a train (or run over by one).  I'm still weak, though, and I think I should be making my way back to bed soon for some more rest.

(PS: The loving care of others, chicken soup and Jell-O go a long way in helping with this kind of penance.)

This afternoon, the moment arrived, which had seemed to be looming somewhere in the distance: the time to remove all of the poinsettias from our chapel.

They'd been there for two months, since Christmas, and were still doing alright.  There was no botanical malady causing their demise; flowers are not allowed for church décor during Lent (except for on a few special occasions), so this Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras was slated to be their last day to enjoy the warmth and beautiful home our chapel offered.

It was good to get this done today, rather than waiting for the morning...We are now prepared to be in accord with liturgical norms, it is true.  However, I did have another reason for taking action in this matter today: this is one less thing I will have to take care of in the morning. 

I have the full length violet altar cloth draped across the table in the little private dining room down the hall.  Before I get on with the rest of my day (prayer, Mass, reception desk duty, etc.), I'll have to change things over in chapel from ordinary time to Lent. 

Down will go the green trim on the altar and ambo.  The green tabernacle veil will be exchanged for white.  The huge violet altar cloth will go on.  (Hopefully, most of the creases/wrinkles will have come out of it in the day and I half that it :hung out" in the other room - I really don't want to have to iron!!)

I'm hoping I can get myself going early enough in the morning (after working until 10 tonight) to get all of this done and still have time for private prayer before everyone else gets over to St. Anne's for morning office at 6:30 a.m.

Your prayers for me would be appreciated as we start this season of Lent.

This line from one of my favorite hymns (Lord, Who at Thy First Eucharist) has come to mind for me in recent days.  

Saturday, we finished the week of prayer for Christian Unity as we celebrated the feast of St. Paul's conversion.  

This past week, we've had a visitor from out west, a family member of one of our residents.  It has been a pleasure getting to know her a little.  Her willingness to share her Christian faith and her love for our Lord have been an inspiration to me, although she is not Catholic.  

I invited her to join us for Mass Sunday morning, and she said she might do that.  I actually ended up sitting near her for much of the liturgy, although I did have to get up for the reading and psalm, etc.  

As the Mass proceeded, I wondered if she knew that she wasn't supposed to receive Communion, and how to handle this without hurting her feelings or causing a stir.  I really hoped I wouldn't have to do anything, and prayed for the situation.  ​

The whole situation was resolved seamlessly.  At communion time, she stood, watching people, clearly unsure of what to do.  I was able to whisper to her that she could just be seated, and that settled things.  I was grateful.

It is sad, to me, though, that there is lack of unity between Christians, that our brothers and sisters who share our love for Christ and faith in Him, are not able to share also in the richest of His blessings, the other sacraments and especially the Eucharist.  

Please join me in praying for unity of Christians and that our separated brothers and sisters may find the fullness of the faith. 

The words of the above-mentioned hymn can be a beautiful prayer to this end and can provide rich content for meditation.

Why is a Franciscan Sister writing about a baptism party on a cold January morning, you might ask.  I realize that this title may seem strange to my readers.

As a matter of fact, today is going to be a rather "strange" day here for me.  (I'll get back to the baptism party issue in a bit.)  We don't have Mass until 4 p.m.  The priest who usually serves us on Sundays isn't available, so another priest is filling in as his schedule allows.  We're not complaining; we are grateful to have a priest for Mass! 

Before this, however, we're having our annual baptism party!  The secular Franciscans (sometimes called 'Third Order') who meet here have their monthly gatherings on the second Sunday of the month.  (I serve as their 'spiritual assistant.')  Instead of having their Christmas party in December (the second Sunday of which is still Advent), they celebrate Christmas together at their January meeting.  Most often, this falls on the feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which ends the Christmas season. 

This group always invites us Franciscan Sisters to join in their festive gathering, which includes a potluck.  This is mid-afternoon, right in between lunch and supper.  It is a very nice time to come together as members of the Franciscan family to celebrate our Lord's coming among us.  With all this feasting in mind, we'll have to really cut back at the other meals today, though.

Today, as we celebrate the Lord's baptism, should be a good day, though the schedule will be far from normal. 

Happy Feast Day - and one last 'Merry Christmas!'

Wishing everyone a very blessed Christmas season.  It goes through January 12th, so we have plenty more days to extend this greeting to one another :) .

I know that, officially, it's called Gaudete Sunday, but since my childhood (before I knew the Latin term), I've called it "Pink Candle Sunday."  I so enjoy the rich liturgical traditions of our faith!  We get to rejoice in the midst of our Advent waiting.

Although it was extra work on an already busy day yesterday, I wanted to make the most of things for the morrow's celebration...I ironed rose colored paneling to accent the front of the altar (this proved to be more complicate than I'd anticipated.), and found a rose colored chasuble for Monsignor to wear.  Although, the color is referred to as "rose," it always looked pink to me.  I remember a priest back home stressing the fact that it is not pink but rose. 

In this, I can't help but recall my dad's (whose birthday we remembered yesterday) facetious remark that "real men can wear pink."  (He had a pink shirt, himself.)

This morning,  I dug in the sacristy drawer and found a rose colored chalice veil as well.  I was happy!  (I'd thought we had one, but couldn't remember for sure.)

I hope you, too, rejoice, at this beautiful time of year as we sing, "Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!"

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