I Couldn’t Believe My Eyes

It was late Sunday afternoon when I learned that King’s University Parish offered a 5:00 pm Mass for its students. Pressed for time, I quickly drove to the main campus and hurried into the small chapel. There in silence sat only a young couple expecting to attend Mass. No candles were lit, no presider was present.  Soon, the young man consulted his phone and announced that Mass was at the nearby spacious King’s College Chapel – formerly our community’s Mount St. Joseph chapel.

As I sped down Huron Street, I wondered why a five-o’clock Sunday Mass would be held in such a large space for a few students. Several minutes later I parked the car, raced up the wide cement steps and entered the foyer. Now, out of breath, I hurried across the marble floor and gingerly opened the chapel door.  I stopped in my tracks as I beheld the pews filled with young students raising their voices and praising God to the organ strains of a timely Lenten hymn.

I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears! A sense of quiet awe permeated the atmosphere as young men and women of many colors and races worshiped in faith and solidarity as their chaplain, assisted by the college deacon, led the beautiful celebration of the Eucharist.  I felt a solemnity and beauty that transcended the ordinary.

Voices in my head reminded me of what I often thought and what many others believe: “Young people don’t go to church anymore”.  “Few practice their faith these days”.  “What is our world coming to”? 

Wait a minute, I thought, how could we have been so wrong?  Here I was among a devout crowd in line to receive communion singing the haunting words, “Eat this bread, drink this cup, come to me and never be hungry”.  Here they received sustenance and strength at a weekly Sunday Service.

Following the ceremony, the feeling of fellowship that had begun at Mass continued as a large group made their way downstairs to an inviting room where coffee, crusty buns, and four kinds of soup were served from hot urns by student volunteers. Sitting around white tables, fellowship and friendly chatter filled the room.  It was all so simple, heartfelt, and real.

Even as the academic year draws to a close and students head out of town, a considerable number will continue to attend Sunday Service. Come September, the chapel will be filled again with devout students.  Now I know that faith is alive and active in students at King’s University College, and in many other places as well.

-Sister Jean Moylan, csj

Meeting with Friends

The train sped through lush countryside, fields promising harvests, backyards strewn with bicycles, swimming pools and childrens’ toys. I was heading home to London from a rich experience of three days of singing with my friends. For many, many years I have been a member of the Hymn Society in the United States and Canada. These friends enrich me with new hymn texts, melodies, and sheer joy.

We are a group of congregational song practitioners who live from the stance that the holy act of singing together shapes faith, heals brokenness, transforms lives, and renews peace. The Society’s mission is to encourage, promote and enliven congregational singing in the United States and Canada.

Gathered in Montreal, this month at McGill University, we renewed friendships, made new ones, told stories of congregational perseverance through the years of covid, laughed together and praised God for the gift song.

Image: Unsplash/David Beale

About 230 of us sang through three evening hymn festivals, attended various sectionals of our choice, and began each day with sung prayer in multiple languages.

Inspired by Indigenous presenters such as Kenny Wallace, who presently lives among the Munsee Delaware nation, who shared gospel songs that  helped him claim his original heritage of Choctaw. And Jonathan Maracle, from Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory near Belleville, Ontario who shared his songs rich with cultural roots of the First Nations people of North America. His mission is that of healing through song.

Both engaged us in a deeper understanding of how land, and language offer solid roots for claiming one’s inner freedom.

So many of the presentations this year opened our hearts to further ways of living inclusively, praying inclusively, and gathering inclusively.

-Sister Loretta Manzara, csj

You may wish to check out this promotional video:

Images: Unsplash//Michael Maasen

Who Do You Say I AM?

Isn’t it interesting that puzzling questions, spiritual and otherwise, pop into our heads while relaxing on vacation? While our bodies relax our minds are set free to ‘wonder’ where they will. 

On the shore of Lake Ontario, we found ourselves pondering once again whether ‘my God is your God?’ A question not easily unpacked. Is our image of God fashioned by our own experiences and coloured by our own temperaments? On a natural level, this is not so surprising, as siblings often describe their parents with unique variations. As in all relationships, our sense of God is very personal, quite different.

As humans, we do not see things clearly but only in fragments as attested to by Paul in his message to the Corinthians,

“…we see now only dimly…”

(1 Cor. 13:12). 

It is not surprising then, that each of us forms our own image of God. 

Would you consider it farfetched if we turned from quoting scripture to the Indian folktale “The Blind Men and the Elephant”? 

In this tale, images of an elephant are formed from each blind man's limited perspective of the elephant. Upon overhearing their differing viewpoints, the Rajah points out how each one has only a limited perception of what an elephant is. He emphasizes, “The  elephant is a very large animal," … "Each man touched only one part. Perhaps if you put the parts together, you will see the truth.” The Rajah's advice holds wisdom for us as we ponder our image of God. It's no time to think small.

Summertime offers us an opportunity to be still and know that God is God. In the stillness we may hear

"I am who I am".

We see dimly now but trust that one day we will see face to face and know God fully as we are known. 

-Sister Loretta Hagen, CSJ; Sister Magdalena Vogt, CPS; Sister Nancy Wales, CSJ

Header image: Unsplash/Sean Oulashin

A Lenten Moment

Restless, during a morning meditation this Lent, a poignant memory popped into my reflection and changed my prayer.  In my younger years as a guidance counselor, I sometimes visited a classroom to deliver a message or speak to a student.  One morning, as I quietly opened the door to the woodworking class, I was taken aback by the hush in the room and the alluring scent of sawdust and wood shavings as the students went calmly about their projects.

In the centre of the classroom, clamped to a large table, stood a life-sized, maple cross made in the workshop and destined to have a permanent place in the school’s front entrance.  As I surveyed the peaceful scene, a young student wearing his white shirt and dark pants quietly walked to the large cross, put his back to it and measured himself upon it.  He paused for a short time and silently walked back to his work.  Only I witnessed the moving experience and was awed and overcome with love. As is often the case, so much of what one feels is left unspoken.

Image: Unsplash/Aaron Burden

As my mind returned to my meditation, the long-ago memory provided a deep grace in my day.  How blessed were those students to have that old rugged cross in their midst during those Lenten days.  I’m sure the young fellow was not the only one who had deep thoughts about Jesus and the meaning of life.

Looking back over my years in education, I was blessed to be among thousands of young people making their way through the academic grades. I am proud of our Catholic education system that imparts scriptural knowledge and moral values in an atmosphere of peace and kindness.  Today, I pray for the amazing youth in our schools and for the fresh-faced young people in Russia and Ukraine who neither asked for a war nor ever dreamed they would be called to serve. I hope we are able, like that young student years ago, to measure ourselves against the cross - and have it steady us.

 -Sister Jean Moylan, csj

An Encounter on a Winter Walk

Early Sunday morning I embarked on London’s Thames Valley Trail amid brilliant sunshine, gleaming snow and –12 C weather.  As I walked along the River Thames, a thirtyish man walked from his small tent at the river edge up to the trail. He asked if I was one of the women who had left some Tim Horton’s donuts for him. I had not.  He introduced himself (I will call him “John”) and we shook hands; his enclosed in thin gloves and mine in bulky fleece-lined hide mitts. Asked about being cold with his thin jacket and flimsy tent, he stated that he was warm enough.  He then spoke about a sixty-one-year-old friend. The man’s bicycle had been stolen. A month earlier, the man had suffered an injury caused by a tree falling on his ankle - the same ankle that had been fused following a previous injury. The friend had crawled a fair distance through the scrabble along the river edge to John’s tent and John arranged for an ambulance to transport his buddy to the hospital. John had not been able to locate his pal and was concerned. He wondered if his friend would be able to walk again. When I told John that I would pray for him he asked if I went to church on Sunday. He was on his way to meet a pal at a nearby church.  He described a church in east London that had become so crowded that a second site was opened across the city.  John asked if I knew anyone who might need help for tasks such as clearing snow from their sidewalk.  He liked to help older people. I had no suggestions and we amicably continued along our respective paths.

This weekend a convoy of trucks and a multitude of supporters in Ottawa are angrily protesting mandatory vaccines, obligatory masks, vaccine passports, and other covid restrictions.   I reflected on my chance encounter with a man who was living in a tent in -12 C weather.  He expressed no anger, blame, or frustration about living in a tent, covid restrictions, or food insecurity.   Rather, he was cheerful, grateful for an anonymous gift of donuts, concerned about others, and confidently lived his faith in God.  I wondered if John would have felt welcomed and at home in my church. And I thought that if Jesus should make an appearance in our city whether he would feel more welcome and comfortable in John’s church than in mine.

-Sister Pat McKeon, csj